I've decided that its time for me to come clean. It's time to stop cowering behind the information that I surreptitiously glean from conversations and car rides with Wes. It's time to own up: I have abysmal taste in music.
The best one can say about my taste in music is that it is eclectic if inequitable. I love Tom Waits, Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac, but I also loooove Britney, Taio Cruz and Katy Perry. It may seem wrong and deplorable but they are like children: different (VERY different) but equally loved and appreciated despite the disparity in their technical skill sets.
Given this information, one would not anticipate what I am about to talk about. It's one of those unlikely pairings like Othello and Desdemona, or maple syrup and pickles. There's something about good live music that makes me want to shake my rrrump, smile, close my eyes and sway all at the same time. Just like there's nothing like a good thumping base (and some vodka) to make me shake my money maker, there's nothing like a concert to make me want to smile.
In July, Wes and I saw Dave Matthews Band in West Palm. For those of you just tuning in, West Palm Beach is synonymous with amazing because it means I get to see Club Fun for a night. Since the Universe was feeling kind said reunion occurred over an outstanding coconut shrimp sushi role. Thank you oh holiest of Universes for Hog Snappers all things akin to a coconut shrimp sushi roll.
Back to my point: DMB. I have to admit that even though I've seen them live the last three out of four years, I don't love, love, LOVE DMB. I like Dave Matthews Band but my like is pretty well limited to their songs with words. What can I say, I like to sing along. DMB live though is a lot of jamming, I'm sure it's a lot of fun for the band but I have to admit it doesn't exactly make my nipples fly off. Regardless, while I sat on the lawn in the West Palm Amphitheater and I realized that I was just plain, uncomplicated happy. Maybe it was the gigantic beers after a day at the pool, or maybe it was the relief of not getting caught in a South Florida summer rainstorm. Maybe it was being asked: "hey, will you stand in front of me so that strangers won't see me pee into this empty beer cup." I don't really know but I do know that I was just really...content. It was this amazing weekend that I haven't blogged about it because I just didn't know how to explain this contentedness with getting all gooey, mundane and cliche. I'm okay with gooey but there's nothing worse than mundane and cliche.
This past weekend we went to see O.A.R at the St. Augustine Amphitheater and I got it. Somewhere amidst the pot smoke and saxophone playing I got it. I love concerts because they are giant assemblage of happy people. Everyone at a concert is happy. People dance like arm flailing is going out of style and nobody's watching so the just go for it. Watching the other concert-goers this past weekend there was a freedom, a pure, unadulterated sense of glee and the need to move one's body in accordance. That is what I love about live music.
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