Herd

I went to a concert on Saturday. Local bands, groups I had only vaguely
heard of. My friend assured me I'd like them.

The opening band was noise. Straight unsettled noise. The follow-up act
was better, but still indecipherable, only approaching music.

I sat and watched the crowd as much as I watched anything on stage. I'll
always assert that an audience is equally as entertaining as virtually
any spectacle.

We stepped outside to escape the smoke and sweat. I asked my friend why
we come to concerts like this, what's the appeal? He said it's about the
music. I think that's a patent lie.

If it was about the music, they wouldn't have the volume up at such an
unnaturaly high and sustained level that it kills hearing cells. They
wouldn't have the main lights dimmed and the colored lights, strobe, and
disco ball rolling. There wouldn't be smoke machines fogging the already
rank air. The lead singer wouldn't wear black tights, cowboy boots, a
flattened mohawk, and Long John Silver's ruffled button-up. The girl
next to me wouldn't call him sexy. There wouldn't be gaggles of early
teens glancing uncomfortably, late teens trying to look cool, and mid
twenty somethings with despondent stares.

I played along. I danced, I sang, I screamed.

But I'm too old for this. If not in age then in heart. Too old to enjoy
the noise.

-Sent from Austin's phone.