So this past July, as part of a birthday present for my boyfriend Gabe, I got a chance to live my sixteen year-old self’s dream—I finally attended Warped Tour. Now for those of you who have only known me in my more recent college years, you probably won’t truly comprehend what an exciting occurrence this was for me—but for those of you who can recall the angled MySpace photos, the wardrobe replete with band tees and fishnets (OBVIOUSLY worn under jeans with holes in the knees), an almost unnatural affinity for eyeliner, and, of course, the one time that I put turquoise highlights (can they really be called highlights in that case?) in my hair, you’ll probably understand the gravity of my happiness. Or if, like some of my college friends, you devote an almost obscene amount of time to unearthing some of the very few—and I repeat, VERY few—remaining bits of proof which populate my earliest Facebook photos, then I suppose you can recognize to some degree what an experience like this would have meant to that girl.
It was that same girl who covered almost the entirety of my high school room with cutouts from Alternative Press: interviews with band members, reviews of albums—all the “important” tidbits which, when combined with the whole of my musical interests, culminated in a physical representation of my musical self-identity. There remained, for the longest time (and when I say longest time, I mean probably about five years), several interviews with band members who were about to headline Warped Tour, circa 2009. Eighteen year old me would have hacked off my right hand for a chance to attend that show and had the opportunity to scream my fangirl voice raw at the sight of three of my (then) favorite bands—and yet, sadly, I was unable to attend. Months passed, and years, and my musical interests not only shifted, but they EXPANDED. I emphasize “expanded” here because while I no longer align myself completely with the bands who brought me so much joy in the later part of my teen years, I do still enjoy rediscovering the adoration which I held for them when they shuffle into my music. Yet I hardly see sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen year old Sarah comprehending that twenty three year old Sarah would greatly enjoy the musical talents of a twenty seven year old baby-faced white rapper, one George Watsky, one of the performers who happened to be part of my incentive in attending the music festival.
Now the point of this post is not simply to elaborate on the somewhat dramatic shift in my musical taste that has taken place over the last few years—yet recognizing it is essential to understanding the full scope of my experience of Warped Tour. There is a certain degree of intimacy that is bred at a musical festival, whether it be Warped Tour, or Lollapalooza, or Bonnaroo. Its point of origin is more difficult to trace than one would think; some will want to simplify it and write it off as the obvious fact that we are, as with most concerts, physically close. You are almost inevitably going to end up talking to the person next to you, whether it be out of an almost unmanageable sense of excitement as your musical idol takes the stage amidst waves of unchecked vocal adorations, or because this person has miraculously managed to step on your toes more than five times in the last three minutes, and you didn’t have the forethought to wear close-toed shoes (*actual problems.). Others may chalk it up to the actions of the bands and performers themselves, who go out of their way to interact with their fans pre- and post-show, doing formal and informal meet-and-greets and signings of merchandise at the small tents they have set up. There were several points during which Gabe and I were forced to maneuver around lines which must have constituted a minimum twenty-minute wait to meet bands, who dedicated more than a little time to the signing of hats, albums, shirts, phone cases, and various body parts. On another level, this intimacy could be attributed to the general setup of Warped Tour—the arrangement of several small stages throughout the concert arena. And while these are all essential tenets of the intimacy, I don’t believe any one of them alone accounts for it. On a deeper level, what really brings the attendees together is the desire to witness their favorite artists putting forth their musical talents in a way that is much more raw and emotional than fans simply listening to it through their headphones and the speakers of their car. There exists a relationship between performer and audience in live performance that is lacking in the day to day streaming of music, and that relationship becomes obvious from the moment the performer steps on stage. Microphones are stuck out to the audience for crowd participation, requests are taken, hands reach and, in some cases, actually grasp the idol who has more than likely touched their lives in no small way.
On another level, Warped Tour can be a musical smorgasbord, something which I highly doubt sixteen year old Sarah would have truly appreciated and utilized. Gabe and I have highly varied tastes in music, yet such a fact doesn’t come into play in the attendance of a music festival like this, where we can experience everything from punk rock to acoustic folk to alternative rap, as well as metalcore and pop reggae (which we totally didn’t know was a thing). For roughly fifty bucks a pop you can choose to expand your musical repertoire at least twenty fold, depending on how you choose to break down your day. Craving a little metal? Hit the Monster Energy Stage. Feel like toning it down and cruising on some indie ballads? Why not check out the Acoustic Basement setup? Wanna feel the bass drop, bro? Beatport Stage it is.
Sixteen year old Sarah may not have had the chance to live her dream, but somehow, twenty three year old Sarah doing it seven years later seems so much better. That isn’t to say twenty three year old Sarah didn’t fangirl like sixteen year old Sarah would have—I did, no shame; I accidentally walked away from a photo opportunity because I was so nervously overwhelmed by the physical presence of one of my favorite performers—but twenty three year old Sarah fangirled over a completely different genre of music, a performer who didn’t grace my iTunes until years after I had parted ways with my last Hot Topic purchase, and in a larger part, with subtler aspects of the music festival which I had not noted in my younger years. This isn’t me telling everyone to plan a day of Warped Tour next summer, because not everyone will do that. But attend a music festival. Go to a concert. Check out the openers. Feel yourself melt with a large group of strangers who came to a place to appreciate the hard work, talent, and drive of a musical act that is there to entertain you. Do it, I promise you won’t regret it.
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