đ you ain't no saint & i ain't one either
One of the perks of living in Baltimore is its proximity to other major cities, so when a show is announced, my husband always asks âthis [band] is playing at [a venue] in [a city], do you want to to go?â Sometimes, I overthink it and say noâa string of excuses at the readyâan answer that feels natural (in the worst way) and something I'm actively pushing against which feels unnatural (in the best way).
So this time, when he asked, I truly considered it: two nights of Aaron West & the Roaring Twenties (a band that has nestled its way deeply into my rib cage) celebrating a decade of We Donât Have Each Other at a new-to-me venue (City Winery) in my second favorite city (Philadelphia) with my favorite person?
Of course I said yes.
We take the train from Penn Station, our first time riding the Amtrak together. Thereâs no assigned seating in coach (rude), so I prepared myself ahead of time to sit next to a stranger (preparation is mostly a reminder to not be too intense about anything) with whom I will end up chatting. Ultimately, I end up sitting next to an older gentleman who is typing away on his laptop. I canât remember what sparked our conversationâa sigh? an âexcuse meâ as I sat down and and tried to take up as little space as possible, or maybe it was my âwhich stop are you getting off at?â and then maybe the sigh followed after moments of comfortable silence?âbut it ended up being work-related, mostly because herding cats (managing people and expectations over whom and which you have no real control) appears to be a universal experience.
We walked from 30th Station to our hotel in Gayborhood because an Uber was too expensive and I am just a very stubborn girl in her mid-30s who is learning to budget. I assumed prices would lower, but then it got to the point where it felt pointless to call an Uber, so we endured. A mile and a half later, we arrive at our hotelâoverstimulated, hungry, and hoping for an early check-inâonly to learn that our room wasn't ready. Leaving our bags behind, we continued our trek down S 12th Street, but this time in search of Angeloâs and the promise of A Very Good Cheesesteak.
Angeloâs is small, organized, chaotic, and cash only: my favorite. I shout to place my order and it takes too long and I feel awkward, filling pauses with an âIâm so sorry, I couldnât hear youâ while gesturing to the loud music booming from the speakers around me. The employee taking my order is patient, but my thoughts wander and I am suddenly Very Aware that I exist. As I give my order, a part of my brain tells me I must be the stupidest person in the world.
As I walk back across the street to Robert the feeling dissipates and I mention thereâs a coffee shop nearbyâI only know this because my Google Maps is an endless list of places I hope to visitâso we continue our walk through South Philly. We find a table and order chai lattes and I stare at the art on the wall next to us: bugs made out of paper. I spend too much time staring at them, mostly because Iâm surprised at how small and delicate they are; they almost look real. Iâm staring at themâlost in my own thoughtsâwhen Robert confesses he thought they were real, which makes me brave enough to admit it, too.
An hour laterâthe other half spent standing in the warm sun across the street from Angeloâsâwe walk back to the hotel, prize in hand.
I've always struggled with how to describe Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties to the people in my life. I usually end up with some version of âitâs a side project from the lead singer of The Wonder Years, but each album is another âbookâ in the story; each song a new âchapterâ in the universe of Aaron West. Live shows are also incorporated into the canon. Pretty neat!
We're close enough to the venue, so we walk. City Winery looks nothing like I expected, which means it's clean, open, and airy. Itâs bright in a way Iâm not used to and itâs disorienting at first. Iâm used to seeing bands in cramped venues with sticky floors where bodies are pressed tightly against one another and nobody apologizes for taking up space. In lieu of a barricade, there are tables pressed up against the stage.
At one point, Aaron/Soupy/Dan Campbell mentions how nice the venue is, and Iâm struck with a memory of seeing Brand New perform at Kings Theater in Brooklyn. Jesse Lacey, standing behind a microphone decorated with flowers, looking up at the ceiling and saying "I've never played in a more beautiful place.â That night, they played Soco Amaretto Lime. I remember standing there with Robertâthe boy Iâve loved since high school and who, for me, has always been the other half of âweâreâ in the lyrics âyouâre just jealous âcause weâre young and in love.â
The first show was good, but doesn't hit me the way I expect it to, and I don't feel satiated. In retrospect, it was me stuck in my own head (in the worst way). Overall, I have a great time, and I make new show friends and get to (unexpectedly) chat with the drummer's dad.
In an attempt to do Everything All of the Time, I purchased tickets to a LEGO exhibit at the Franklin Institute. When traveling, I find it difficult to strike a balance between rest and fun. The more I experience, the hungrier a part of me becomes, and itâs overwhelming. There is never enough time to do all the things I want to do (cue that one Sylvia Plath quote) and I am learning (or at least trying to learn) to be okay with that.
Prior to the museum, we stop at Middle Child for breakfast and end up sitting on a bench in Seger Park to eat. A blue, cloudy sky; chilly, with a light breeze; children screaming and playing in the park to the left us. Itâs such a beautiful, perfect morning in Philadelphia and I cried on the bench in Seger Parkâpartly because the sandwich was very good, but mostly because I was happy and, in that moment, I was aware of it.
After the Franklin Institute, we meet a friend for lunch. Itâs my first time meeting her in personâI originally met her through a bandâs discord serverâand Iâm nervous and excited. It feels odd to be nervous, especially considering that my deepest and truest relationships began on the internet. There is always some fear of âI am tolerable online, but what if Iâm not in person?â or âwhat if I say something and itâs The Wrong Thing?â There is the constant fear of being too much and somehow not enough. Also, she is so much cooler than me and that's very intimidating!!
It goes better than expected (of course) and we chat easily. Throughout lunch, we talk about bands that leave gaping holes when they leave and the endless quest to fill it; the importance of getting to the gigâespecially when you donât want toâand how we have never regretted a gig once there; the ways in which music has saved and shaped our lives over and over and over and over again; the anticipatory grief that comes with finding a new band to fill the previously mentioned hole and knowing it wonât last forever.
Throughout the conversation, I recognize the familiar ease of falling into the safety of another person who isn't my husband. Where it goes from "we have [these things] in common" to "oh, you get it.." and the walls start to come down. From that, there spawns something I've craved my entire life, but never had the language for. I now recognize this as platonic intimacy, but growing up in a Pentecostal church, I only ever associated intimacy with sex. Anyway, Iâm beginning to crave these moments more and more. A sincere âtell me everythingâ that, at first, I balked at. Surely, she couldn't want to know everything. But she did, and that eventually opened up the space between us.
After lunch, I take a nap and when I wake up, Iâm struggling to find the energy to get to the gig. A week of long days at work, an intense therapy session, a full day of travel and a show followed by another day of exploring and walking and forgetting to drink enough water. I want to go and I donât want to go. I cannot find the in-between these two choices and I am paralyzed with indecision until Robert gently reminds me that âwe just have to get to the gig.â
I am grateful he convinces me to go. Night two is a much better crowd and it's a reminder of why I love these shows so much. I also get to hang out with a friend that I met at Starland Ballroom a couple of years ago. I think it may have been The Wonder Years when they toured with Fireworks, but we also hung out during the In Lieu of Flowers release show in Asbury Park. A show that is now part of the canon!
CJâa member of the bandâopens and itâs a surprisingly vulnerable set that I think highlights the intimacy and safety of an Aaron West show. The crowds are truly so polite. At one point, CJ plays a song he wrote for his mother who recently passed and when he fumbles during the song, he decides to start over. He mentions this isn't something you're supposed to do, but he does it and the room cheers. At one point, he also says something along the lines of âweâre a bunch of misfits that Aaron/Soupy/Dan Campbell brought on stage. None of us would be here if it werenât for him.â
Because this is what relationships are about, isn't it? Realizing the potential in the people closest to you, especially when they don't see it in themselves? To give them that extra little push they need to finally break through the barrier of their comfort zone? How wonderful to have someone who is so sure of you, your art, and what it can contribute to a room full of people. I think of the ways that the people in my life whoâwhether they're still in it or notâhave helped make me brave. I would not be where I am without them.
Openers aside, I already know this show is different because when Aaron/Soupy/Dan Campbell walks on stage, the cheering feels endless. Night two feels like coming home, and this is when I begin to struggle with explaining Aaron West in conversation; it feels so personal. How do I explain that when the music swells, my heart does too? That I look forward to the moments when the crowd is louder than the band; that some of the saddest songsâlike âDivorce & the American Southââhave pockets of joy in them, too and it's because of the crowd?
How do I explain that when Aaron/Soupy/Dan Campbell sings "I'm starting to believe there's a god and he hates me / I'm starting to believe that my mom lied about grace and divinity" I'm a teenager thoroughly convinced that my circumstances in life are a punishment from God. I can't count how many times I've cried to "Get Me Out of Here Alive" in my car (usually on my way to work). In my car, I'm alone in my grief and it is so so heavy. There are times I've had to pull over because I get lost in its current and am unable to catch my breath. In a room with a thousand people belting the same lyrics, I'm no longer alone in my grief. I often think about church because this is how I was supposed to feel during church all those years ago.
There is so much in this album (and the later ones) that resonates with me and I continue to find bits of Aaron in myself and in the people in my family. When the band starts playing âGoing to Georgiaâ (a song by The Mountain Goats) and I hear the lyrics âthe most remarkable thing about coming home to you / is the feeling of being in motion again,â I'm transported to all the places where I see Robert and the world is set right again. When I got back from Florida this summerâone of the most emotionally taxing weeks Iâve had in yearsâI only remember what it felt like to see him in the parking lot; to run into his arms, sobbing, his enveloping hug followed by his reassurances of âitâs okay. Youâre home now.â In that moment, I am 35, but I am also very much the teenage girl who missed the boy who has always been able to put the world back in motion for herâespecially when she thought we might never make it back.
I've been working with my teenager a lot in therapy and I'm realizing how much she's carried for so long and how much of it wasnât hers. I try to honor her in the ways that I can, so when I go to a show, I try to remind myself to channel her, because sure, the songs are sad and sometimes a lyric is a trigger and it yanks us into that awful, horrible timeless place, but at least we get cry and dance together.