*NOTE: I am using this post for my Creativity and Community class project, which will focus on how the coronavirus has impacted my life and the lives of those around me, specifically in regard to our sense of community. This is post 3/4.*
This week coronavirus has me especially depressed. For the past few weeks, I’ve enjoyed staying home and being with my dogs more. Then, this week, I read an article about a mayor from California who stated that he couldn’t see concerts happening until at least the summer of 2021. While nothing it set in stone, the news was especially hard for me to hear knowing that on Aug. 11 I am supposed to see Green Day in concert for the fourth time.
Growing up, I was always known for my love of Green Day. I remember getting an odd certificate for it in seventh grade (I can’t remember the context around that, but I know I got a certificate from Mrs. Dowdy saying “Biggest Green Day Lover” or something like that). Even in my adult life, the people around me know how big my love for the band is. Literally my third tattoo ever just says “Green Day.” I seriously just have the words “Green Day” written on my wrist.
Growing up, this band got me through George W. Bush. They got me through my most angsty teenage years. They introduced me to punk music, and without a doubt I can say Green Day both made me who I am and saved my life time and time again. The three times I’ve seen them in concert were euphoric. So, the thought of not seeing them in August, on my birthday of all days, is really bumming me out.
Yeah, what made the whole thing extra cool was that Green Day was playing on my birthday in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where my mom’s best friend lives. We were going to take an extended weekend to hang out with her, and I’d end the whole trip seeing the best band in the world (and I have VIP tickets, too!). Now, I’m not sure if it’s going to happen. In fact, I’m pretty sure it won’t.
Like I said, it’s all really bumming me out.
So, of course, the first article I shared with the class (which this blog is for) was about mass gatherings like concerts probably being canceled for a long time. Then, today, an urban planning friend of mine shared an article (the second article I provided) about how certain public places in certain cities are finding ways to work around the pandemic to still offer their services, but in a new way.
For instance, many libraries have really relied on lending out e-books and having virtual story times for children. A group in Philadelphia, which is focused on the power of play, came together to distribute 1,200 “Play Packs” in just a week, after playgrounds were shut down. Art Museums around the globe have found ways to cultivate creativity in the home and share online exhibits. More locally, I think about how Fox Island County Park in Fort Wayne has upped their game with hiding wood carvings in the woods to entice people to spend time in nature taking a deeper look at their surroundings.
The article really made me think about how public spaces have changed in order to accommodate the stay at home orders across the nation. But, there are some public places that just don’t replicate as well into the home.
For me, and many like me, concerts and community go hand-in-hand. Some of the best connections I’ve ever made were through waiting in line for hours at a concert. I have an entire group of “Green Day friends” met through waiting in line to see our favorite band. Music brings people together and concerts help you meet people, like you, who share a similar interest that you might not meet in your own hometown. Trust me when I say, there aren’t many punk kids (I guess I’m an adult now) in Van Wert County.
While a library is a public place, you’re not necessarily there to meet others, and those who are there, may not have much in common. When you attend a show, everyone knows that everyone else loves the band you’re all about to see. You instantly have a something in common and something to easily talk about. While a library visit or a trip to the playground can be done by yourself, I argue that a concert is a deeply interconnecting experience in which the entire crowd feels as if they are one. Each of you feeds off of the energy of the person next to you. For me, it’s deeply spiritual in a whole other way that other public spaces/place are not.
Plus, through concerts, I’ve made special friends in places like Cleveland, Columbus, Fort Wayne, Pennsylvania, and even Spain and Germany. I have memories that I will always cherish. To think about this connection being taken away because of this virus is disheartening.
I do, however, recognize the fact that musicians have been working hard to bring the music to us. We are not without concerts or without good music. In fact, on St. Patrick’s Day, The Dropkick Murphys live-streamed a special concert for everyone to watch, since they are the go-to St. Patty’s Day band. Each Monday for the past four weeks, Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day has been performing cover songs and releasing them. Twenty One Pilots released a new song for the quarantine last week with proceeds going to CrewNation. Two of my favorite bands, Everclear and Blue October, plan to hold live concerts online next week. While nothing is the same as physically being at a concert, this is at least a way that musicians can bring a piece of that public space to us in our homes.
But… for me, watching a live concert on my computer, just isn’t the same. What makes the concert experience special is those around you. Concerts need people, and people need to be there in-person to feel the full power of them or else they end up feeling like you are doing nothing more than watching a YouTube video taken by whoever.
I’ve said it twice and I’ll say it a third time, this pandemic is really bumming me out, but I appreciate every attempt of individuals who try to recreate public space in our homes. However, I think I speak for many when I say, public space can’t be artificially inseminated into a non-public space and feel exactly the same way. Instead, especially with concerts, it feels like a cheaper, ripped-off version of a place we should physically be going to in order to get away from our “first place” (as Ray Oldenburg would call it) i.e. home.
