to see a marching band
This last Saturday, I attended a concert. If you're reading this, you probably already know this. And I had an experience that I will remember for my entire life. From the second I stepped out of the car until I collapsed into bed in the wee hours of the morning, I was on one hell of a ride. And honestly, I'm still kind of hyped from the energy of the entire thing. And the sensation that blows my mind can be summed up in three simple words: I was there.
As I get older and have more experiences, I have slowly collected "I was there" experiences. Some I knew were going to be big going in, and some I didn't even realize were significant until later. This thing, this event that lives in the minds of a lot of people lives in my mind differently because I was there. And maybe it's my FOMO talking, or maybe it's because I was born in 1994 and had lived through several history-book-worthy moments before my 30th birthday, but there is something cool about being able to say you were there. I'm sure I'll get tired of it someday, but today is not that day.
When I was growing up, like everyone else, I heard adults talk about interesting things from world events to cultural shifts and just cool performances. Being at something like Burning Man or remembering the Kennedy assassination was something interesting to me. I had my first "I was there" in 2001 when the twin towers collapsed, a day with ripple effects that have affected billions of lives. Everyone remembered that day when I was in school, and now? No one was there except the staff. Those kids, what's their "I was there?" Is it the COVID19 lockdown? The January 6th riots? Positive or negative, those cultural shifts immediately register (at least to me) as "This is something big, and I am here living in it." When I cleaned out my glove box, I found a letter from the company I worked for in 2020, stating that I was an essential worker and was allowed to be out and about during the height of lockdown. I kept it. Why? I was there. It's a physical reminder that I was there.
An "I was there" doesn't have to be a big cultural shift, either. It can be something that, while not necessarily vital to world politics, means a lot to your subculture or fandom. One of my "I was there" moments was opening night of Avengers: Infinity War. I saw it when there were no spoilers to be had, in a packed theater. When the credits rolled, I have never heard that big of a reaction in a movie theater. People were cheering and pulling out phones to tell others that they needed to see this. I was born too late for the original Star Wars premiers, so I can only guess that this excitement and need to share the moment was similar for the growing geek subculture of the 70s.
And here we have, on August second, 2025, another "I was there." I attended My Chemical Romance's "Long Live the Black Parade" tour along with my best friend, Rachael. I was most certainly not the only one there. Globe life field was sold out with somewhere around 40,000 people and enough black eyeliner to supply the entire Broadway cast of "Sweeney Todd." Most of my fellow attendees had similar stories to me and my best friend, belting out the album when our parents weren't around and the songs were brand new. We remember when the band broke up, and when they got back together. And now, we are here to belt out these songs one more time, together, with the band playing live. How could I not be totally stoked?
If you've been to any big concerts, you know that the energy is something that you can't get anywhere else. The crowd's excitement all feeds into this intense atmosphere, and when the band is feeling it too, it feels like every nerve is on end, taking in every iota of every moment, and you cant help but sing, scream, raise your hands, and bounce with the music. From the first snare drums of the intro to the second the house lights came up, Rachael and I were on our feet, totally surrounded by and inhabiting this concert.
I was there, but I was far from the only one. When I posted about the concert on my social media, several of my friends and acquaintances replied to say that they had been there, too. We had all existed in the same moment and hadn't even known it, and now we share that experience of being there.
I looked up a video of the concert that had been posted to YouTube because I was curious as to whether the wall of sound I felt was just because I was within it. Sure enough, almost as loud as Gerard Way at times, tens of thousands of humans from all walks of life, with one voice, singing clearly enough to make out the lyrics of "Welcome to the Black Parade." I have been in choirs since I was a kid, and I have heard groups of 200 that can't be that focused. And best of all, somewhere in that sound, about three-quarters of the way back, on the left, is me. You can't make it out, but like a snowflake in a blizzard, my voice is part of this incredible spectacle. I was there.
If that kind of borderline-overload intensity isn't for you, I get it. If huge crowds and loud noises make you want to curl up in a ball and die, that's fine. I call myself a sensation junkie because I love this kind of thing. But you don't have to be a sensation junkie to appreciate being "there." It's kind of hard to hide from living though something significant if you live long enough. Good or bad, there is something interesting about just being...there.
I guess this post is mostly a recognition of my "I was there" moments, and if you're reading this, I hope you think back on some of yours. I also hope you have some that you remember fondly, like an unforgettable show or cultural milestone. I know one note that will forever remind me that I was there.
*Piano plays a G*