Image credit Paul Hudson, via Wikimedia Commons
Before attending the Faye Webster concert, I realized I only knew a few about her: an eclectic and nonsensical collection of her songs, the fact that she likes the color blue, and, apparently, minions. None of this prepared me for the chaos that ensued. Not only did I feel mentally unprepared for this concert, similar to the feeling you get when you have to take an exam but have only studied for half of the material, but it marked the first concert I would ever attend on my own. This left me uncertain about when to arrive or what kind of energy to expect once I got there. I originally doubted whether I would even be able to attend the event, as I typically work on Thursday evenings, but to my surprise, my manager unexpectedly gave me the day off.
Of course, all of my nerves and jitters were for nothing. Upon arrival, I found myself immediately greeted by a friendly and familiar face in line, who helped me pass the time while waiting for the doors to open. Everyone was dressed in a sea of blue with a bright juxtaposition of yellow minion onesies, each person wearing their best to avoid being underdressed at Faye Webster’s symphony.
Unfortunately for me, once I entered the familiar music hall of Kemba Live, I lost contact with the friend I had run into as I moved toward the pit. Surrounded by a swarm of teenagers and young adults who loudly giggled with their friends, my anxiety rushed back as I realized that, in a room with thousands of people, I stood completely and utterly alone. Not only was I alone, but my phone also hovered at 20 percent battery. I spent the next hour before the opener, mei ehara, by eavesdropping on a group of obnoxious bisexuals and playing NYT games on my phone, praying the battery would not drop too much.
When mei ehara walked on stage, they immediately lulled me into a trance by their combination of bossa nova jazz, rock influences, and soft-spoken Japanese lyricism, accompanied by the backdrop of a massive t-shirt. At first, the five-piece band was spoken over by the crowd of rowdy teens, but slowly, everyone became mesmerized, as if caught in a groove-induced hypnosis. I found myself completely won over by the band and their cute mannerisms, especially when their guitar player shouted, “Will you marry meeeeeee?” as he walked off stage holding up a peace sign. Once they departed, the trance was broken, and the anticipation for Faye Webster became even more gripping.
Still alone, I made small talk with a few of the people next to me as we all gave side-eye to a girl who audibly screamed after seeing her ex-boyfriend kissing his girl best friend, catching the attention of everyone nearby. Then, some random man named George began asking her about their tempestuous relationship. Watching strangers get caught up in someone else’s drama will never fail to make me smile. This all distracted me as the stage crew wheeled in eleven washing machine props and numerous hangers holding a range of blue clothing items, all motifs from Webster’s Undressed at the Symphony record.
A minion with Webster’s hair and clothes was cast onto the massive t-shirt decor, the entire crowd began to scream with excitement and raised an ocean of phones to record the band’s arrival on stage. Webster began the show with a fan favorite from her most recent record, “But Not Kiss”, and everyone chanted along with the magnetic lyrics. Webster’s music can best be described as a combination of folk and pop with R&B influences. She then continued with “Wanna Quit All the Time”, a personal favorite, “Thinking About You”, and one of her biggest hits, “The Right Side of My Neck”. The latter marked a highlight of the show, as her team rained bubbles down on the crowd, filling everyone with a sense of childlike whimsy. I could barely help but smile from ear to ear as I reached up to try and catch some of the kaleidoscopic orbs as they floated down around me. I felt as if the mass of strangers around me moved as one large ball of emotion, all filled with joy and optimism, even if just for a moment.
Webster continued with her usual setlist, playing classics like “A Dream with a Baseball Player” and “Jonny” as we all swayed along in unison. Her setlist blended older tracks from her previous records, I Know I’m Funny Haha and Atlanta Millionaires Club, with her newer Undressed at the Symphony songs. The transitions between them had a sense of sublime perfection, as if they had been intended to be played in that exact order, even though they were written years apart. After she performed “After the First Kiss”, a beautiful queer love song, and “In a Good Way”, I tried to exit the crowd to leave the venue before the hordes of concertgoers all rushed out at once.
Squeezing between people, I must have said, “Excuse me,” at least thirty times before reaching the door. However, at that moment, I realized that tragedy had struck: my phone was no longer in my trench coat pocket, where it was supposed to be. Shudders sent shivers down my spine as I paced back and forth throughout the upper level, desperately searching for it, knowing all too well that it must have fallen as I slipped between the swarm of sweaty bodies in the pit. I found the head of security and asked what the odds were that someone would return it to lost and found. He told me, unfortunately, that the odds were not very high. I prayed that some kind-hearted twink would find my phone and turn it in as I scribbled down my phone number and a description of my sticker-collaged device.
“If we end up finding it, we’ll give that number a call,” the head of security said, taking the paper from my hand. I nodded solemnly and exited the venue, searching for my partner’s car and regretting that we had not explicitly discussed a pickup location before the iPhone fiasco. A few tears may have escaped my eyes as I constantly refreshed the location of my nearly dead phone on my iPad after arriving home.
Thankfully, security found my phone, but I was told I only had twenty minutes to pick it up. My partner and I rushed back to the venue, and I was grateful to retrieve it just in time. More than anything, I was relieved that chance had allowed me to keep all of the pictures I had not backed up anywhere. With a sigh of relief, I scrolled through the photos I had taken at the show, remembering Faye Webster and all of the chaos that had transpired.
This concert taught me a lesson that I should have known through common sense: never, under any circumstances, enter a crowded venue and rely on your coat pockets as your only means of holding your phone and wallet. Things may not go as smoothly as you had hoped.
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