How Music Feels

This past summer was the first time I went to multiple (well, any, actually) country concerts. These were a staple in many of my friends' lives. The huge pregame, lawn seats, cowboy boots, sundresses and airplane bottles tucked into every nook and cranny for the show. I mostly followed suit, minus the attire. And it was great! I saw Luke Bryan and questionably another artist. We were all the way in the back, so when the duet (or tri-et?) he does with Florida Georgia Line began, it was easy to convince myself that Florida Georgia Line actually showed up. Sober Sara knows they didn't, but at the time, I thought I was having a heart attack because it was the best thing that happened all day.

Where I am going with this is that country concerts are a blast. There's an expectation of alcohol, you get to be outdoors, with all your friends and in the presence of music. But they are nothing compared to an indie/alternative rock concert.

The reason is simple: there's no better feeling than music. And when you go to a country concert, it doesn't feel the same way. The bass bumping so loud you can feel it in your stomach, reverberating through your core. The mass of sweaty people practically climbing on top of each other just to get a centimeter closer to the artist. The extended guitar solos that serenade your eardrums. The poor dance moves that make your awkward bob look coordinated, as all they think about is the song and its lyrics.

Yes, country concerts are fun, but they don't have the same soul of a up-and-coming alternative artists's show. They don't have the same thankfulness of an artist who is genuinely excited that people came to their show. They don't have the same proximity that a smaller show has. So go out there, find a semi-obscure artist at a little concert venue, and you'll see what I mean about how good real music feels.