Rockstar

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I believe in live music.  I believe that it should be loud, and on key, and should make you want to stand up in your seat to dance, or sing along, or whatever bothers the square who refuses to stand up behind you.

I believe in standing in line for tickets.  Or, even camping out in the snow in January, outside a snooty theater with five hundred other eager college students, who like you,  just want to hear their favorite song.

I believe in the pre-game and the rules.  You cannot listen to the artist on the way to the show, but  you can listen on the way home. You should go out to dinner with the people you’re seeing the show with beforehand, and you should order at least one dark beer at this dinner, or maybe a vodka tonic.

I believe in tapers.  People who capture the show on very expensive mikes (with the permission of the artists), so that years later, after I’m married and have a child, I can sit in my classroom and listen to what it sounded like to fall in love, in a small venue, while my favorite singer was playing a rare, acoustic,  solo gig.

I believe in set breaks.  I believe that you need to roam the venue, up to the balcony, or down to the floor, or maybe just outside the back door to catch your breath in the summer night, and let the ringing in your ears just cease for a minute.

I believe in dancing. Not bounce your head in four-four time dancing, but real, you just worked too long, you’re not sure when you’re going to pay your rent, but you’re here and your feet can move,  and your bottom can shake, and your arms can wave in the air,  kind of dancing.

I believe in encores.  I believe that everyone should have one more go at it, one more chance to make the crowd sway, one more chance to play that girl’s favorite tune, and once more chance to make me feel like I’m at church, even if it’s 11 o’clock on a Tuesday.

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