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Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab |
Before you start reading, I will make one ask of you. Put on some music as you read what I have to say. Something that takes you back to your days as a teenager; maybe an album or artist that brought you comfort through hard times. (Or perhaps the official The Time I Cried At A Show playlist? Check it out below!)
Upon moving to the United States from England, one of the first bands I discovered was Twenty One Pilots. Their unconventional blend of the alternative sound and rap was new and exciting to me. I listened to each of their albums until I knew them inside and out.
My first record player was a tacky Crosley Cruiser from Urban Outfitters. I had Vessel (2013) spinning almost every night. The first time I heard “Car Radio”, my teenage brain decided that it was going to latch onto this band as if it were a life raft and this transitional period in my life were white waters. Something about the desperation in Tyler Joseph’s voice, his simultaneous control and chaos in his screams, resonated with me as I plummeted into severe mental health issues. I would later credit the band - at least in part - to saving my life.
My favorite album by Twenty One Pilots came in 2018 with Trench. I was enraptured by its lyrical mastery and narrative, the immense production value and the accompanying music videos. Joseph co-produced the album with Paul Meany of Mutemath. The two created the most titanic sonic landscape. It was a hulking step up from their previous album, Blurryface (2015). I loved it and it remains one of my favorite records out of the 230+ in my collection.
Thus, the time I cried at a concert was when I saw the duo play in Anaheim with a friend from high school. It was on their tour for Trench, and the whole stadium was adorned with yellow accents. I wore a yellow bandana, with yellow gaff tape strapped to my jacket. This album had a lot of cryptic lore to it, but essentially, the yellow was our unifying identifier as the audience or “banditos”. The tears started to fall as the show reached its terminus with the song “Trees”. It was this intense cacophony of bittersweet emotion of the show ending, gratitude to the band and the understanding that I had survived. I was certain I wouldn’t make it past the age of 16, that I would in one way or another succumb to my mental health issues. But I was standing beside my friend, alive and well, encompassed by this unfamiliar combination of awe at the stunning music and showmanship, and a behemoth blend of gratitude, relief and love.
I couldn’t tell you whether those tears were happy tears or sad tears or something else entirely. The best way I can describe them is the tears of release. I think it is both fitting and unsurprising that the time I cried at a concert was watching the band that shepherded me through some of the hardest times in my life.
- Pip Lewis, singer/songwriter/producer