Introduction | Lara Bennett
I am not the world's most commitment-loving person. Throughout my life, I've had many hobbies, paying close attention for a few months at most, then losing interest and moving on. I have a hard time making decisions, dedicating myself to romantic relationships, staying focused on schoolwork, even choosing an outfit. I'm a Gemini, we're supposed to be like this. Jack of many trades, master of none. My interests have always been all over the place.
But there's one thing I am serious about, and it's music. Much like my tastes in pasttimes, my tastes in music was incredibly varied- from my third grade obsession with the Backstreet Boys, to a pop punk passion in junior high, followed by a private Beatlemania in high school, I was incredibly attentive, learning each lyric, memorizing every note to each song. But two years ago, my love for all other music came to a halt when I first heard the sweet crooning voice of alt-country songwriter Ryan Adams. Never before had a song brought me so close to tears, had taken me to another world. For a year, I dreamed of seeing him perform live, stroking the strings of his guitar. In September of 2006, my dream finally came true. After much begging, my mom agreed to let me travel to Anaheim, California with my two best friends, Shannon and Jon, to see him. We drove the 279 miles to the House of Blues inside Disneyland and so ensued one of the best weekends of my life. We talked to a fat man wearing elf shoes, made fun of the boys dancing behind us who had no idea who Ryan Adams even was, and most importantly, saw the prolific drunken god slur his speech and sing each of our favorite songs beautifully. After a quick swim in the ocean the next morning, I realized that I was addicted.
I waited all year and finally in July, found out that he would be making a stop at the University of Utah's Red Butte Ampitheatre. Shannon and I bought our tickets and left early in the morning, driving the full 452 miles with only two quick stops for gas. We wore our dresses and cowboy boots; words cannot describe how amazing this night was. We made so many friends, we danced with a pair of yoga teachers, was fed Crown Royal all night by a 42 year old man who offered to take us to his private island in Panama, and met boys our age named K.F.A., Mitch, and Zurmyles. My heart soared and my eyes tore up as I watched the illustrious instrumentalist serenade us as the red mountains above him turned purple in the sunset. At the end of the show, Shannon and I rushed to the edge of the stage where the musicians walked off. When he departed we called out to him but he swerved into the woods to avoid giggling girls like ourselves. The rest of his band members came off next and I recognized one, and called him by name and asked him to bring us to Ryan but he laughed and told us to "write him a letter or something." On the way home, I was quiet and sad. Seeing him was like taking a drug that lifts your spirits incredibly high, followed by crashing waves of sadness when you realize it's over. For weeks, it was all either of us could talk about.
I checked his website daily for additions to the tour dates. He was coming nowhere near the west coast, I considered flying out to New York City and staying with my friend who recently moved there just to see him on Halloween, but it was in the middle of the week and I knew missing that many classes would wreak havoc on my blossoming college career. However, I should not have feared. Soon his label announced a few dates in Texas. Seeing Ryan Adams in Texas! What could possibly top that? Many a lonely nights I had driven home, listening to his voice and imaging that I was driving down a country road. I emailed my aunt who lived outside of Dallas and twisted my tongue in an effort to make it sound like the point of the trip was to see her, not him. In a bit over a month, I will be travelling another 1,195 miles to reach the epitome of musical bliss. By the time I return, I will have travelled 3,852 for him. Third time's a charm, perhaps this time our paths will cross at last and he will leave his girlfriend and spend the rest of his life writing songs about me.
But there's one thing I am serious about, and it's music. Much like my tastes in pasttimes, my tastes in music was incredibly varied- from my third grade obsession with the Backstreet Boys, to a pop punk passion in junior high, followed by a private Beatlemania in high school, I was incredibly attentive, learning each lyric, memorizing every note to each song. But two years ago, my love for all other music came to a halt when I first heard the sweet crooning voice of alt-country songwriter Ryan Adams. Never before had a song brought me so close to tears, had taken me to another world. For a year, I dreamed of seeing him perform live, stroking the strings of his guitar. In September of 2006, my dream finally came true. After much begging, my mom agreed to let me travel to Anaheim, California with my two best friends, Shannon and Jon, to see him. We drove the 279 miles to the House of Blues inside Disneyland and so ensued one of the best weekends of my life. We talked to a fat man wearing elf shoes, made fun of the boys dancing behind us who had no idea who Ryan Adams even was, and most importantly, saw the prolific drunken god slur his speech and sing each of our favorite songs beautifully. After a quick swim in the ocean the next morning, I realized that I was addicted.
I waited all year and finally in July, found out that he would be making a stop at the University of Utah's Red Butte Ampitheatre. Shannon and I bought our tickets and left early in the morning, driving the full 452 miles with only two quick stops for gas. We wore our dresses and cowboy boots; words cannot describe how amazing this night was. We made so many friends, we danced with a pair of yoga teachers, was fed Crown Royal all night by a 42 year old man who offered to take us to his private island in Panama, and met boys our age named K.F.A., Mitch, and Zurmyles. My heart soared and my eyes tore up as I watched the illustrious instrumentalist serenade us as the red mountains above him turned purple in the sunset. At the end of the show, Shannon and I rushed to the edge of the stage where the musicians walked off. When he departed we called out to him but he swerved into the woods to avoid giggling girls like ourselves. The rest of his band members came off next and I recognized one, and called him by name and asked him to bring us to Ryan but he laughed and told us to "write him a letter or something." On the way home, I was quiet and sad. Seeing him was like taking a drug that lifts your spirits incredibly high, followed by crashing waves of sadness when you realize it's over. For weeks, it was all either of us could talk about.
I checked his website daily for additions to the tour dates. He was coming nowhere near the west coast, I considered flying out to New York City and staying with my friend who recently moved there just to see him on Halloween, but it was in the middle of the week and I knew missing that many classes would wreak havoc on my blossoming college career. However, I should not have feared. Soon his label announced a few dates in Texas. Seeing Ryan Adams in Texas! What could possibly top that? Many a lonely nights I had driven home, listening to his voice and imaging that I was driving down a country road. I emailed my aunt who lived outside of Dallas and twisted my tongue in an effort to make it sound like the point of the trip was to see her, not him. In a bit over a month, I will be travelling another 1,195 miles to reach the epitome of musical bliss. By the time I return, I will have travelled 3,852 for him. Third time's a charm, perhaps this time our paths will cross at last and he will leave his girlfriend and spend the rest of his life writing songs about me.
Labels: interesting thing, introduction
posted by lara | 9:48 AM
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