Thank You for the Music
A Millennial at the Boomer Rock Show
I attended my first concert when I was seven years old: Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band on The Rising Tour at MetLife Stadium.
Ushering me into the world of live music this way felt appropriate given that the first CD I bought at the age of four was Born in the U.S.A. I subsequently asked my mom to pop the album into one of the six slots in her car’s disc changer, which lived in the trunk. I learned those songs backwards and forwards playing them en route to dance class or tagging along running errands. I could barely tie my shoes but I could belt out every word to “I’m on Fire,” albeit off-key. Honestly, it kind of felt like a more useful life skill. The world offered velcro shoes. It did not have endless musicians like The Boss.
Every single moment of the show was legendary. The strobe lights, the crowd cheering, even the merchandise booth (they didn’t have kids shirts, so I ended up with a program I still have today). Despite multiple offers from the ushers, I was too stubborn to use earplugs. I didn’t want to somehow dampen the full experience. It felt absolutely worth it, even if I did go home with a slight ringing in my head.
I’d had my first taste of live music and almost instantaneously I wanted more. The concert bug bit me and held on.
I’ve seen dozens of shows since that night across the spectrum. Warped Tour artists on small headlining runs. Jonas Brothers, Maroon 5, and Train at suburban amphitheaters. Taylor Swift back when she opened for Keith Urban. They have all been special. Lately though, I’ve had the most fun at concerts for performers not of my generation, but of my mother’s.
My mother had quite the life in her “before Rachel days,” as she calls them. A lot of this was around music since she grew in the golden-age of rock and roll. Her first concert was The Carpenters in the 1970s . She saw U2 perform in a Dublin pub before they hit it big and once bumped into KISS—in full make-up—before a gig in Australia. She even followed rockers Extreme around in the 90s, to the point where they remembered her by name (as well as the delicious cookies she baked them).
Have you ever noticed those t-shirts, the ones that say, “I may be old but I got to see all the cool bands”? Yeah, that’s my mom; the same woman who, once she had a baby, played Annie Lennox and Carole King in lieu of lullabies to help me fall asleep. Her taste has undoubtedly influenced mine, and I’m grateful for it.
As often as we saw modern bands growing up, my mother also took me to her favorite performers. We had front row tickets for Bryan Adams’s acoustic set at the Beacon Theatre in 2011, and were lucky enough to see Peter Frampton come alive in Connecticut the same year. Two years later we went to the Roseland Ballroom for The B-52’s and The Go-Go’s. Soon, the playlists on my 2010 iPod touch were as filled with bands I discovered as a teenager as it was with groups my mom had found at that age.
A favorite artist for both of us is Stevie Nicks. I got so into her as a teenager that I gave up my mini skirts, replacing them with ankle-length lace and tulle. I had the long, blonde waves at the time to match. My high school teachers stopped calling me an old soul (thank god) and instead decided I was just lost in the wrong generation. Probably a more accurate assessment.
Last year, I noticed Stevie was still touring the US. My mom had long been a fan, but had never seen her live. I could think of no better birthday present. The only tickets I could find were for the show with Billy Joel in Columbus, Ohio, but it was worth every penny.
I had never witnessed my mom experience so many different emotions during a concert. From dancing around to “Gypsy” to belting out “Dreams” to swaying to “Leather and Lace,” no moment was left unfelt. She was a teenager in her bedroom again, singing and dancing to the record player. It made me feel so much, too. My mother and I are generally very close, but singing along during the finale—a performance of “Landslide” in a touching tribute to the late Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac—was particularly special. Looking around The Ohio Stadium, other women were doing the same thing; generations remembering the first time they’d heard the nearly fifty year-old song, realizing how differently it hit now as they felt older and changed themselves. Same went for when “The Piano Man” himself performed his greatest hits in the second half.
There is something about songs from the “golden age” that can impact such varied generations of people that I’m not sure can be said of more modern hits. I think some of this comes from the fact artists had to work a bit harder back before technology had a heavy hand in music production, that their original tours were about living in the moment rather than capturing it on your iPhone. Time will be the judge on whether or not recent hits will make it into the headphones of new listeners ten, twenty-five, fifty years in the future. But for now, I’m making sure to hear the live renditions of the tracks that have already passed that test.
Since the show in Ohio, my mom and I went to New Jersey last fall to say farewell to The Eagles on their Long Goodbye Tour featuring Steely Dan, and most recently traveled to Minneapolis for an amazing night of Chicago and Earth, Wind & Fire. Part of me is doing this because I genuinely enjoy the shows (and being the only person carded in the drink line is flattering), but I’m also aware these artists—most of whom are in their seventies—won’t be on the road forever. Certainly not as long as modern touring musicians; the shows I have basically attended by way of endless videos on my Instagram feeds.
I want to dance in the “Boogie Wonderland” and linger with the “Gold Dust Woman” while I can, to be young and to have seen all the cool bands. So far this summer, I have no complaints.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
Summertime for me always brings about thoughts of Limoncello and Aperol Spritz, and also makes me crave good pasta. My local—which I’ve ordered far too much delivery from lately—is Norma Gastronomia. They offer classic Sicilian dishes and wine in a friendly, intimate setting. Everything I’ve ever tried there is delicious, but the burrata is especially tasty. Just the thought has my mouth watering.
The other thing the warmer months mean is lots of sandals and beach time, which means a lot of wear and tear on my toes. I’ve started using the Sol de Janeiro Delícia Drench Body Butter on my feet each night before bed. Given that the brand is inspired by the hot, Brazilian sun, it’s no wonder that it does so much good skin repair. Just one week and I noticed a difference.
I’ve traded in podcasts for audiobooks this summer. Lately, I’ve been listening to Here for the Wrong Reasons, a debut romcom (from real-life girlfriends Lydia Wang and Annabel Paulson) about two women who meet on a The Bachelor-style dating show and end up falling for each other. It’s so much fun, and so sweet! I recommend getting your copy from The Ripped Bodice, a fabulous romance-exclusive indie bookstore in NY and LA.