Listening to White Lies Makes Me Feel Like I’m 15 Again

9 Oct

There is nothing in this world that  brings me greater happiness than CVS coupons,  purchase something marked as full price to later have it ring up at sale price (score!,) and above all else, music. Homegirl loves her music. As you may or may not know, The Killers are my favorite band. I’ve seen them live upwards of 15 times since 2006 and no, it never gets old. Seeing the SAME band 15+ times might seem like a lot but compared to some other super fans, that is just the tip of the obsessive Iceberg.  Thanks to this obsession, I fancy myself a concert goer. This past week I was lucky enough to be invited to see White Lies at Bowery Ballroom. Now, maybe it’s just because I’ve been living under my Killers rock for the last few years but I’d never heard of these dudes. I’m one of those people that, when I get into something, I REALLY get into it. My love becomes so overpowering for that one thing that there is barely any room left over for anything else. For example, having been obsessed with Bollywood for the last few years, I am really not up to speed on the Hollywood movies that are coming out (though from what I hear I’m not missing much.) What I’m saying is, my love for the few artists I absolutely cherish may be partially responsible for having no prior knowledge of this band but I figured it was time for some new music. I did a little studying on Spotify and decided that a) they were good b) they were worth seeing and c) who the eff do I think I am refusing an invitation to see a cool band in New York on a Friday night? I live in the greatest city in the world and my 3 most frequented spots are The Coffee Bean, CVS and my room. So I decided to go from being Ben Kenobi (weird hermit lurking around Tatooine) to Obiwan Kenobi (ass kicking Jedi traveling into space and shit) and go to the show.

ben_kenobi

Sorry, Ewan McGregor but Alec Guinness was the bomb diggs Obi-Wan.

It may have been the cider (yes, cider – not beer) that I had pre-show or the excitement of having a REAL day and night out but I was dancing all kinds of crazy at this show. Usually when I see the Killers I have to wait in line for what seems like 10 years (it’s actually closer to about 8 hours) to get into the venue so I can be in the front but for this show, we rolled up just a few minutes before the set and stood in the back. Interesting to see how the other half lives. It was the most chill, non-anxiety provoking show I’ve ever been to and even from the back the view was still great (and by “great” I mean I could still gawk at the lead singer, Harry, as he touched his beautiful hair while I screamed  “just keep touching your hair!” every 5 minutes.)

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Obvi, I’ve become obsessed with this band since the show (duh, I’m obsessive. Have you been paying attention?) and have been listening to White Lies nonstop. They’re a little darker than my usual go-tos but something about them stuck with me. In listening to them over and over again, I’ve realized that part of their appeal is that their music makes me feel like I’m 15 years old again. Yes, we’re going all the way back to 2002, when little Candace thought she was so deep, sitting alone in the library at lunch reading NME (that’s how I discovered the Killers) because eating in the cafeteria was such a waste of my valuable time. Yes, the same Candace that joined the prom committee to stand up for the little guy and veto any decisions that might be made in favor of having a Prom King and Queen. The same Candace that hung out with her AP History teacher because he was the only person who also thought that Patti Smith’s “Because the Night” was, like, the best song ever.

15 year old Candace was very aware that she was 15, perhaps overly aware, and saw the triviality of everything that was going on around her. Lunch? Lame. Prom? Wack. Clubs? El. Oh. El.  Basically, I was like an old, cynical grandma who screamed at kids from the porch while chain-smoking – just trapped in an oily faced, hoodie clad teenager’s body. While I wasn’t totally Emo in high school, I definitely flirted with studded belts, black eyeliner and eye-covering bangs. Listening to songs about unrequited love, fear and death with Joy Division-esque ominous synthesizers setting the mood made me want to skip bio and smoke behind the church. In actuality, I only ever skipped bio once (I really liked bio) but I did try my first cigarette behind a church. I know, how cliché.

It’s hard to explain exactly why, but this strange sense of nostalgia came over me listening to these songs. I had this vision of myself walking to the bus stop in the snow wearing converse – which by the way, is a terrible idea. But that image epitomized High School for me; impractical and just plain weird. Like most, High school was an awkward yet hopeful time for me. I remember fantasizing about what my life would be like when I was older; how much better it would be. Now I am older, and I think I’m pretty much the exact same person I was then. My life isn’t that different, I just like it a lot more. I still wear sneakers almost every day, still think lots of allegedly important things are trivial and I find the world both ridiculous and fascinating at the same time. I guess that’s the thing about getting older, you’re not really any different – you just know a lot more (at at least you think you do.)

Now, as I listen to this admittedly depressing music, I think about my 15 year old self – her likes, dislikes, worldview – and while I didn’t think so at the time, she was actually pretty cool (though admittedly she could  have used a little more help with her eyebrows.) I think she’d like me, too – though she’d probably be pissed we don’t have a boyfriend.

So here’s to you, High School Candace! Glad you didn’t take shit from those people (for the most part) and did what you wanted (for the most part.) Now listen to this and cry.

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