The Show is Over

i am retiring from going to concerts

I’m washed, as the kids say. I’m done. Over. I’ve reached my peak and I’m sliding down the other side now.

I have made the decision to retire from going to concerts. It’s a big deal, as I had been going to a lot of shows with my daughter, and I have tickets for Glassjaw, Thursday, and Pavement coming up, all of which I’m going to sell.

I did not come to this decision lightly. It was at least a couple of months in the making. The truth is, I just can’t handle it anymore. Most of the shows I go to are at venues where it’s standing only and my 59 year old body can not do that anymore. Standing for three or more hours wreaks havoc on my knees and back. And most of the headliners I want to see don’t go on until about 10pm, so between being tired (that ride home from Brooklyn at near midnight is torturous) and my aches and pains, I always have to plan to take the next day work day off. On top of that, there’s my crowd anxiety that ramps up days before the show, my reluctance to be once again the oldest person in the room, my desire to not leave my house. It all adds up. The days leading up to a show are always fraught with all the anxiety these things cause and it’s just not worth it anymore. The worrying, the standing, the staying out late; I’m done.

I’ve gone to hundreds upon hundreds of concerts in my life. I started at 12 when my aunt took us to see David Cassidy. Once I got a taste of that, I wanted more. When I was 13, my neighbor took a bunch of us kids to see KISS and I realized going to rock concerts was my calling. Later, I would work at a radio station that afforded me with free concert tickets - I saw U2 play at a very small Long Island venue when they were first starting out - and then I worked at a record store where concert tickets were sometimes a perk of the job. There was one summer - I think it was 1983 - where I went to a show once or twice a week. The outdoor concerts at the pier were the best.

I’ve seen bands I love and bands I hated, I’ve been to festivals and solo acoustic shows, I’ve been to more big stadium shows than I care to count and venues so small we were practically on the stage. I saw the Grateful Dead on Halloween at the Coliseum, Springsteen three nights in a row at the Meadowlands, Pink Floyd on The Wall tour two nights. The loudest show I ever saw was Van Halen, the best show I ever saw was Nick Cave at the Beacon Theater in 2002, my favorite experience was seeing Kevin Devine on Mother’s Day at Amity Music Hall with both my kids. I went to the Family Values tour in 1998 twice(!). I’ve seen my current favorite bands (Manchester Orchestra and Foxing) a few times together. Even the worst show I’ve ever been to - Lou Reed at Stony Brook in the 80s - was still an experience I won’t forget. I’ve clapped for so many encores, stood out in the rain to watch bands, coughed my way through smoky venues, got too drunk/high to remember the highlights. I’ve had a good run.

I’m sorry to give this up. I always end up having a good time at the shows, but the physical pain and the anxiety are not worth it anymore. It’s time to recognize that I’m past my prime and there are things I just can’t/shouldn’t do anymore. And that’s ok. I’ve had my fun, I did my time. I’m not sad about it all; in fact I am relieved. No more buying tickets then being overcome with anxiety about it. No more spending the next day with a heating pad and Advil. No more tall people standing right in front of me, no more looking at my watch when the headlining band hasn’t even come on yet.

So goodbye to Warsaw and it’s pierogies. Goodbye to Brooklyn Steel and the corner I always staked out for myself so I could lean against the wall. Goodbye Amity Music Hall and The Bowery and Elsewhere and Kings Theater and everywhere else I saw a good show. And goodbye to Terminal 5, the worst venue on the planet.

I know I’ll still get that urge to buy tickets when a good show is announced. I’ll regret having never seen Jason Isbell or The Hold Steady. But the idea of going to a concert has become more fun the actuality of going to one. I’m old. I’m done. I’m washed. And I feel relieved.