I went to
Emo Night at Orange Ale House yesterday and fucking loved it.
I didn't consider myself an "emo kid" in the genre's
heyday. I used to make fun of it, and pop punk, while rationalizing that the
music I liked wasn't actually in that category. It was part of the whole
"I'm into metal and emo is just
flimsy tin foil" mentality. In hindsight, it was so silly to be elitist
about. I love a variety of music, but there are three appeals of emo and pop
punk (for me): the nostalgia, the surrounding
community that bonds over it, and the fact that the lyrics are melodramatically
angsty but the songs are upbeat and energetic.
I was happy
to see the variety of ages. There were people in their thirties who remembered
Good Charlotte and Death Cab for Cutie. There were the 22-year-olds screaming
along to Paramore. There was music I remember from eighth grade. It spanned
from the early to late 2000s. Some people dressed up. Others were people who
used to wear fishnet shirts and Chuck Taylors, but still love the scene even if
they don't sport the style anymore. It's more about the music and social bonds
than the clothes. We came of age in the time when scene first reared its shaggy
bleached head, and you had to drape your hair over one eye because the world
was too sad to look at with both.
I saw so many people I knew. We were all bouncing in a
continuous wave while skeletons and mummies danced over the projection screen.
People wore glow necklaces as halos. We passed around a microphone and yelled
into it together. Those unfamiliar with this subculture might think it's
confusing how the lyrics "I can fall asleep tonight or die, because you
kill me" could be sung with such joy.
Experiences like that are unique because you're in a crowded
space with everyone talking, but you know what they're all saying. You're
speaking the same words, but the lyrics mean something different to everyone.
"There's a story at the bottom of this bottle" could remind someone
of booze-fueled open mic nights, while reminding somebody else of soda bottles
they stored money in as a child. Everyone has their own story at the bottom of
a different bottle, and all of these bottles are floating in one wave, mixing
their contents.
At some point during the night, a guy tried to pick me up by
saying, "You look sad. What's the matter?" I bet that's his
designated line to use at emo night. My sister told me, "That's not
negging; it's therapisting."
One time the music stopped and a host yelled, "Here's
something to dry these emo tears!" and then showered us with streamers and
Silly String.
When I went into the room with all the music, Mike worried I'd
been swallowed by the crowd. Then he saw that I loved it. Any night that ends
with me jumping up and down and covered in Silly String is a good one.
