Where we start

As something of a preamble to forthcoming posts (call it a warning, if you will) I thought I might address the matter of my nostalgic canon becoming well near untamable in the last year.

Most people who will read this know a version of me that’s only come to be in the last half-decade. They know the me who drives for hours, queues for hours, talks for hours and is altogether ambitious and unencumbered all for the love of music.

They don’t know the me that wouldn’t have fathomed driving into a city — any city, let alone one 500 miles away — parking somewhere unknown and walking into a building unknown full of people unknown.

When I started going to concerts in my late 20s, I started having friends. I started having a self outside myself, I started having stories to tell. In some sense it feels like the start of me.

But it wasn’t. And even though my life is profoundly better for those changes, I’ve started in some way to miss the strange secluded condition in which I became inextricably glued to music, when I had nobody to tell about it, nobody to laud it and nobody to tear it down.

It was just me and my mind and the Coldplay CDs I spun in near perpetuity. I had a career and dreams and ambitions but most of that’s gone and the farther it seems behind me, the more I appreciate what stood through all of it: a few songs and my cars.

In years since, I’ve been exceedingly lucky to have my world blown open by live music and the people I’ve met through it. I belong there, which I don’t altogether do anywhere else. But a piece of me also belongs to the music I loved alone, because that’s how I got here.

Twenty-sixteen gave me two opportunities to let my desperate obsession with nostalgia ride full-speed while still moving forward, rather than the backwards that nostalgia tends to want to go. One of them was a powerhouse year for Coldplay that I needed more than I thought I did; the other was a bucket-list titan of a tour from David Gilmour.

I hope to post some belated thoughts on both in the coming days, with pictures to keep it marginally interesting. There are a handful of other bands I’ve come to love intensely that will make appearances here, but Coldplay and Pink Floyd seem a good lead off.

Because they are, in so many ways, where I start.

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2 thoughts on “Where we start

  1. Ceci, I’ll never forget the first time we met, in that sketchy parking lot in Detroit…The start of a great Muse/Frank friendship 😆. I love who you are and I love your writing. Keep up the good work, my dear! See you at some queue, somewhere!

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    • Ah, Corktown Inn … talk about an adventure. I will never forget that; we were all trying to make introductions while at the same time like “we need to get out of here immediately” haha. Thank you, and I hope we get a chance to freeze or melt in a queue somewhere soon!

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