The first concert I attended, I didn’t even know the band. I was fourteen, and some close family friends had tickets that they couldn’t use. They sold them off to my parents for cheap, and my whole family decided to go together.
It was my mom who was the Hedley fan, not me. I had heard a few of their songs, but I had never paid any attention to bands before. I just liked to listen to single songs. In fact, I partially expected to hate the concert, as I had delicate ears and was never a fan of loud noises in the first place. My parents even got ear plugs for my sister and I, which we promptly forgot at home before heading out to Hamilton.
After eating our free lukewarm buffet dinner in a small restaurant above the amphitheatre, we headed down to take our seats. There were two opening acts left before Hedley came on, both rappers with a single hit song and dozens more that no one cared about. They were good enough with what they did, but neither of them could hold my attention. One of the performers seemed to think that he was the headliner, and behaved as if he were a teenaged girl and the audience was a giant cell phone for him to take selfies with. He walked, danced, and sang with little regard for the crowd except for when he asked some screaming girls in the front if they wanted him to take his shirt off. The other performer was better, in that he didn’t annoy me just by existing, but didn't perform as well as I thought he could have. I barely remember what he sang, and he had nearly no stage presence. His songs sounded like elevator music to me, completely devoid of any emotion. I think I left halfway through his set to get an ice cream
When he left the stage, the crew came out to switch around the equipment, which took nearly half an hour. I wondered how long the rest of the show would take and when I could go home and read.
But when the lights dimmed again and the announcer said in his stadium voice that Hedley was about to come on stage, the mood changed. The casual atmosphere the audience had maintained previously, joking and talking during the songs and not really paying much attention to the performers, shifted abruptly to a very serious air. Every single person in the theatre was suddenly on their feet as if for the national anthem instead of a simple rock concert. The atmosphere was more contagious than a bad idea, and I found myself excited as any of the diehard fans that surrounded me. My family and I were forced to our feet in order to see over the heads of those in front of us.
The band began playing just milliseconds before the lights came up, their song starting with a crash and a bang echoed by the screams of the crowd. The sound levels skyrocketed faster than the stage lights could begin their pulsing, mechanized dance.
When the lead vocalist began to sing the first lines of the opening number, it felt almost like the melody was already familiar to me even though I had never heard it before. I could anticipate and predict every coming note, and yet I was still surprised and amazed by the music that was being created live and right in front of me. It felt like the melody was being physically drawn out of him, like he was slowly feeding it out to the audience who kept demanding more. He didn’t dance so much as skip across the stage, interacting with the other members of the band, who all seemed to be slaving away over their guitars and drum set and yet somehow completely at ease, as the singer whirled around like a child's’ pinwheel, fast and colourful. He was not a good dancer by any stretch of imagination, but the sheer enthusiasm and bravado that he moved with made it seem like he was better than any professional.
I think for the first few numbers I just stood there grinning like an idiot, loving every ear-blasting, heart thumping minute of it and feeling myself get caught up in the music, but also not wanting to dance in front of my parents. I then transitioned to trying to capture every minute of it I could, taking as many videos and photos as my phone would allow, never wanting the concert to end.
The concert flowed smoothly, the heavier, angry songs leading down into soft, acoustic melodies, and back up into happy and upbeat numbers. Almost everyone in the audience seemed to know the words, and so beneath each song was a cacophony of repeated lyrics, cheering, and screaming. The loudness I thought I would hate surrounded me, and instead of being overwhelmed, I felt oddly peaceful in the middle of all the craziness.
About halfway through, my mom pulled at my sleeve and yelled to me that my dad had left with my sister because she couldn’t handle the noise level, and that we had to leave. I didn't even noticed them go, I was so engrossed in what was happening on stage. As the music faded behind me I promised I would come to another Hedley concert some time in my life, and stay the whole way through.
“So, Mere, what did you think, huh?” asked my mom in the car as we began the drive back from Hamilton to Oakville. I could hear the smile in her voice. She knew I liked it, and was glad to have converted me into fan of one of her favourite bands.
It took me a couple of seconds to realize she had even asked me a question. I was too busy trying to remember lyrics to google for song titles, the bass from the concert still beating in my chest like a second pulse. I had requested we leave the radio off, because I wanted to retain the memory of those songs in my mind.
“It was great,” I said. “I loved it. It was so cool!”
As we drove home my parents discussed trivial things, my sister stared out the window sleepy-eyed and ready to go to bed, and I could still feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
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