Everybody remembers his or her first time. It can be a little frightening but exciting at the same time. The music that is playing and who you share the moment with makes that first time a milestone in your life and before you know it, it’s over. It’s that magical moment when you finally attend your first concert.
I remember my first concert experience like it was just hours ago. I was about 11 or 12 years old and went to Freedom Hall with my mother and sisters in Louisville, Ky., to see one of my favorite bands at the time, the Backstreet Boys. Now, before you judge me, I must defend the fact that this concert was around the time they were peaking as a boy band, and odds are, you liked them, too.
Before we went inside, we had to go through practically the equivalent of airport security. We were asked to reveal the contents of our bags to prove that we were there to enjoy the concert and weren’t going to murder anyone. Procedures are procedures.
Our seats were pretty horrible but that probably had something to do with Mom and Dad having to purchase four tickets, and I assume they weren’t cheap.
Opening the concert was a very young Aaron Carter and someone named Jimmy Ray. I didn’t know who this Jimmy Ray was but he had the catchiest song melody that I still to this day find myself singing sometimes: “Are you Johnny Ray? Are you Slim Ray? Are you Paid Ray? Who wants to know? Who wants to know?” I don’t know what that even means but he was very entertaining, regardless.
After the opening acts left the stage a frighteningly loud and slowly accelerating thump blared through the speakers as “BSB” flashed on the screens. I think I saw “BSB” flash about 200 times before they ever took the stage.
When Brian, Kevin, A.J., Howie and Nick finally came on stage, wearing vests and baggy clothes that seemed not to fit, my ears ached from the audience’s applause. I think I screamed with all of the other females in the room but I couldn’t even hear myself.
The familiar music started blaring and yet everyone around me continued screaming. “This will be fun,” I remember thinking.
After the first song ended, the cheering began to cease. This wasn’t at all what I was expecting but I eventually ignored the extremely loud noises and started to really enjoy the concert and the memories I was making with my family.
I remember my mom being M.I.A. for several songs and no one knew where she went. When she finally returned, we saw that she had been standing in line buying over-priced BSB merchandise for us. She also managed to capture some good photos by sneaking up to the stage.
I didn’t realize my mom was a ninja, or even a decent photographer but we all appreciated her for helping make the concert more memorable. Then again, I think she was just looking for an excuse to get away from all of the noise. She has never been one for loud music.
After the two hours or so in Freedom Hall, we escaped the crowd and headed home, our ears ringing.
It’s funny how we obsess over celebrities so much that we are willing to pay a fortune just to sit in the nosebleed section and watch them on Jumbotrons.
I could have been standing outside of both of those buildings and would have still been happy. That’s the price we pay for good entertainment. I would do it again.
Anna Taylor, Features Editor.
