In general, I am not a fan of live music, even with musicians that I love. When I listen to music, I like to hear the songs the exact way I know them. I also am not terribly patient with songs I don't already love. The point of shows is to let musicians riff on their hits and play some of their less popular catalog. Given the shows tend to be expensive and that I don't enjoy them as much as the price of the ticket, I don't go to hear music often. The exception to this is The Loser's Lounge. This cover band powerhouse is so much fun that I go almost every single time they have a show, whether I know a lot about the musician they are covering or not. The set up is lots of musical instruments and singers and then a different lead singer for each tune. They banter. They wear cheestastic costumes. I boogie down.
Last night they performed a tribute to Queen at the Bowery Ballroom. I have already been to two of their Queen tributes, the previous one about two months ago at a much more restricted setting (Joe's Pub, set up like a cabaret so only chair dancing), and I was psyched. Husband, who also loves these shows, was in London for work, so it was just me and friend.
It was just awesome. We danced and laughed and danced. We marveled at the singer who was covered in glitter and wore a pair of chaps and a leopard print thong pouch. (I kind of love him.) We were disturbed by the singer in the unitard who used a lot of mime gestures and looked a little dead somehow. We tried not to look at the man standing in front of us, who donned ill-fitting acid-washed skinny jeans (which he cuffed), suede loafers with no socks, and a shirt that clung to his midsection in a way that enhanced his slight bulge.
During "Bohemian Rhapsody," I jumped up and down at the fast part along with the rest of the crowd. As I looked around me and observed several hundred people experiencing the pure joy of fun that surged through me, I realized the point of live music. It was one of the greatest feelings in the world.