Music and Me

I think most people can identify with the following: being a teenager, holed up in your room, listening to music with the passion and interest of… a cult member. I don’t care how old or dumb you are, you know there was a point in your life when music had embedded itself within the fabric of your existence. Said in terms that dramatic. Whether you worshipped Led Zeppelin or Lou Reed or Bruce Springsteen or Nirvana or 2Pac or Taylor Swift or Insane Clown Posse or whoever! Adolescents’ gravitating to music as a means of establishing independence is a normal stage of development.

But I was always that kid, from a super young age when I fell fast and hard for Beethoven (young, female, asian, piano player, sheltered upbringing, I mean come on) up through my turbulent teenaged-angst years when The Get Up Kids and Nine Inch Nails were equal parts of my weird, way too emotional, makeup.

I am an obsessive person. Every single song I have ever posted on thestonermom.com is a song that I have listened to on repeat, at least 100 times each. Lyrics kill me. Like, they slay me. The lyrics to songs can choke me. Can make me start crying when driving my kids around! Dumb lyrics, good lyrics. It really doesn’t matter you guys. As I have stated before, I am extremely stereotypically girly, and being super emotional about basically all sorts of art forms is just kinda me.

Because yeah, as an adult, well past the teenage years, music can still impact your life. When you’re one of those people who loves music, it’s just always a part of the soundtrack. The greatest loves of my life are represented in song. My deepest fears, private longings, clearest memories. I remember driving away from California for the last time, and the Rolling Stones ‘Can’t Always Get What You Want‘ came on the radio, and I sobbed and sang as I crossed the border from the Golden State to Utah, cigarette in hand. Or when I had an MRI while 7 months pregnant for the first time, and I sang ‘He Leadeth Me” to keep my mind and my fears for my baby at bay. Or when I gave birth to Elizabeth, and had Radiohead’s In Rainbows on repeat, singing and breathing through contractions.

Which Brings us to Radiohead

Radiohead is the only band that I have followed from middle school well into adult life. And something tells me I’ll be following them for many years yet. They are, by far, my favorite band, and the one I think holds the certain distinctions as far as relevance in 21st century music. But beyond the snobby music speak, Radiohead makes me feel things. Things so subtle and so sweet and so sad, that for every emotion I have, there is a Radiohead song to accompany it.

How to Disappear Completely:

I’m not here, this isn’t happening.

So because of this, seeing Radiohead in person has been a lifelong dream. And one day in 2012 the stars aligned in such a way that just a few days after my 29th birthday and with a 2 and 4 year old at home, I went by myself to see Radiohead.

To get a general idea of what state my life was in at that moment you would have to know that 1) I was extremely depressed 2) I was extremely restless and 3) I wanted very, very, badly to be loved passionately.

For me to have stepped out like this, with my young girls at home, to go to a concert full of what I imagined would be youths (I don’t know why), BY MYSELF. This was huge. This was before I was smoking weed and I was still totally high strung. Who am I kidding, I’m still highly strung.

But I went! I drove and parked all by myself without having an anxiety attack. I waited in line, weed wafting in the air, and when the doors to the arena opened I BOLTED. I ran straight to the bathroom before any other female, peed out of paranoia that I wouldn’t have a chance later, (telling you this because only women who have given vaginal birth two times understand my paranoia), and then out the doors I dashed, out into general admission, racing straight to the stage and only stopping when there was nothing between me and the stage but a security gate.

I Instagrammed my night, naturally;

Radiohead proceeded to play a set that left me in a state of disbelief. Every song I wanted to hear they played, and I found myself dancing with wild abandon with the nearest fellow concert goer (lucky fellow hah!).

The following videos are from the exact show I was at, (thanks YouTube!) front row, pressed up against the rail and crying/screaming/singing/dancing without the aid of any controlled substance.

National Anthem:

Most Awesome Part From Idioteque:

By the time Idioteque started I had danced into a new era of my life. Somehow during those two hours I walked away knowing it was okay for me to pursue the life I wanted. I had just turned 29 and I was ready to be loved right.