I’ve been meaning to write this for a while now. I’ve put it off so long I nearly forgot until I recently read an article that lead singer of Guster, Ryan Miller, wrote for The Atlantic and I was immediately taken back to the moments that originally compelled me to share this story.
The cathartic experience of seeing a live show of my favorite band, Guster.
The Magic of a Live Show
In the article, he explains the powerful moments of a live show, describing it as, “…a mass of strangers, all tripping along the same spiritual and literal frequencies.” If you’re also a concert lover, this will absolutely speak to you as one of the best parts of live music.
He goes on to write, “For a sliver of time, absolutely nothing else seems to matter. It’s pure magic.” He’s writing about a specific song at a specific show, a career highlight for the band and a full mind, body, soul healing moment for me — Red Rocks.
Here’s the backstory:
A Very Bad Day
On May 14, 2020, my grandmother tested positive for COVID, my grandfather fell on his face rushing him to the ER, and my husband was diagnosed with a very large brain tumor.
Over time, the nightmare of that day had seeped its way into my blood, my bones, my entire nervous system. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the horrors of that day and the weeks that followed.
My grandmother died two weeks later, my grandfather died two months after that, and my husband’s midsummer surgery went horribly wrong.
Only a few weeks prior to May 14th, I had gotten back into running. I was enjoying the fresh air and some new music. After May 14th, I couldn’t tolerate a single artist except Guster. I ran almost exclusively to Guster from May to December of 2020.
I pride myself on loving all genres of music. Most friends know my mixes from college to be eclectic to the point of warranting a “what the *%@#” reaction, depending on the track. But there wasn’t a single song that didn’t send me over the edge.
I was irritable, sad, overwhelmed, angry, and Guster was all I could handle.
One could explain this as the need for nostalgia, musical comfort food for the soul, as I’ve been a fan since 1997. But there are plenty of other bands that meet this same criteria but didn’t hit the mark.
In September, we borrowed a friend’s lake place for a weekend away. I was on their large deck, watching the sunset, when one of the band’s more popular songs came on, but this was a version I had never heard before.
It was a live rendition of Come Downstairs and Say Hello performed in Omaha with their symphony right before the world shut down in Spring 2020, and it was blowing my mind.
My husband had retreated to the living room to watch sports, but I knew I needed to have a moment with this song. I put my AirPods in, maxed out the volume, and played the six and half minute track on repeat three times, dancing all over the deck until I couldn’t catch my breath.
It was like a 20-minute exorcism of grief, and exactly what my soul needed to heal from months of utter garbage.
I continued to lean on this song, using it to remind myself of how strong I am and to push myself harder during runs; repeating the lyric, “Be calm, be brave, it’ll be okay.”
And this song was with me when I finally reached my 5k goal time.
In October, my husband and I flew out to San Diego for round two of brain surgery. What was meant to be one surgery and a four day hospital stay, turned into six surgeries and 37 days in the hospital.
Stress flooded my system like muscle memory. And the nightmare from summer I had worked so hard to rid my body of had returned.
As the weather changed, so did my ability to run outside. My husband continued to have medical misfortunes and more surgeries. There weren’t enough Guster songs in the world to manage my stress.
An Opportunity
Then, one day in May, a year after my world fell apart, there was an announcement. Guster would be headlining Red Rocks with the Colorado Symphony on July 25th. Seeing a concert at Red Rocks had been on my bucket list for years, but I could never justify flying to Colorado to see just any band.
But this was not just any band, this was my favorite band, performing with the symphony at arguably one of the most preeminent live music venues in the world.
I had to make this work.
I immediately sent the information to my sister. She was just as excited but we knew the logistics of meeting in Colorado for a Sunday concert would take a miracle.
Well guess what — we got a freakin’ miracle! We both found reasonably priced direct flights to Denver, her from Philly, me from Fargo, that landed within 20 minutes of each other and took off at the same time three days later. Not only that, but this trip was perfectly (and chaotically) sandwiched between a birthday party, an out-of-town wedding and a family trip.
There were a million reasons to say no to this trip.
A million good reasons not to force this three-day trip between all the other madness. But when I called my sister to ask about it again, we both came to the realization that this was a gift (from whoever you believe is in charge of giving gifts) and we weren’t going to waste it.
Within hours we had everything booked from flights to concert tickets to shuttles to hotel.
When I arrived at Red Rocks, I was already overwhelmed with how stunning the views were. As the sun set, the city lights became part of the backdrop, and the rocks were illuminated. The band played songs from older alums I had never heard live, and everyone was loving it.
When you go to a show at Red Rocks, there’s a good chance many of the concert goers are from out of town, the diehards making a trip to see their favorite band. This makes the experience even more spectacular.
And it truly was as Ryan wrote, “On a special night, with the right storytelling in place, the commingling and amplification of this energy (band to audience, audience back to band, rinse and repeat) can transform a concert into a singular expression of shared humanity.”
We all felt it. All 8,488 of us, singing our hearts out, healing each other collectively in that moment of shared humanity. Halfway through the concert they played Come Downstairs and Say Hello. Everyone’s anticipation mounting as they neared the bridge. The sound of the symphony crescendo echoed through my soul as I danced and quietly cried.
A cathartic release and I was healed again.
That’s the power of music.
