In defense of girls at concerts

A few months ago, I was at the Philadelphia show of Jack’s Mannequin’s 10 Years in Transit Tour.

It’s still hard to believe that Everything in Transit came out in 2005. That makes me feel so old.

I was 10 when the album came out; I was still listening to pop from the radio. I found Jack’s Mannequin in high school, and Everything in Transit been on my list of top 10 albums ever since.

Quite frankly, it’s one of the albums that saved my life.

I feel every line of every song, every beat, every breath in my heart and soul. Every time I listen to it, even so many years later, I still feel like I’ve found my soulmate in album form.

The lyrics, the music. It all describes what I felt then, and what I still feel now.

I know I’m not the only one that feels this way about this album. While I knew so many other people had used this album as a life preserver, clinging desperately to the 11 perfect songs as a way to stay alive, it was never more evident to me than when I was standing in the middle of the crowd at the Electric Factory, dancing and screaming alongside so many other people who felt the same way.

One older man, I’d guess he was in his 50s, was taking serious issue with the fact that a group of younger girls (mid- to late high school) were jumping around, singing along, and generally having a good time. They bumped into him a couple times, sure, but it wasn’t intentional.

This guy was getting irate. He kept glaring at these young girls, who were having the time of their lives. He was staring at them like he wanted to squash all their joy underneath his shoes and leave them completely deflated and defeated in his wake.

The girls either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and even though I have no idea who they are, I was (and still am) extremely proud of them for that.

He eventually walked away, after realizing that his pissed off glaring was futile, and that these girls were going to continue to sing until they lost their voices.

They kept going, arms around each other, jumping and screaming like there was no tomorrow.

At some point for them, it might have felt like there wasn’t a tomorrow. They may have felt like there was no future. Then they found this band, this album, with lyrics and a singer who understands how hard it is to get out of bed some mornings.

If you see these girls at a show, don’t admonish them. Don’t glare at them. Give them a smile and go back to watching the show.

If you are these girls: Don’t let anyone get you down. You survived. You’re alive, and you need to enjoy every second.

Music has the power to save lives.

Some albums are sacred ground.

They are life rafts, rescue boats in the middle of a storm.

The small, dim light flickering in the distance that gives you the hope to live for one more day, then another, then another, until it’s seven years later and you’re surrounded by people shouting the lyrics to the songs that saved your life when you were 14.