The Head and the Heart

ImageI very rarely go to concerts.

I should, though.  This is a thing I tell myself every time I do go to a particularly amazing concert, which for the record has now only been twice, and both times I must credit Kelsey as the source of my decision to purchase tickets at all.  Kelsey is in fact the perfect concert companion.  We saw The Lumineers together at Terminal 5 in the beginning of February in weather so cold I couldn’t feel my feet until the opener had left the stage.  Her high spirits buoyed me through a wait that at times felt interminable, and the music – oh, the music of The Lumineers often makes me feel as if I am wrapped in a very warm comforter with a latte in hand.  It was just transcendent to see them live.

Last night was another transporting evening of music.  Kelsey, Ellie, and I set off to Terminal 5 to see The Head and The Heart, whose music is similar to The Lumineers but more foot-stomping. We started the evening off with lattes, and took excellent touristy pictures in the subway station because I do not have enough pictures of myself and my friends with lattes in our hands (I hope the sarcasm here does not fall on deaf ears).

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We arrived about an hour early, and with the fairly mild weather, I was much less of a grouchy spirit than I had been waiting for The Lumineers.  I also brought an arsenal of snacks, so perhaps that helped.  By the time the first opener, The Quiet Life, came on, we had also been forced into conversation with some particularly young-looking sophomore boys, and I think we were so glad of an excuse not to talk that any music would have been appealing.

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Both openers were excellent.  The Quiet Life was followed by the Get Down, Stay Down, and then around 9:30 The Head and the Heart came on.  The next hour and a half passed in a blur of raucous singing, clapping, and stamping, an experience that was as moving as it was exhilarating.  The Head and the Heart’s music often makes me feel as if I am hurtling at breakneck speed toward some deeper understanding – of others, of myself, of this endlessly confusing in-between stage of my life.  Last night was no exception.

ImageImageAfter the concert we made our way to a bar not far from the concert hall that was nearly completely deserted, as we should probably have expected for a Tuesday.  There’s nothing quite like sitting in an empty bar and tucking into a burger and fries at 11:30 at night with two of your best friends.  After clearing her last fry from her plate, Elena sat back and declared, “Clean plate club – join it.”  (Can you see why I love my friends so fervently?) I didn’t need any more urging.

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I am currently being slammed with a short-notice research paper and a sea of medieval literature research that I do not hate but perhaps would prefer later in the semester.  But it was good to step away from it and send my soul flying somewhere else for the evening, with two of my best friends, in a city that occasionally loves you back just as hard.

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