I had never been one those people that goes to concerts just to see the opening act. Maybe I’m not musically hip enough since my tastes tend towards already established artists. Right after I moved to Boston though, my dad wanted to surprise me with a congratulations-good-luck-in-the-real-world present. He asked if there were any concerts I really wanted to go to and I said, “not really.” (Okay, wow. Apparently I’m not musically hip at all. I’m also 190 years old, so please forgive my use of the word ‘hip’).

Anyway, I told him Ruth B was the only artist I was super into right now. In fact, when I moved to Boston, I listened to Ruth B’s Golden on repeat for the entire length of my plane ride and much of the time spent in the airport. Just that one song. As someone who was moving out of the Midwest for the first time in my life in pursuit of an impossible dream, that song keeps me from crumpling under the weight of the odds. (I’m trying to be a writer by the way, in case you’re lost). I also knew though, that Ruth B had only released an EP with 4 songs, so she probably wasn’t touring.

In September, my dad surprised me with two tickets to see Alessia Cara perform at the Orpheum Theatre in Boston. I had never heard of Alessia Cara but Ruth B was her opener. I was giddy. (Side note: My dad was probably hoping I’d have made friends by the time the concert rolled around in October so I could use the second ticket, but I’m not the kind of person who asks random strangers to concerts. I knew my neighbors, a couple vague work acquaintances, and some pretty cool people I’d met in a writing club, but no one I knew well enough to take to a concert. [Introvert Insight: when we are really excited about something, we often enjoy doing that activity alone. There’s way less pressure.] I didn’t want to have to make small talk, or pretend to be only casually interested in the concert.) So on the night of the concert, I went to the Orpheum alone.

How Introverts Go To Concerts

The theatre itself was gorgeous. It’s very much in keeping with the surrounding architecture of downtown Boston in that it’s old, majestic, and extremely intricate. It’s the kind of theatre where you look up at the ceiling and see a faded mural alongside vast moldings and carvings. The delicate plasterwork had cracked with time and the parts that had fallen completely away looked to me like peepholes for the Phantom of the Opera to surreptitiously enjoy the show. I was smitten with this theatre. I wanted to go backstage and climb into the rafters. I did not want to have to explain these desires to some concert guest I had dragged along with me. I snuggled into my second row seat, grateful for the empty one beside me, and stared at the ceiling.

A few moments before the concert was set to start, they started filling the stage with preemptive smoke. I could still see the crew standing off to the side, laughing and milling around. One guy kept checking the amps. Another moved a keyboard from stage right to stage left and then back again. I took a preparatory photo of the microphone where Ruth B would stand and then sat forward in my seat, smiling, camera ready. And then nothing.

I Didn’t Know There Was Going To Be An Act 1

Smoke continued to filter out over the audience and two young guys walk out on stage. The first sat on a stool with his guitar and the second came to the microphone and introduced himself as Nathan Sykes. The audience roared. I studied my ticket in the spotlight beams, feeling woefully unprepared for this concert. Nathan was still chatting on stage. He wore a crisp button down and had a matte black mug that subtly boasted his own initials. Several girls around me slumped forward in mid-swoon. Ruth B will come eventually, I thought as I tucked my ticket away and listened to the man on stage.

He spoke easily to the crowd, the kind of person that seemed to be born to stand on stage. He was grateful, smiley, and flirtatious in that just enough manner that charming boys use on their middle school teachers. He reminded me of the countless teenagers I’d seen host high school talent shows and star in plays. The ones you’d watch and think: he’s going to be somebody someday. And then he started singing.

His voice is deep and pure, the kind that makes you ache. When he sings, he sounds like he’s from an earlier time. He croons, but his songs were catchy and upbeat, even when he slowed it down for Famous (a song I downloaded that night and have been listening to ever since). He sang us four songs, got us pumped for the following acts, and then strolled off stage with his quiet but talented guitar player.

Ruth B

Surely it’s time for Ruth B now, I thought as I scribbled down Nathan’s name and song titles so I could look him up later. The crew reorganized the stage, moving that dang keyboard around again, before ambling off stage. And then we waited. And then she came.

I took photo after photo of her as she performed three of the songs from her EP, plus a few songs I’d never heard before. (Later, I frantically googled the songs but couldn’t find them anywhere. Where are these Ruth B songs that aren’t on iTunes or the Internet?? Where are they hiding?!). She had a full band on stage with her, and I was almost nostalgic for the purity of simple piano accompaniment. She sounded lovely though, as expected. I smiled the whole time. The only song from her EP that she didn’t sing was 2 Poor Kids, which you should totally look up and listen to because it’s beautiful and so fun. It’s easily the happiest of the four songs.

I was all aflutter when she sang Golden. It still makes me feel like the rest of the world’s opinions don’t matter. I will be a writer someday.

She spoke softly to the crowd in between songs, but above the crushing screams of the audience and old acoustics in the theatre, I had a hard time hearing what she told us. I heard several gracious “thank you-s” and when it was over, I thought she might have said something about coming to say hi, but I couldn’t tell. I felt like the boy at the end of Polar Express when he can’t hear the last words of the train conductor. I felt that loss. I looked for her all over the theatre after the concert, but never find her. Letting her know how important her songs and lyrics are to me will just have to be an event for another day.

When she’d finished with her set, she bounded off stage, hugged someone, and then disappeared into the theatre. The audience cheered before dipping into relative silence. For an immeasurably small blip of time, we sat in silence as everyone processed what they’d just heard. The normal buzz of chatter and shuffling rose almost instantly, but for that one moment, the entire audience was there for the same reason as me: to see Ruth B. The lights came up. We waited.

Alessia Cara

I spent the next several minutes texting my dad, thanking him, and glancing around to see what the rest of the house was doing. Maybe they’d heard where to go to say Hi. But hardly anyone was getting up. My dad asked if I would stay for the rest of the concert. “Of course,” I texted. I needed to see what would come next.

Alessia burst onto stage a few moments later, foregoing the normal introductory speech. Her show was fast and fiery from the start and didn’t let up. She was much more comfortable on stage than the two opening acts, the type of ease that comes with years of performing. She grabbed fingers that reached up to hers and made eye contact with her audience. She didn’t flinch when a girl in the front row slowly slid her hand towards Alessia’s shoe and then nearly unhinged her jaw with the pleasure of touching the plastic souls.

Alessia marched back and forth on the stage to be as close as possible to every seat. In between songs, she told stories from her life about where the songs came from and what she hoped we would gain. She wanted us to be happy. To stand together against stifling conformity. After the first song, she laughed and shielded her eyes to thank the audience for showing up, proclaiming to never have performed for such a large crowd. After a few more songs, she called a boy forward who was holding a sign.

The whole night, she sang so well that if it weren’t for the strain in her neck and occasional catch of breath, you could easily argue that the concert was prerecorded. It sounded that good. She wore no costume or makeup, just a jean jacket with her tour logo and braided pigtails. She looked like your best friend from back home. The one you’ve known since middle school, and every time you talk to her on the phone, she makes you want to move back.

Why I like Concerts

There is something about live music that reaches further inside me than recorded music, even of my favorite songs. Live music makes me want to cry. No matter the topic or sound. If I’ve heard it before or not. If it’s good, it just settles into my system and releases tears. A song called River of Tears is perfectly cued to make the listener cry too, so I didn’t really have a chance during that song. That was also the song during which Alessia made eye contact with me. I quickly glanced down as if I’d been caught crying by my schoolteacher and didn’t want to explain.

After the concert, several dozen fans lined up outside to wait for the tour bus to pass by, but it was late and I lived two trains and a ten minute walk away. I’m skittish at night, so I got on the train instead of waiting. On the ride home, I googled song lyrics and titles so I could save them for later. I made myself a whole new playlist.

Live concerts build connective tissue between the artist and the audience, the same way a specific perfume links you to a certain person. When you go home and purchase the album you just heard performed, it’s no longer just a song on the radio on the way to work. It doesn’t sound like background noise. It sounds the kind of memory where you keep the ticket stub and write down how you feel so you won’t forget. It sounds like a night out with friends. Even if the only friend you had that night was the artist on stage.

Now, I’m a whole new fan of someone. I love when this happens. I learned a long time ago how to take myself to concerts. How to enjoy lunches alone at restaurants and snuggle into a movie theatre seat by myself. It’s not so much that I’m lonely as that I know how to be alone. There is a huge, comforting difference between those two things. I’m glad I’m no longer the person that misses out on concerts or midnight premiers or dessert specials just because I haven’t yet made a best friend in this city. I hope you, fellow introvert, aren’t either. I hope you take yourself to a concert soon.