For the love of concerts, get me tickets
I’VE ALWAYS LOVED going to concerts. The tightly packed arenas, deafening cheers from the crowd and the dancing with carefree abandon have always left me wanting more.
The first proper concert I went to was Fall Out Boy in 2007.
Being 14 and totally in love with bass player Pete Wentz, I thought I’d die if I didn’t get the chance to see him in the flesh.
How else would our eyes meet across the crowd and he, immediately enamoured with me, bring me backstage and asked me to go on tour with him?
Sadly, our true love was not realised over the course of that evening, but I did score one of his bass picks out of the experience.
And, so, I was hooked on the concert vibe.
Between then and 2013, I saw a few more live acts and went to some festivals, including the last few Auckland Big Day Outs.
At that point, I was in my late teens and I revelled in the rock band line-up, sweaty moshpits and ciders on the grass.
I loved the feeling of being surrounded by people but completely anonymous. I loved making fleeting friends in the middle of the crowd, never to see them again once the final chord was struck.
I thought I’d be chasing that vibe forever.
But admittedly, as I’ve got older (and had more bills to pay), my fervent desire for concerts has tapered off.
There have been ones I’ve wanted to go to, but I was always too slow and they sold out or I talked myself out of buying tickets, which seem to be getting more expensive every year.
That was until Thursday, when tickets went on sale for a show I knew we couldn’t miss.
When this tour was announced, I immediately messaged my husband with the link.
“Babe, we can’t miss this!”
His reply: “Oh, no way, we have to get tickets!”
This was far bigger than Adele, Bruno Mars or Elton John.
Sitting at my desk at work, I fervently watched the minutes of the clock count down to 1pm, when tickets would go on sale.
The next day’s stories could wait, nothing was more important than getting those tickets.
My hand hovered over the mouse, desperate to secure my place in line for a concert that sold out in two minutes flat last year.
The music of this four-person band has been playing on repeat in our household for the past year.
The catchy tunes have often been stuck in our heads for days.
But, come the day of the concert, it won’t be my husband and I in a moshpit, banging our heads to hit tunes like Do The Propeller, Captain Feathersword or Fruit Salad.
Rather our son, who will get to see his favourite band in person for the first time.
I can’t believe I’ve gone from Wolfmother to The Wiggles. Oh, how times have changed.