a memory and a song

After spending some time away from this space one thing that's become clear to me is that I really want to begin incorporating more of my passion for writing in this blog. I've recently discovered Danielle and her adorable family over at Sometimes Sweet, and I quickly connected with her love for literature and writing. She's recently reintroduced a feature called Journal Days, and I instantly knew that I had to be a part of it. This weeks prompt is all about how music has so much power over our memories.

My life can be divided into periods according to the music I listened to. My early days were all N*SYNC and Hoku, middle school was a lot of Usher, high school was very indie, and college is when I found my love for country music and bad pop. While it may not be my go to choice these days, the indie songs that filled my high school years definitely maintain the deepest emotional connection for me. One album, "The Question" by Emery, and one song in particular, "Listening to Freddie Mercury", still have the power to take me right back to when I was fifteen and discovering a whole new world. 

It was my freshman year and I'd just recently become friends with Tom. He was already pretty into the indie music scene, and I wanted some way to connect with him. I have an older brother who'd introduced me to the world of screamo music, so it wasn't a stretch for me to start listening to some of Tom's favorite bands.

I don't remember when I very first listened to the song, but I do remember the first time I heard it live. It was my first ever concert, and Tom had boldly invited me to come along with he and some of his friends. I put on my bravest face and pretended to not be intimidated by being the only girl going to my first concert with a bunch of guys. I wore ripped jean shorts, a black v-neck t-shirt and a pair of green plaid converse and hoped that's what one was supposed to wear to a concert. 

Emery played last and by the time they walked onto the stage I was feeling much more at ease. My wardrobe choices had been pretty spot on, I didn't seem to be doing anything terribly lame to embarrass Tom, and the guys were doing a very noble job of standing between me and the mosh pit. 

They played a few songs before getting to this one. I still remember the feeling that washed over me with the very first notes. I knew immediately what song it was, I knew all the words, I could sing along with the rest of the sweaty strangers that surrounded me. I was a part of it. The music washed over us all and reverberated through our bodies, and we were all connected by the words and instruments. 

It was in that moment that I fell in love with live music. It was so loud you couldn't hear yourself think, but you could feel the notes vibrate from your head to your toes. That was the first of many, many times Tom and I saw Emery live together, and the first of many, many shows I went to throughout high school. We saw all kinds of bands in all kinds of venues, and I fell more deeply in love with it all every time. To this day, there are few things that feel more natural to me than listening to live music in a tiny little dive. 

That moment, listening to this song, feeling the floor vibrate, smelling the sweat, hearing the unified cry of the crowd, changed me. Even though I may enjoy a flashy country concert or dream of seeing Justin Timberlake live, nothing compares to being packed into a dive bar like a sardine and tangibly feeling the pure passion and enjoyment of music. 

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