Chris Martin kneels to the audience in Long Island.I lost my concert-virginity last night. To Coldplay. And I must say that I am very glad I waited. Midway through the performance I realized why I love this band so much - why I dedicated the title of this blog to them (from "Don't Panic"): because they make me believe that there is good in the world, and they make me believe in that good.
I was coming off a brunch conversation with my roommate Kim about soulmates and love and whether they exist. Over cheese-eggs and potatoes I was willing to acquiesce that the idea of a "soulmate" - or an OTP (One True Pairing) in fanfiction speak - may be a little far-fetched, even for fiction. But I was not willing to acquiesce love. And after seeing Coldplay in concert at Long Island's Nassau Coliseum, I'm even more unwilling to surrender it, this final outpost where we survivors believe in that elusive good.
Chris Martin makes me happy. His white sneakers and black get-up, the wardrobe change he did in the middle to a different black shirt for the song "Kingdom Come" that they wrote and dedicated to Johnny Cash (especially poignant considering the three of us who went, Amanda and Lucia and I, had just seen "Walk the Line" over spring break), that he's married to Gwyneth Paltrow and has a daughter named Apple, that he fell on the yellow ball of glitter that dropped from the ceiling for the performance of "Yellow", making glitter explode over the stage, that he ran wildly and frenetically to the back of the coliseum to dive into the crowd of people in those nosebleed section, that he and a guitarist fell on the stage and played lazy, dreamy music under twirling blue spotlights, that he went up and put his palm on the screen during my favorite song's favorite lyrics: "You're part of the human race/ All of the stars in the outer space/ Part of a system, a plan" from "White Shadows".
We restrained ourselves throughout most of the performance, sitting on the upturned seats of our chairs instead of dancing to accommodate the woman behind us, but during the last song, "Fix You", we had to get up and dance, and it just didn't even matter anymore. Everyone was up. As Lucia commented, it's the only time that she can dance in front of so many people and not care. I couldn't even be self-conscious at that point. I was screaming the lyrics to "Fix You" along with the rest of the audience: "Lights will guide you home/ and ignite your bones/ and I will try to fix you" (an effort that was perfectly understandable and perfectly pitched, might I add, for the size of the crowd), I was letting my head rock if it wanted, my hands flail however they wanted.
I sang along and could barely hear myself, but that was wonderful because I did feel as if I was part of the human race, part of a system, a plan - the plan might have been called any one of twenty-some songs but that was just its ever-changing title. The plan itself was far more vast.
That sense of community, of kinship, not only with the band that's obviously rocking its heart out for you and for themselves and for life itself on the stage amid a flurry of flying colors, but with all the people there with you who are just as passionate as you, just as fervent, swaying to the music like you are, clapping in time with you, sitting with their hands clasped excitedly because this moment is as religious for them, though perhaps in slightly different ways, as it is for you. And it just increases the faith you have in the world, when you feel this - because it's not just this four-person band that is manifesting beauty and bliss, but all of you are. All humans are, as we I suspect believe deep down inside, capable of manifesting that, of living and breathing that beauty and bliss.
Coldplay's songs, after all, are not about being rich rockstars. They're for anyone to relate to, and everyone can relate to them. They're songs about finding your place in the world, finding out if you're "part of the cure/ or [...] part of the disease", self-actualization. Songs about being human on this flawed Earth. And the grandeur and wonder of these songs makes you believe that life here can be grand and wonderful, if we just make it so.
As the bittersweet, beautiful song that my Spanish highschool teacher attributed to me, "Don't Panic", goes: "We live in a beautiful world/ Yeah we do, yeah we do".
