You know the sensation. The wait in a long line eyeing those around you and verifying that how you are dressed is appropriate for the venue, taking in new fashion trends and generally being catty about the impracticality of hipster kids and their outfits. You enter the room and claim your space, a space with ample room for moving your arms and feet without being singed by any nearby cigarettes. One of your friends goes to get drinks, balancing a many as she or he can carry in one trip to minimize waiting in line at the bar. You drink. You wait.
The room gets more and more crowded and maybe you see people you know. Maybe you see famous people from bands. Whatever you see, you do not give up your spot. You guard your spot like a mother lion guards her offspring in the wild. It’s your territory and you cannot give it up.
As the space fills, the temperature rises and you feel yourself sweat. First it’s some moisture in your pits, but soon you feel wetness on your forehead and upper lip. Before you know it, even your shins are sweaty. But still you stay.
You stay for the first thump of your sternum, the feeling of the bass line reverberating through your body, helping you keep beat before your ears even register the music. You stay for the sly grin as the lead singer steps onto stage – with one friendly look, the whole meaning of an album changes.
Good rock is worth traveling for.
