It's getting warmer out and musicians are announcing their spring and summer tour schedules. Tickets are on sale, set-lists are being drawn, and the studios are slowly emptying as musicians hit the road.
Fans patiently await their turn to spend a night in the same room as their heroes after shelling out a good sum of their hard earnings to see their beloved band scream into a microphone live.
But what comes after this high-energy experience? After the music is over. After the lights go out. After the magic extinguishes.
Post-Concert Depression.
I’d never experienced this until about a month ago when I met my favorite band—an underground duo called One-Eyed Doll. The four hours I’d spent at Webster Hall were electric. Strobe lights flashed in time with the band’s songs as the drum beats pounded in my chest as though they were helping my heart chill out for a while.
One-Eyed Doll’s performance was mystifying; it grabbed hold of every goth in the venue, entrancing us as the lead singer, Kimberly Freeman, pranced around the stage in her chunky combat boots.
Their performance had me floating for what seemed like hours—I remained on a small cloud of admiration long after their set had ended. But what really sealed the deal was actually meeting Kimberly and Jason Rufuss Sewell (the drummer).
As a part of the press, I’d had the privilege of interviewing them to promote their show, so we’d spoken months earlier over the phone. However, meeting your favorite musicians in person in far different than simply chatting on the phone.
Warm hugs were received and autographs were given as we chattered on about the show and the article I’d written about them. Both humbled (after the gracious “thank-you’s” for the interview) and star-struck, I was pulled away to catch a train back to reality.
The following week, I slowly broke from the spell cast that night at Webster Hall. Keeping busy with schoolwork and writing, I was able to distract myself from the memories of the concert that sat just behind thoughts of the present. After gushing over their concert to many friends, a colleague of mine mentioned this “post-concert depression.” I had no idea that that was even a “thing.” But she mentioned the symptoms and, boy, I had it!
About a week after the show, I finally stopped wearing some sort of band merch and continued on with my life as a college senior. So, to those of you who are making summer concert plans, make sure you have a few activities planned for a couple of days following. Oh—and keep a tub of ice cream around!
