So the Animal and I went to go see Alkaline Trio recently, a band I've been listening to since 1999 or so. The venue was large and shiny, the crowd young and... well, shiny. I could tell immediately I was one of the oldest members of the audience.
I could feel a familiar excitement build in me as Matt Skiba took the stage; it had been a long time since I'd been to a concert, much less seen Alkaline Trio live. It was like seeing an old friend I hadn't seen in years.
More so than I anticipated, in fact. In the entire set, I recognized three of the songs. And it wasn't that they were playing all songs off their new album - with each intro, the crowd came alive, screaming every word along with them as they played. These were old standards, songs that have been out for years. Songs I'd never heard before because I didn't keep up.
I felt old. I felt betrayed, angry that they'd moved ahead without me. Where was the loyalty? Where was the respect for the old school fans?
Luckily, it didn't take me long to realize what a selfish and douchey standpoint that was. Relationships work both ways. If I wanted to feel included, I should have kept up with them. It wasn't their responsibility to play the songs I wanted to hear. Maybe I was there to support them towards the beginning, but this concert was now, for the kids in the pit, for the ones who knew the words.
And I sat back, happy that a band I loved kept moving forward, making music, and finding people who love their songs today like I did back in my shitty apartment in New Brunswick. Like watching an old friend laugh and chat with the people in their life now from across the room, glad to just be.
(And then they played Radio for the encore, Lauren and I screamed the lyrics to each other at the top of our lungs, and all was right with the world.)
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