I haven’t been to a real concert in almost a year. I’m craving good music and a big dance floor. I saw Two Live Crew play in Texas, but that doesn’t count.
Just the other day, after officially purchasing a ticket to Bonnaroo, I sat around with friends talking about all the concerts we’ve been to, and I realized just how embarrassing my ticket stub collection really is.
The first concert I ever saw was “New Kids on the Block.” My mom bought me a NKOTB lunch box, and my love of boy bands grew even more than my collection of “Tiger Beat.”
Years later I saw 98 Degrees. ?I went with a group of girls who formed a cultish following of boy bands and told me that I wasn’t allowed to join their stupid boy band club because I didn’t love N*SYNC enough. Oh, the humiliation and rejection I felt as a 16-year-old, no wonder I never tried to join a sorority.
Anyway, I managed to meet the sister of the opening act who let me in on the secret that her sister was dating Nick Lachey. ?
As it turns out, the girl who was dating Nick was Jessica Simpson, and I think I’m cool because I knew Jessica and Nick were a couple before MTV did.
Still, visions of Backstreet Boys, Kid Rock, Lynard Skynard and Blink 182 cloud my judgment of good music.
Luckily my roommate is something of a music guru. She comes home with new CDs almost weekly and makes me listen and love artists like Patty Griffin, Galactic and Beth Orton.
Maybe my embarrassing collection of music memories has humbled me, opened my mind to be more accepting of what other people consider art. There’s nothing worse than a music snob, someone who refuses to listen to a certain type of music just because they feel like they’re above it.
Let’s take country music for example – what’s so wrong with it? I happen to love it. I used to hate it, but my best friend’s mom made me listen to it in eighth grade and now I love it. I prefer it at times. But I know people who will walk out of rooms if country music starts playing, and nothing really angers me more.
So I think I’m going to start standing up for bad music. I’m going to pull out my Paula Abdul and Whitney Houston CDs and play them over loudspeakers, and you’ll see how many people I can get dancing. I’m going to quit turning down the “Dirty Dancing” soundtrack every time I pull up next to a car with fraternity letters.
I may be done with my days of googling at boys dancing in space suits on stage, and moved on to music that my parents would like, but I’ll never forget the way Nick Lachey smiled and waved to me from stage. We shared a moment, and I’m convinced that he’ll love me forever. I’m holding my breath for the day 98 Degrees will announce their reunion tour.
Lindsay Sainlar’s column normally appears on Thursdays.