At the end of 2014 my favorite person in the world, Aya Aziz, and I ventured to Detroit to the legendary Saint Andrews Hall to see none other than Julian Casablancas+The Voidz (now just The Voidz). Aya and I had known each other since I moved to Ann Arbor Michigan in 2010. Four years later and my love for indie crooners in leather jackets had rubbed off on her and now she was just as foolish as I was for music. We headed out to Saint Andrews on a snowy December day in Detroit. We spent our time in line discussing life, our super foreign-ness and nicknaming the people around us, specifically two guys in line with us, Killer Cheekbones and Fabulous Hair. As I took out my phone to check the time Killer Cheekbones asked me if that was Jack White on my screen saver. I excitedly and proudly said yes, also bragged about being in the show at The Fox theater (this was for the Lazaretto tour, killer show btw). Cheekbones pulled out his phone and showed his screensaver, same Jack, same show same night. Talk about bonding in the modern age. Needless to say, Killer Cheekbones, Fabulous Hair, Aya and I spent a great indie night with good old man Casablancas. (Human Sadness was performed in its entirety so that’s enough for this lifetime)
Flash forward to the month of May 2015, Interpol is on tour for El Pintor and I am ready to get my tickets, Aya however can't come with me! (The fucking world conspires against my happiness) Aya had been my only person to understand my "exotic" musical taste and nobody wanted to come and see the depressed guys from Interpol. After harassing multiple people to come with me I concluded that Interpol would come and go, just like my dreams. I was fucking pissed. Shook. Sad, and I needed a record to make me sadder so I played Turn On the Bright lights till I shut my feelings down.
You see my frustration stemmed out in the fact that I was finally lucky enough to live in a country where artists actually go on tour (shout out to Honduras for not being this country) and I was going to miss one of my favorite bands because nobody wanted to come with me.
After feeling numb on my 15th playing of Turn on the Bright Lights I needed to proceed to step number 2 in my self-destruction/feeling shutdown plan: FOOD. I have a great relationship with food as I do with alcohol.
Gotta celebrate? Eat & Drink. Gotta be sad? Eat & Drink. Gotta shiv an idiot? Eat & Drink. Mourning? Eat & Drink. In love? Eat & Drink.
I went to my go to spot in Ann Arbor called Mia Za's. They had a killer broccoli cheddar soup and chicken Cesar salad (the only way I would consume vegetables during college was if it was drenched in cheese and chicken, with a side of garlic bread). Mia Za's was one of those places where you wrote what you wanted on a piece of paper and then someone would scream out your name and you go get your food. Effective, low maintenance and above all a great place to avoid human interactions. I purposefully enjoyed going since it was the one place no one would give me sad puppy eyes for sitting by myself while I scarfed down some food and enjoyed another episode of Lost on Netflix. As I dipped my fresh garlic bread into my broccoli cheddar soup (good god my fucking arteries are going to kill me someday) I had the epiphany: If I can eat a full meal by myself in a restaurant why can't I go to a concert by myself?
I couldn't come up with a reasonable answer to this question. What the hell was I so afraid of? I had grown up in a dangerous city and was often plagued by my parent's advice on staying alive. The usual when you are growing up:
Don't talk to strangers
Don't talk to drug dealers
Don't leave the house because you know what this whole place is fucked up
Don't get beheaded
If you are in a car chase don't go to the police (not that I would even know where the fuck the police station is in San Pedro Sula anyway)
The answer to why I was afraid of going alone was simple. The world is pretty fucked up. It is a special kind of fucked up when you are a woman. It's an extra special kind if you are also a woman who smiles at strangers and happens to have a huge rack. I had never thought about going alone to anything in San Pedro Sula because that was simply out of the question, my Spidey sense tingles at this kind of moronic idea. Not because society would find it sad (they would but more on this other fear later) but because it was against my survival rules, the ones I use every time I walk out the door no matter where I am. But here I was in a different city, one where people left their doors unlocked and the closest thing to a gang was the pack of wild squirrels that would steal your lunch at the quad. For the first time in my life I had the opportunity to just be alone someplace without really thinking much about my impending beheading. I felt a jolt of excitement at the idea, it was a new experience, one that I didn't know I needed but knew I now wanted. I screamed fuck it loudly while I nearly choked on my garlic bread (I didn't but it sounds cooler like this) and I bought my floor ticket to see Interpol in Detroit.
A couple of days before the show Killer cheekbones texted me to see if Aya and I were going. I told him I would be ridding solo for the night and he mentioned he was on the same boat. Killer cheekbones didn't want to venture out alone for the show, so he was also trying to find a person to go with. I had not seen Cheekbones since the Voidz so I didn’t really know this person and I could see the figment of my Latin mother saying
"¡Si por eso te van a descabezar, por pendeja!" Translation: You are getting beheaded because you are a fucking moron.
Day of show Cheekbones and I met for pizza, because Spidey sense said meet in a public place perhaps after he sees you eating all the appeal of murdering you will be gone. Two scenarios would play out that evening:
A. He would kill me and stuff my head in a fridge and then enjoy the show
B. I would make a new concert buddy and then we would enjoy the show
As you are now reading this blog, you are right I did not get Bundy'd. Killer cheekbones and I met in Detroit and had an ok deep dish pizza and then headed out to the Fillmore to get our jam on. Interpol came saw and conquered. It was during Rest my Chemistry, minute 3:55 mark where you tilt your head back and let go of everything, that I realized I had done what most people fear. I was alone at a show (technically) and was fucking loving it. I knew then and there that it would never matter if anyone wanted to come to a show with me, this is my singular experience and damn it I will enjoy it with or without anyone by my side. Cheekbones and I didn’t say a word to each other once the lights were dimmed. The time to socialize was over, once the lights are out it's just the music and I, no one else. What was that fear everyone has of experiencing this alone? I'm going to blame it on society because why not, you all know how that shit works, you do something weird like eating alone and bam you are this dude (the Antelope, although I do look like a ferocious beast when I eat so it works both ways). It's the typical backdrop in movies, you are alone you eat alone at the restaurant and observe all the happy people around you as you drown in your sadness. Maybe I am a different kind of beast, but when I am about to eat alone I am just excited that my food is coming and I'm about to feast, I don't even notice the people around me until it's too late and maybe I am making some food orgasm moans. The show ended with All the Rage back home and I said bye to Cheekbones and was grateful that I lived another day and made a new friend.
It took me sometime to crack down as to when did I do my first solo adventure (I know this one doesn't count for completely solo due to Cheekbones popping into the story, but initially I was riding solo). The crazy thing is now I have done it a couple of different times. In 2017 I moved to Brussels to get a masters, and surprise surprise Interpol was doing a mini Turn On the Bright Lights tour. The only way I could catch them was in Paris for one of their shows at Le Trianon. I strapped my Lonely Lala boots on (at 5'4" I need these to have a good view in a show) and made it happen. I got a plane ticket (Holla Ryan Air), a concert ticket for night 2, cheap hostel close to the venue and sailed away into foreign land a la Leif Erikson (because fuck Christopher Columbus, I still got beef with this asshole). I met a couple on the queue who shared their story with me on how Interpol got them together 15 years ago. Once in the venue they made sure I stood in the right spot (directly in front of Daniel Kessler on a no barricade venue, his socks where lit). At the end of the night I got to meet Daniel, who speaks perfect French btw, and then went to my hostel in Montmartre to sleep the daze away.
A little over a year after this and I once again hauled ass (insert definition to insanity here) to see them in London, for the Marauder tour and had the perfect night at my bucket list venue The Royal Albert Hall. My ticket got lost on its way to Brussels (thank you Belgium for continually fucking my existence with your incompetence) and a human on Reddit named OohLalalala offered me a main floor ticket in an act of kindness. I was fucking shook because once again I was in a situation where:
A. OohLalalala would kill me and throw my head over Tower Bridge and then enjoy the show
B. I would make a new concert buddy and then we would enjoy the show
The ticketing company found a replacement for me, so I didn't take Ohlalalala's ticket. However, as the magical night ended I met a lovely lady outside the venue and we just started talking about the show and I told her about my ticket situation and she stares at me and says BatgirlFernandez? I said yes (yes, I am that nerd on reddit and in real life and god damn it Adam Wests Batman was the shit ok) then I asked are you OhLalala, she wasn't but then she pointed out to OhLalalala and I thanked her infinitely for being so cool about the ticket situation and heard she gave it away to another person in need. I ended up chatting up with some fans all the night until 4 am, then made my way across Hyde park to sleep and get some energy for sightseeing next day.
As much as I hate humanity every now and then it surprises me with genuine people. I haven't spoken with the Austrian couple from 2016 and I haven't met my fellow Reddit ladies (it'll happen though, won’t be surprised) either. I do however thank Interpol for two things: giving me the final push to go at it alone and Killer Cheekbones. Cheekbones, Fabulous Hair, Aya and I have gone on multiple musical adventures together and boy do I miss spending hours on end chatting about music, throwing away our money at Third Man Records and our constant eating.
Moral of the story: Concert's always seem more fun with friends who love the artist as much as you do, but when there is no one else, who's better than you to give you the best company?
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