Notes on Beautiful Sadness and Seeing Your Favorite Bands Play

The past few days were marked by a whirlwind of feelings that were felt in their complete and absolute depth, as I got to see two of my favorite bands of all time, one of them for the first time ever. I remember being maybe 12? or 13? When I first listened to Eddie Vadder's and Billy Corgan's voices, and something inside of me was completely altered that day. I realized there was one specific type of emotion that has always walked beside me, but my child-brain couldn't fully understand it yet: sadness. I've experienced sadness in all its different shapes and colors throughout my life and not always the kind of sadness that lacerates our heart, but mainly the beautiful type of sadness. The one that made me think of a time i wasn't alive, a place I didn't know where it was, faces i still haven't met. somehow, all these things that i didn't know of, made me so incredibly sad. I indulged in that feeling. I accepted the pathetic drama and fully welcomed it to my life. I drank it's kool-aid, so thirsty, committed to deconstructing this type of emotion to its bones, figure it all out. I thought that maybe if I investigated deep enough, I would better handle the feeling and not allow it to pain me so much. But it was only through these bands that i found a way out. Something about the scratchy guitar solos, the confrontational screams, the overall atmosphere from some of those songs that sometimes feels like an elegy - it all made so much sense to me and helped put my own sadness into perspective. I came to terms with it. These songs swallowed me whole, pulled me in like a magician about to start presenting their trick, summoned a massive wave that obliterated all my senses. I was forever hooked. I love this shit. The lyrics to "disarm" are still echoing in my head, I shed so many tears in that moment. watching pearl jam open the show with "daughter" put a huge smile on my face. A fraction of a moment, a lifelong of beautiful sadness presenting itself right in front of me, but this time, disguised as the utmost form of joy. What a fucking ride.