Sara - Week 12 - PCD
I knew the concert was going to change me. The date was marked on every calendar I had, the setlist was memorized, and my outfit was decided weeks in advance. Cigarettes After Sex, my favorite band ever, was finally touring, making a stop in Oakland, and I was going to listen to their music in a way that I had dreamed about. Even before my friends and I arrived, it was a battle. We spent hours on calls trying to get the perfect seats, not too far in the back but not too expensive either. After constantly refreshing pages, jumping between ticket sites, and nearly giving up, we managed to secure our tickets. From there, the countdown started.
What I didn’t know was how much the concert would really affect me. Their music is sad, but I never anticipated crying 9 times in 90 minutes. Cigarettes After Sex’s music isn’t exactly the type you would imagine at a concert, it’s soft, dreamlike, almost hypnotic. Somehow, that made the experience more intense. Every note lingered in the air, sweeping everybody in the arena up in this shared, emotional haze. In that moment, the power of music was undeniable. It wasn’t just a noise or a song; it was something else, something that brought everyone there together, weaving us into a shared vulnerability.
Concerts aren’t just performances. They change something inside you. The energy (or rather the calmness), the raw emotion, the willingness to feel so much at once. These are experiences that move beyond the actual sensation of listening to a song. It’s about really surrendering to it, and being in the moment. The experience takes your focus, carrying you away on the music and atmosphere in a way that can change someone forever (I can confirm the concert changed me).
But when it was finished and the audience started to lessen, something else started to fade away as well. The echo of the music left a hollow silence in its wake. The PCD (Post Concert Depression) I knew I was going to feel, that emotional high that vanishes, left me with a feeling of longing. I’ve probably rewatched the videos on my phone a hundred times since that night, trying to hold onto that feeling of being lost in the moment. But even then, it’s not the same. It’s like the magic is there but not fully reachable anymore. That sense of loss, of something that was so intensely real, sticks with you.
Yet even within that “void”, there’s a reminder that music isn’t just something you hear. Music is something you live. And although PCD might follow you behind, so do the memories of the night—the emotions, the connection, the sense of being part of something so important to you.
(Original image taken at the concert)
What I didn’t know was how much the concert would really affect me. Their music is sad, but I never anticipated crying 9 times in 90 minutes. Cigarettes After Sex’s music isn’t exactly the type you would imagine at a concert, it’s soft, dreamlike, almost hypnotic. Somehow, that made the experience more intense. Every note lingered in the air, sweeping everybody in the arena up in this shared, emotional haze. In that moment, the power of music was undeniable. It wasn’t just a noise or a song; it was something else, something that brought everyone there together, weaving us into a shared vulnerability.
Concerts aren’t just performances. They change something inside you. The energy (or rather the calmness), the raw emotion, the willingness to feel so much at once. These are experiences that move beyond the actual sensation of listening to a song. It’s about really surrendering to it, and being in the moment. The experience takes your focus, carrying you away on the music and atmosphere in a way that can change someone forever (I can confirm the concert changed me).
But when it was finished and the audience started to lessen, something else started to fade away as well. The echo of the music left a hollow silence in its wake. The PCD (Post Concert Depression) I knew I was going to feel, that emotional high that vanishes, left me with a feeling of longing. I’ve probably rewatched the videos on my phone a hundred times since that night, trying to hold onto that feeling of being lost in the moment. But even then, it’s not the same. It’s like the magic is there but not fully reachable anymore. That sense of loss, of something that was so intensely real, sticks with you.
Yet even within that “void”, there’s a reminder that music isn’t just something you hear. Music is something you live. And although PCD might follow you behind, so do the memories of the night—the emotions, the connection, the sense of being part of something so important to you.
(Original image taken at the concert)
Hey Sara!
ReplyDeleteYour concert experience sounds like a dream! I have always wanted to go to a concert, but my parents are strict, so I have never been allowed to actually go to one. I can imagine knowing myself succumbing to the Post Concert Depression, as I feel that when most things which are exciting end. For example, Post Vacation Depression (I just made that up right now but you get the point) is something that always affects me. I think the loss of a moment of pure serotonin is such a powerful thing, because everyone wants to be happy. So once the thing that made you happy is over, it leads you to plunge into a depression. I can't decide if its the existence of the music which is more powerful or rather the experience you get from the music. I think your blog is so relatable, despite the fact I have never been to a concert. It is a universally applicable emotion of longing and missing which is there in so many different events. AHH, I wish I could have gone to a CAS concert. Show me the videos sometime so I can live vicariously through you!
Hi Sara! I might be embarrassing myself by admitting this, but I’ve never been to a concert; I’ve always wanted to go to one, but life always seems to get in the way. However, I’ve experienced an emotion slightly similar to the way you describe Post Concert Depression.
ReplyDeleteMy main extracurricular is dance, as I’ve been performing pre-professionally for almost four years now; I’ve been a performer since I was around eight years old. After a major performance, I would always have to take a moment in the bathroom to cry my heart out, because I was sad that our show was over. The way you describe your love for music, as something that is such an important part of our personalities and lives, is just like the way I feel about dance—it’s a key part of my identity. I think the emptiness we feel, whether it be after a concert or a performance, demonstrates how much music and dance mean to us on a personal level.
Hi Sara,
ReplyDeleteAlthough I have never been to a concert, I have similar feelings to what PCD is, especially after a large family gathering or party is over. The same feeling somewhat applies to my races too, specifically in the last races of the season when you come to realize that the season is actually over. I like how you describe the changing energy that you receive from watching a live performance as the artists draw you in to their work of art right in front of you. I agree that pictures and old videos do not bring back the same feeling as before, probably because of the great view in-person that can never be repeated again online. Great blog!