When I arrived, there was certainely no lack of scalpers to be found. Here's something interesting: if I understood correctly, scalpers hold up signs that say "cherche un billet" which means "looking for a ticket." Nice and ambiguous right? They're not hard to spot, either. In a crowd of shaggy hair and skinny jeans, you can't help but question if the middle-aged west African men and scrawny youth in hip-hop gear really want those tickets for themselves. I'm assuming scalping [tickets] is illegal in Paris, so they walk around asking concertgoers if they are selling tickets. And I think you're supposed to say you're selling if you're interested in buying from the scalper. You with me here? They also have sort of wingmen to ask people if they're looking for a ticket, without the hazard of possessing one to sell. One took a particular interest in me, I think because I was pouting and looking especially adorable and distressed (this won over many scalpers when I was a teen, and I'm glad to see it still holds up at the ripe old age of 21). He was kind enough to try to talk his scalpin' buddies into selling me a ticket for 40 instead of the 60+ they were asking, telling them that I was a real fan and all that. Didn't work, but was very nice of him and seemingly without agenda.
At this point, the opening band had already finished and Franz started, but the scalpz still wouldn't lower their prices. Knowing I had only 40 euro, they wouldn't so much as glance at me. Sorry guys, I thought some money was better than no money but maybe that's one of those "cultural differences." After checking at the window again for extra tickets, I decided it was probably best to wait in the lobby until mid-set and hope the doormen would take mercy. They didn't.
Then, to add insult to injury, Franz frontman Alex "Love of My Life" Kapranos' girlfriend, Eleanor Friedberger (of The Fiery Furnaces), saunters into the concert hall.
Noting her exceptionally late arrival and American English, I'm 99.99% sure it was her. I thought about stopping her to tell her I like her band, but I was too distraut over her presence shattering my fantasies of running off with the lead singer (read: shy).
So I kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Other "waiters" began to leave, and at some point we got kicked out of the lobby, so we couldnt even listen to the distant rumble of the songs. But I kept waiting. The ushers started staring at me. I was the last one.
And then I thought, "Aren't I too old for this?" Aren't I too old to be standing around at concerts, sacrificing dinner and dignity just for the off-chance that I might catch 2, 3 songs? When I had already seen them the night before? Then I realized: I don't think I'm ever going to be too old for it. I don't think that I'm ever going to be too old, too mature, too over it, to stop lining up early, to stop paying too much for tickets, to stop waiting just to hear a few songs. The late-night album-dissecting conversations with friends, the mix-tapes, the waiting-for-the-right-moment-to-listen-to-the-new-album -- I don't think I'm going to get too old for it, and I don't want to. I'm still young, yes but I am an adult now, and my ardor for music is no longer a hormone-fueld means of clinging to some adolescent deity.
Myriad people have encouraged me to be a music journalist, and I think I've finally come to that conclusion on my own. When I see reviewers at shows--the older audience members with a pen and edgy glasses--I respect them, I envy them. And more than anything, I can see myself being them. But I've never seriously considered it before, because really, it's just so mastubatory. "Here's what I have to say about someone else's original creative work." Like, who cares, you know? Who is this affecting? My ambitions for my career have always been more noble than that, or so I'd like to think. News and features reporting gives back, it informs people, heck it can even uncover a truth from time to time. I've grown up believing that I want to contribute to something greater than myself--that that's really finding your place. And I still plan on doing that. So how do I reconcile that with music journalism? I've tried news, I've tried features, and they've been great, but nothing really feels as "right" as writing about arts/music/culture. News feels like what I should be doing, but it doesn't answer that "what would your job be if you won the lottery" question. Music journalism does (well, actually, being a music producer does, but, you know). So isn't that what I should be doing?? Not neccessarily when I'm fresh out of grad school, the economy pending, but....in the end? Or do I "settle" for doing what's greater than myself? How do I reconcile my goals and ambitions with what makes me most passionate? Do I jump around between fields? A little concert coverage, a littel congress coverage? Rolling Stone, here I come. As much as their music reporting is in the stinks, they do do excellent political reporting.... Ok. There's hope yet. Anyone wanna help me find the "cool" Rolling Stone? Is it Vice? Adbusters? NPR? Am I selling out? When am I going to know what the "right" choice for my career as a journalist is? Phew. Well. In the meantime, I guess I'll have to accept my fate as a twentysomething cliché, freaking out about my future, headphones in one hand, Herald-Tribune in the other.
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