#pwts

The truth is, I dove in headfirst. After that drive to Chicago to see TLB, I drove to Virginia (3+ hours, I think?) to see the T’s again. It was the first time I was invited backstage, and I have to tell you, there is no better feeling than being called away from the crowds of people waiting by the fence for a mere glimpse of the very people you’re now walking towards. You feel special and you feel like you’re not just another face in the crowd.

When they told security to let me back, I doubt they knew they were unleashing a monster (I’m kidding, sort of).

I moved to Chicago at the end of that summer. It wasn’t because the T’s were from there (trust me, they only played 2 shows during the 9 months we shared a city), but that fact certainly didn’t hurt. I felt connected to Chicago in some strange way because these people I loved so much were from there. I hoped I’d somehow run into them (in a city of millions - totally plausible, right?). Spoiler alert: I never did.

I actually saw them less than when I’d been living in Pennsylvania.

As it turned out, Chicago wasn’t for me. It broke my heart, but I refused to run home with my tail between my legs. Instead, I moved all the way out to California (if there was a music video for ‘Meet Me in California’ I’d link it here, but the band clearly wasn’t considering the fact that I might need that someday when they blatantly ignored it when choosing singles. Rude). 

California is tough. It’s expensive and I work more hours than I ever have in my life - and I once went to school full time while working full time and working a part-time internship. But what’s really neat about California is that I feel like an adult. I can make adult decisions - shocking for a 28-year-old, I know. I work so much that I can reward myself in different ways.

A new tattoo.

A new outfit.

A trip to (insert state here).

And that’s where this blog entry comes from.

I’d traveled to see the T’s before, of course. The idea of traveling wasn’t new. But the idea of flying to different states, of driving up the coast, for a day? Three days? A week? However long I needed... and doing so regularly?

That was new.

To give you an idea of what I mean when I say regularly, here are some boring numbers:

2015: 3 PWTs shows. Farthest travel time: 9 hour drive both directions (Ohio).

2016: 4 PWTs shows. 2 TLB shows. Farthest travel time: 12 hour drive both directions (TLB outside of Chicago).

2017: 3 PWTs shows. 2 TLB shows. Farthest travel time: Roughly 7 hour drive both ways, split between 3 people (PWTs in Montreal, Canada).

2018 (as of June 25th): 5 PWTs shows (including NYE, which was really the end of 2017). Farthest travel time: 7 hour flight (New Hampshire. In February. A reminder: I LIVE IN LOS ANGELES.)

So as you can see if you cared enough to read that, I’m in a little deeper than I was last year. I’m able to take off of work and fly to this city or that state and bring my dog and it’s... it’s sort of magical. And freeing!

And it clicked for me why those girls used to follow tours and watch the same band 50 times.

Before the band came on last night at the Chameleon Club, a couple of drunk girls got nasty. They killed the vibe in the venue and made everyone feel pretty miserable. The front section was tense, even after the relief of the group being physically removed. I stood with my arms over the barricade, wondering why I’d even come at all - what if this was the memory I left with? What if I flew home to Pennsylvania for 3 days, just to be miserable at the concert I’d been looking forward to since the last one six weeks prior? 

And then the music started.

And it was like those girls had never even been there. It was like work hadn’t been stressful on Thursday and I hadn’t spent all of Friday feeling nauseous and sick. It was like I’d never had a fight or been wronged. All that mattered was that moment.

I couldn’t recite to you the set list (I’m still a little bitter I didn’t get one, I’m sorry!). I couldn’t name the new songs they performed. I used to spend so much of every concert on my phone, trying to film my favorites and get the good angles and not be right next to the speaker so the playback wouldn’t just be a horrifying blurry buzzing noise. 

But I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen the show a thousand times. And it’s not old or boring or played out. I’ve got some of the memories saved on the hard drive of my old laptop or stored on my phone somewhere. But now I get to live in the moment and just sing and dance and love every second. Everyone knows you can’t sing along while you’re recording because all you’ll hear is your own voice like you’re singing right into the mic.

So now I just get to sing. And Tom asks me my name and Tim and Dave laugh when he says “nice to meet you” because we all know I just want love and attention and that’s Tom’s way of granting my wish.

And now I just get to enjoy the fucking show and then look back at the pictures someone else took (hi Darren!) and you can literally see the love in my eyes. There’s no phone screen in the way. Nothing in between me and my favorite people.

I’m genuinely moved every time I see a show. I think for a band to stay together for as long as the T’s have, there’s gotta be just a ton of love for what they’re creating and performing. And oh, GOD, does it show. They just have so much fun and I’ve written it to death now, I think, but I don’t care. They have fun, which makes me have fun. And I suspect it works the other way, too: the audience is having fun, so they’re having fun.

Also, Tim whipped out a fucking ukulele so it was always bound to be a good night, you know?

(I didn’t get a picture because I was living in the moment, you guys. I am sorry though - I would have loved a photo of that.)

So, there you go. “Why do you travel to see a band you’ve seen a hundred times before?” “Why do you see them so much?” “Are you really going to see them again?” “Aren’t you kind of a stalker?”

Okay, so sort of yes to the last one but... it’s because I’m doing what makes me happy. And other guys just don’t do it for me like they do.