The afternoon was sunny and a sense of anticipation hung over the crowd like the heat wave that enveloped us all. We'd made it through security, the main gates, and the guy that checks your bags and tickets at the end. I peered out from under the pavilion as my purse was getting checked for the last time and I saw one of my favorite sights in the world--a stage being sound checked with the promise of history to be made. In a few short hours, the sun would set as the lights from this stage illuminated the crowds in its stead. I could hardly wait. I smile when I recall how my heart raced at the wonderfully inevitable fact that I was about to be a part of something incredible--an honest to goodness all-American rock and roll concert.
People were lined up by the gates, being held until the barrier was scheduled to be opened, allowing the crowds to pour onto the empty field like racehorses dying of thirst. Finding your place in a field of festival seating, I believe, is one of life's greatest hilarities. Especially the day after a very angry rainstorm. I digress.
We waited. And waited. And waited for yet another hour more. For three hours we sat in the sun--anxious, excited, and slightly nervous because after all, a word that is synonymous with festival seating happens to be injury. But of course (because we are so hardcore) we were willing to suffer the battle scars to get the front row seats that were so coveted among the thousands of people who had quickly gathered behind us. The summer sun glistened off the sheen of sweat that occupied the tingling skin of every fan. But there were no complaints. Only excited exchanges and the occasional group of beer-buzzed fans bursting into off-key song.
5:56. Four minutes and that empty field was ours for the taking. Bodies were crushed against each other and more than a few angry words were exchanged as tiffs brewed among those who felt "entitled" to their spot against the front barrier.
Then, there was madness. Before I could fully grasp what the heck I was doing, I was running across the field, slipping through the muddy grass, and jumping over rocks, grinning like an idiot as I slid into a spot almost within arm's reach from the edge of center stage. We were close enough to see them blink. (Because that's totally not creepy...). We bantered back and forth with the people around us, victoriously proud of our Olympian ability to beat the masses to the front row. Everyone I spoke to was astonished when I told them my age. "Eighteen and you actually know who these bands are?!" they'd ask. "You kidding?" I'd answer. "I know the words to all the classic rock songs but I couldn't tell you the name of anything by Justin Bieber." They congratulated my parents on my successful upbringing.
Then, the feeling that you can only get when you know the show is about to begin washed over me. And I know I wasn't the only one who felt it. For the tiniest fraction of a second, the crowd hushed before exploding into crazed applause. Grand Funk Railroad had made their appearance. Guitars wailed and drums pounded and their signature all-American tone literally rocked the audience's socks off. Several people around me had removed their shoes to squish around in the mud. And by the way the sunny sky was beginning to gray, I knew it was just a matter of time before the rain would turn the remaining grass to mud as well. Then, The American Band donned their star spangled spirit and ended the set with their most famous hit and the crowd bittersweetly cheered them all the way back to their tour buses.
The light drizzle did not dampen the spirits of the fans who enthusiastically cheered for Kansas as the band made their entrance. I was absolutely spellbound by the raw talent that these guys have. I couldn't keep my hands out of the air, and at some points, although I wanted desperately to watch the band's every movement, I could not help but close my eyes and just allow myself to be utterly moved by the sweet harmonies and messages of the band's songs. I thought I knew about music until watching Kansas. Their talent and ability make my years of practice and hard work look like a child who's just learned to play twinkle twinkle little star on a toy piano. In that moment, experiencing the greatness that was being made, words could not describe the feeling and deep emotion that this band poured from their musical souls. And it cascaded over the audience like the rain that was falling from the sky.
Grand Funk had revved the crowd, Kansas had moved their souls, but Boston...they were the very best of both worlds, plus much, much more. I am going to have to search very hard to conjure words worthy enough to describe the two hours that ensued Kansas' exit.
Rain poured heavily from the sky, accompanied by the occasional glow of soft lightning. The grass beneath my feet had turned warm from standing in the same place for so many hours. My feet and legs were numb and I had no voice left. I was also half deaf. I hardly noticed. The only thing I was focused on was the blackened stage. Silhouettes of the members of Boston floated soundlessly onto the stage, taking their places in the darkness as the audience cheered them on. Then. . . The spotlight illuminated the stage as the opening chords of the Star-Spangled Banner rang throughout the field. Tom Scholz was doing what Tom Scholz does best--sending the masses into a state of hypnotized awe. (And that hypnosis hasn't yet worn off.) My grin never left as one of the greatest rock and roll bands in history played some of the best songs ever written--less than ten feet from my face.
There is no feeling quite like that of sharing a personal second in time with a rockstar. Nothing can really describe the way my heart skipped a beat when I looked up during "Rock 'N Roll Band" only to meet the gaze of the guitarist of the great band called Boston and realize that he had been watching me dance and sing along. Perhaps he thought I was a little crazy (I mean, after all. . . I was the only one jumping up and down like a lunatic). But perhaps he was happy to see that some kids of my generation were there to inherit the love of REAL music. I like to think that, as the people I'd spoken with before the concert, I'd spread a little happiness because yeah, kids my age DO still like the good stuff. But just those few seconds of eye contact; to have that moment of knowing that my love of Boston's music was appreciated by one of the band members themselves is a trophy that I will always keep shined, polished, and displayed on the highest shelf of my favorite memories.
