When Everything Feels Like the Movies, Go to a Concert

Over the summer, my dad turned to me and said that he better start going to his favorite artists' concerts before all of his favorite artists started to die. He told me, "They're old. They're as old as I am."

Things I did not say in response:

"You're not old dad."

"You won't die dad."

"The music you like isn't old dad."

All of these things would have been lies. I don't like lying, especially not to my old dad. Instead, I went to see the Goo Goo Dolls with him in July. The stadium, packed with more people than a Bucc-ee's road stop on the Texas state line, fizzed with energy. In front of my father and I stood a classic nuclear family, their young children dancing to the songs released nearly 30 years before their birth, and filming the show on their apple phones. As a thing I am trying after being shamed by a college classmate during my attempt to photograph the solar eclipse of 2024, I keep my phone in my pocket during big events. I will see if maybe that helps me remember them better. However, that little girl one row ahead of me will have those videos of the Goo Goo Dolls when she's my age, and by then she might not be able to go and see them tour any longer.

The couple sitting beside me, far older than my father, stayed through the whole act, a two hour plus set, not counting the opening act. The man immediately beside me remained seated for the entirety of the show. When the lights came down, and the Dolls left the stage, although some families began to grab their popcorn bags and soda bottles, car keys and purse strings in hand, most of us knew that the encore would arrive shortly. Patient as the moon waiting for the sun to slip from the sky, we arose early from our seats, yelling at the band to get back together on stage for us. They had yet to belt out "Iris," the song famous for having been performed in Buffalo during a thunderstorm at an outdoor venue. If you've yet to watch this gorgeous, soaking, heartfelt moment of pure bliss and serendipity, I might recommend it. It's concentrated FOMO though, frankly. It makes me never want to say no to anything ever again, lest I miss witnessing some human miracle like this. Even indoors, 21 years after the Buffalo 4th of July performance, the song still carried with it a thrum of power. Everyone who knew better than to leave, knew that they stayed regardless of trying to beat the crowds and the traffic, to hear "Iris" live.

Performance theory posits that each time a show goes on, it goes on differently. It recreates itself entirely anew with each passing moment. Live and embodied art is ephemeral, and far more valuable, in my opinion, for this quality.

When the Goo Goo Dolls came back on stage, to the thunderous roars of an expectant audience, the man beside me stood from his chair for the first time that night, and watched, rapt and at attention, until the Dolls left the stage for good. It is hard for me to hear that song without thinking about that nameless stranger, whose face evades the limits of my memory's capabilities. I think of him, and I think of my father, the way I know that he would stand for his favorite song, even if he did not have the strength to stand at all for the rest of the concert. I think too of myself, and how on day I will be old, going to see old acts, wondering if I will have to sit through the whole show until I stand for my song to be played.

I don't know what that song meant to that man, other than what I know "Iris" means to so many people. A beautifully written song, whose legacy has long outlived the film, "City of Angels," for which it was originally penned.

One lyric in the second verse goes as follows,

"You can't fight the tears that ain't comin' or the moment of truth in your lies, when everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you're alive."

This lyric encapsulates the impact that this song has on me, and the generations of those who have loved it before I even existed. The ephemeral magical moment when we rise and sing this song, a song that so many people know every word to, is a moment of truth in the cold, callous, and numbed out lies of day to day life. This song is beautiful enough to make you have tears to cry, and a reason to want to fight them, and to feel joy despite loss, pain, and sorrow. The performance of it, heartbreaking, because it ends and once it happens will never happen the same way again, cuts you, but when you bleed, you know that you are alive.

This song is theater, it is not like the movies. It is real, lived, and embodied. It will always be relevant, and so will the Goo Goo Dolls. At least, they will to me, my dad, and the man next to me.