I had waited months for that day. People lined the sidewalk, wrapping around the block, each one anxiously awaiting entrance into the dingy building. Eager voices merged together, livening the aged street. We had all gathered to attend the kick-off of the Spring Fever tour, indifferent to the relentless sun beating against our skin. Four bands rested inside, preparing to fill our souls with the one thing we shared a love for – their music. Hopeful amateur band members stalked along the line, seeking people to lend an ear to their albums. Excitement turned my hand into a python, clenching my ticket. Had I lost that ticket, the memory of that night never would have been given a chance to be engraved into my memory.
The clock struck six, shoving the doors to the venue wide open. Slowly, people were swallowed into the shadowy building. I found myself rocking back and forth on my heels, pulse becoming increasingly stronger as I neared the doors. In an attempt to relax, I scanned the lengthy line ahead of me. One person held up a small dog as the gossip of a pair of teenaged girls reached...
Ten minutes after lining up, I went inside the nightclub. From the door, I could hear the song and the beat of the bass so loud that my heart could feel it. Inside the nightclub, I saw people were dancing everywhere, on dancing floor, on their own seats, everywhere. They would dance and take a big gulp of their beer. Even the bartenders were dancing too, following the rhythm of the loud funky music. The rainbow rays of light moved through the club to make the mood even more exciting and funky.
The deathly ringing of the clock resonated throughout the chambers and faded away like they always had. But this time, the festivities did not flare back to life, for the new figure had control over the attention of everyone. This unique figure was shrouded in a robe as black as a void that covered all of his body except for his face, which was concealed by a peculiar mask. Contrary to the darkness of the robes, the lean mask was a pure, ghostly white with two blood red, curved lines, thicker at the top of the mask and thinner towards the bottom, through the eyes which were void holes. The air around him was cold and stale, like death lingered around him, waiting for its next victim. From the outskirts of the crowd, he moved in closer to the revelers, with each step echoing unnaturally loud. People shuffled away from him, afraid some terrible fate may befall them if they get close in proximity to him, as he strolled toward some unknown destination.
On Monday March 25, some members of the baseball team, my girlfriend, and I traveled to Murray State University to watch a concert performed by Nelly and the St. Lunatics. It was a terrible night to go anywhere because it was raining and storming the whole way, but there was nothing that was going to stop us from going to the concert. We where all so hyped up about it and couldn’t wait to head out. My brother, who attends Murray State, had gotten us excellent seats about seventy-five feet away from the stage.
The night was young times were crazy and it was only the beginning of my senior year. It was still warm out and it still felt like summer; we didn’t know that we could have this much fun in one night, but we knew we were going to have fun no matter what. My first concert had to be one of the best nights of my life and one of my most favorite nights of my life during my senior year. It all began when my buddy Alex Kramper decided to give me a phone call and wanted to know if I wanted to go to an Imagine Dragons concert at the Verizon Wireless Amplifier Theater for only twenty bucks, I responded with a hell yeah, the concert was only in a weak. So we figure everything out and and figure that Alex Kramper, Tori Main, Trevor Waller, Kristen Kesler, and me are going to the concert, the next day we meet at Alex’s house to all ride in the concert together in Trevor’s truck, it was a planned booze cruise threw St.Louis. So I woke up early in the morning for the Saturday concert and do my chores early in the morning so I wouldn’t have to do them the next day all hungover. I finally finish all...
On Thursday night, the stage at Birdys was adorned with oriental rugs, candles, and vases of flowers to create ambiance. It was nice, but they wouldn’t have needed it, the music spoke for itself. They played songs from two of their albums, Good Dog Bad Dog, but mostly their latest, Ohio. This album is the one that drew the crowd ...
On the outside, Woodstock could just be considered another concert for the youth of the time to hear their favorite music, but it can be seen that it was much more than that. Although the music was a large part of the festival, there would be no reason for it to be remembered this long if that w...
The story of Summer, by David Updike, is set during that idyllic time in life when responsibility is the last word on anyone's mind. And yet, as with all human affairs, responsibility is an ever-present and ever-necessary aspect to life. What happens when the protagonist, Homer, loses his awareness of a certain personal responsibility to maintain self-control? Homer's actions increasingly make him act foolishly, internally and externally. Also, how does Homer return to a sense of sanity and responsibility? To a degree, I would say that he does.
All that could be heard was the distant wail of an ambulance siren, which rent the bitter evening air like a butcher’s knife through a carcass. It would’ve been hard to believe that only minutes ago the place had been alive with crowds and commotion and excitement; for now it stood empty. It seemed that time itself had stopped: that every clock, timepiece, wristwatch in the world had ceased to tick.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
Over this semester, I attended two concerts. The first concert I went to was a performance done by the Swedish band Graveyard at the 9:30 club in DC. The second concert that I went to was at the George Mason Center for Performing Arts. This concert was a jazz competition between bands call The Battle of the Big Bands. Both concerts were performed very well and kept the audience, myself included, very entertained throughout the entire show. In this paper, I will be discussing each individual show in depth, and then continuing on to compare the two concerts.
Abruptly, a silent signal sent the entire assembly to the benches. Pairs of dexterous hands laced up skates as quickly as possible, while other hands aided in conversation that only the listener was allowed to hear. I was struck by the intimacy of this scene. They all knew each other well. They had come together in the freedom of this one place to share and explore without the encumbrance of parents, teachers, or any other meddlesome adult. I sat bolt upright, feeling very much like someone who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of naked people.
As the dark stadium filled with fire, with the sounds of guns and bombs exploding everywhere, the crazed fans yelled at the top of their lungs. The enormous stage was rumbling with the sound of a single guitar as the band slowly started their next encore performance. Soon after I realized that I was actually at the Sanitarium concert listening to Metallica play "One", I thought to my self, "Is this real, am I actually here right now?" I had a weird feeling the entire time because I had worked all summer to simply listen to music with a bunch of strangers.
Lee, Chris. "The Magic Of Coachella." Newsweek 159.16 (2012): 51. MAS Ultra - School Edition.
As the crowd built up, it moved towards the doors that led into the actual theatre. I could see that some type of fog machine was at work. A pale mist came out of the cracks of the door. The inconspicuous sound of music could be heard just over the chatter of the crowd of people. Behind those doors there was a thrilling adventure about to ta...
Then audience members who were perfect strangers who were screaming loudest would turn to each other with knowing glances and smile because they were sharing the same excitement and connecting with one another over their love of this man’s music. There was no pushing or shoving to get closer to the stage – it wasn’t that kind of crowd. Instead, there was mutual respect for one another’s space within the confines of the too-small venue. Nobody wanted to be the person who ruined it for someone else. It was this respect that made the audience members’ connections with one another that much stronger – we were all here to listen to this wonderful man’s music and see his performance – and, of course, we were here to enjoy it.