A Win

I don’t go to gigs very often. In fact, I’ve only ever actually been to three as of right now. Before Monday that total was two.

Around this time last year, I passed up the chance to go to a live music gig. Then-lesser known Courtney Barnett was playing a small venue in Liverpool and I thought: “that might be alright to go to.” So in true me form, I did exactly not that. I had several reasons to rationalise my not going, all of which I knew then and know now were excuses. My brain, however, refuses to accept this and calls them “reasons”.

Reasone the Firste: “It’s on the night after I get back from a long weekend of visiting family in Northern Ireland. I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to go. Plus I’d be in work the next morning.”

– This didn’t matter one bit. On the night in question, I literally sat there watching TV, thinking: “Oh, that gig’s happening in Liverpool tonight. That would’ve been nice to go to. Ah well.”

Riesen de Sekunde: “I don’t really know any of her songs, to be honest. I mean, like, I know one or two that I’ve heard on the radio. And even then, I don’t know them religiously off by heart. Most of that night would just be me standing there not really knowing what’s happening.”

– Even just knowing a couple of songs should’ve been excuse enough to go along. Heck as far as I recall it was a £10 ticket price. That would’ve been decent enough even if only for the few songs I knew.

Raisin tha Turd: “I don’t have anyone to go with. Would I really want to go to a gig alone?”

– BULLSHIT! That is just total bull and you know it, me! I actually put that question to Facebook and got a response from a friend expressing interest but not wholly committing at the time. This uncertainty over whether she would go or not fuelled my own indecision on the matter and ultimately, I didn’t go and she did. Anyway, even if I had have pondered going alone, another Facebooker told me there’s nowt wrong with that. People go to gigs on their own all the time. They’re there to see the act, not socialise.

All of these “reasons” reared their ugly heads a few months ago when I happened upon information of another gig in Liverpool happening this week. This time, it was Frank Turner catching my interest and, in an effort to quell those excusing voices early, I booked a ticket straight away. A ticket. One ticket. For just me.

I put aside any notions of not having energy by telling myself I would be up for it and should get over myself. Some time later, I booked a couple of days off work to eradicate any potential worries that I had more important responsibilities to worry about. I familiarised myself with more of the songs than I was used to, but even knew that this wouldn’t mean I’d be aware of every song played on the night.

In the week leading up to the gig, I got the proverbial cold feet and wondered whether I should sell my lone ticket to someone else wanting it. It seems that even when I’m forging myself to get on with it, forcing myself to push out the excuses, my mentality still likes to throw a load of self-doubt around. Life’s become very difficult over the last few years because I am literally doing battle with my own mind a log of the time, and more often than not, the mind wins outright. Then again, I suppose it’s difficult for you to chalk up a win when the you don’t necessarily feel able to put up a fight in the first place.

But I went. I stood queuing up in the rain. I had a couple of drinks. I enjoyed two support acts I was previously unaware of. I got stuck in the middle of a large crowd and couldn’t see much of the main act. I awkwardly relocated towards the side wall, amongst other solo gig-goers. I watched both performance and crowd response with awe, enjoying the overall atmosphere of the moment. I put my hands in the air at the appropriate points. I shouted along with the words I knew to the songs I was familiar with. I wore a simple smile and nodded in time to the songs I wasn’t familiar with. I had an enjoyable night with only myself to look after, and I’d have little hesitation in doing so again in future.

So in the relentless battle against my brain, I’ve come through the other side of this fight a little battered, a little scarred, but victorious all the same. It’s been a rare win for me in the ongoing mental struggle, but at least it was an enjoyable one. And with any luck, it’ll make the next one just that little bit easier.

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Nothing really says cold, wet and dark winter days like an upbeat African-inspired bop-along. Of course, I share that though with the same dangling thread of irony as when I refer to Boney M’s Mary’s Boy Child by saying: “Nothing really says Christmas like a steel drum.” I’ve never spent the Yuletide season in the Caribbean so the two just don’t match in my perspective.

So why has this track materialised at this point? Why not something from the gig you just went to see? Well, I already included an uplifting Frank Turner track earlier in the year. As for the support acts, I’m still working on them… my present recollection of them is a cider-induced swirl of remembering they were good without remembering what they did. So, once again I lean back on what’s made an impression on me from national radio play recently. Maybe next week I’ll discover something on my own for a change.

Baloji – Spoiler