This past weekend, I and two of my other friends went to a concert for an artist I’ve been wanting to see live since I was sixteen, Will Wood. Will’s shows are notorious for being small and 18+, and for a while I thought I’d never get to see him in person, as he was on an extended hiatus when I turned eighteen. So naturally, when he announced he was coming back to go on a tour with fellow artist Shayfer James, my friends and I all got on a call together to try and get tickets. His Chicago show was on a Wednesday during midterms week, and most of the rest of his midwest shows sold out fast, so we ended up driving all the way to Kalamazoo, Michigan to see him, and what an incredible experience that was.
I believe the experience of hearing live music to be equivalent to a religious experience. I have never left a concert without having been moved to tears by the performance, and I have never left a concert unchanged. Will Wood was no different, especially considering the songs he played. From White Noise to Cicada Days to Against the Kitchen Floor to Skeleton Appreciation Day, there wasn’t a moment that wasn’t filled with raw emotion—interspersed, of course, with lovely discussions of fanfiction and getting E. Coli at a hibachi restaurant.Â
Hearing these songs live wasn’t the only thing that made me so emotional—it was the experience of being part of the crowd, standing room only, so we were all squished together, all singing along and all part of the conversation. It was hearing some people do harmonies, some singing the main part, and some adding in the quips that were in the original pieces. It was watching the tears stream down my best friend’s face as they screamed out the lyrics to THE song, the one that they can always count on to make them cry in a way that signals that they know they are not alone. It was the silence of sitting in the car afterwards, the slight pounding behind my eyes and blurred vision that made me know I’d have a migraine when I woke up, the silent acknowledgement that all of us were still processing that experience. It was the conversations I had with my friends since then, each admitting and acknowledging that the concert brought some serious emotions to the surface for the first time in a while. It was the vulnerability and comfort that followed.
And most importantly of all, it was the fact that the CD my friend bought that says “Certified worst edition (pressing!)” on it. I genuinely think that was the greatest part.