Welcome to the summer of solo adventures that shall never be repeated.
A lie that I told myself to get through one of the loneliest and darkest winters I have ever experienced, was that 2025 was going to be my year. I fully convinced myself (and anyone around me who would listen) that this is the year everything clicks into place, even making my first ever vision board and writing down manifestations to really toss the good vibes into the uni. A big piece of that “this is your year” momentum centered on a decision I made last fall, to spend a sizeable amount of money (my entire savings) to join a writing beach retreat in Greece. It was something that had come across my desk more than once, and I kept revisiting it, clearly stuck on the idea that I needed to push myself to not only do a solo trip, but to go to a place I’ve always wanted to go AND tie it into reaching new writing goals. So, with much encouragement (and a sliver of financial support from parents who will literally never rid themselves of their youngest child), I booked the trip and had something BIG to look forward to.
Also during this time of utter despair short freezing days, two of my favorite artists announced summer concerts in Asbury Park a week apart from each other. What’re the chances?! Natch, I had no one to go to either concert with. Forever on the fence about doing a concert alone, I decided to pull the trigger and make June of 2025, the month of doing things alone and scared. It was either going to be forever, or go down in flames as an up and coming musician once sang about men. And now that we’re safely in July, I can now publicly declare…FLAMES. It went down in flames.
Let’s start with the concerts. What has stopped me from ever going to a show alone before, you might ask? The dreaded in-between time. Concerts are typically annoying parking situations, perhaps a long walk to the venue, waiting in line, not actually knowing when the band goes onstage so you get a drink, buy merch, maybe eat a snack, and yap. Then of course, there’s the dead air between sets as they switch the stages. When you think about it, there’s several wasted hours during a show that you barely notice when you’re with friends just yuckin it up. When you’re alone? It feels like 84 years have passed since you arrived. Well wouldn’t you know, this very specific fear that I had was 1 billion percent true.
My first solo show was Russell Dickerson, and there’s a reason his headlining tour of 2022 was called the RD Party. Boy knows how to put on a banger of a show complete with ripping his shirt off at the end, Chippendales style. He also happens to have some boppin beach songs and I couldn’t pass up the chance to be ON the actual beach jamming it up to the songs of the summer. Plus, both of his openers were singers I liked, which also never happens. Cut to me overthinking my outfit (in case a cowboy swept me off my boots), spending 20 mins looking for parking in Asbury, finally giving up and paying $25 for a parking garage when I could’ve found a street spot for $6, then getting into the venue and immediately buying an overpriced hat I didn’t need because, duh. A merch tent LOVES to see me comin. And then silence. For over an hour.
1. I hope the city council or whoever is in charge over in Asbury Park gets diarrhea at a super inconvenient time for the way they’ve monopolized parking in that dump.
2. I get that venues want you to show up early and give them money (cause who at this point doesn’t want to rip all of my money away from me) but HOW have we not made it public exactly what times each band graces the stage so concert-goers can plan accordingly?!
But I digress, I made my way closer to the stage, something I’ve never been early enough for in the past, and then I realized, I couldn’t leave that spot. I had no one to hold it for me and I certainly wasn’t going to get a drink and piss people off trying to get it back. I got dirty looks just for walking casually toward the front 16 hours before the show began. (Which is wild by the way. Sorry for existing?) So, for the next small century, I lived in that spot. I never got a drink, I never went to the bathroom, I just stood. It was BRUTAL. An hour and a half later the first opener went onstage. He was fun and I was reminded I know even less words to songs than I think I do. Another 30-45 mins of stage switching, then the second opener. Same deal. Then another what seemed like eternity of nothingness before the main event. I read all of social media that night. Everything. I was seeing tweets as they were coming through in real time because I was so starved for entertainment. I texted everyone I know and they were all busy not being a smelly loser cheese stands alone at a concert in white cowboy boots. I smiled at people next to me in the eternity of waiting hoping I might make a new friend. No one bit. I even tried the bonding over mutual hate tactic whenever a drunk guy pushed through by catching eyes with someone near me and doing a dramatic ‘get a load of this a*hole’ eye roll. Didn’t reel any pals in with that one either and that’s how I know I was not amongst my people. Russell commanded the stage as he always does but it lacked the glimmer for me. I had no one to scream sing BRING IT OVER HERE LITTLE MAMA, I’VE GOT A WHISKEY WAITING ON YA in their face and do the MGNO shuffle. It was a great show, and also incredibly disappointing. It was fun for 1-2 hours and excruciatingly boring and awkward for 3 other hours. Peep the content I created below because I wasn’t about to let that view go to waste after becoming a statue in the same spot for an entire evening.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DKm4jExAiVZ
Apparently WordPress is no longer friends with Instagram, so you have to click a link, which I know is asking a lot.
I left this show already dreading my next solo concert, but also didn’t really want to deal with the admin of trying to sell a ticket while I’m in another country. So this time, I posted in a Facebook group of girliecats looking for friends in Asbury Park and asked if anyone else was going and wanted to meet up. Four women commented separately that they were and I DM’ed all of them my phone number and told them to text me if they were open to meeting at the show. I received 0 text messages. One girl messaged me on Facebook and then when I reached out before the show, crickets. Which is worse, going solo and acting like it was a choice, or trying to meet up with absolute strangers and getting ghosted? You can get back to me on that.
Knowing that I absolutely didn’t care about this opening act and couldn’t do another two hours of standing in a crowd pretending to read tweets I’ve already read, I aimed to get there right as the band was taking the stage. This concert was for my good ole tried and true fave nostalgic musician, Andrew McMahon. The pop punk singing piano player I’ve been obsessed with since I was 16, and have dutifully seen live with each band he’s formed every time he swings through town. Well wouldn’t you know, I overcorrected my arrival time and didn’t account for the additional 40 minutes it took me to find a mediocre parking spot 5 blocks away (seriously, die a slow death, Asbury Park), so I was in line to enter as the band was getting onstage. You know what’s the perfect show to be in the dead last row for? The one where the lead singer sits at a piano the whole time. For realz, I could’ve been in a canoe bobbing in the waves of the ocean behind me and would’ve had the same view of the stage that I was catching inside this venue.
I got a drink to buy myself time on how to find a spot and then bopped from one side of the stage to the other, in the way back, craning my neck to see if I could ever actually get eyes on my boy Andrew. I finally settled into a spot by the fourth song and if the guys in front of me didn’t talk to each other, I could just make out Andrew McMahon’s tiny head in the negative space between these bros’ meaty necks. Sick view. The sound was even better. When they were singing, it was fine, although I could hear the crowd more strongly than them, but when Andrew talked, which he likes to do at shows, I got nothin. This was the 20th anniversary of their first album and he was telling stories about why he wrote certain songs, and all I heard was everyone around me’s conversations. Hey babes, if you’re going to just socialize, why spend $60 a head to do so? Why not just go to the bar and put that money toward boozin? I tried to push past groups that were literally facing away from the stage because WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?! Also, I realize I could’ve just gone full dick mode and done the “I’m looking for my friends” bit to push toward the front, but just the thought of pissing someone off and having a Jersey-style confrontation gives me the nervous poops. Not to mention the fact that I’m Jack the friggin Beanstalk and even just standing in the back I heard the slicked bun behind me grumbling to her tall hot boyf that I was too tall and she couldn’t see. Life must be rly hard for her.
To add insult to injury, after 3 full days of a 100 degree heat wave, Earth was like my hot flash is over, let’s go back to fall, dropped down to 60 degrees and that G-D wind was back, BB! Challenge accepted though and credit to me: nailed it with the perfect amount of layers. Tee+hoodie+jean jacket. I wore a baseball cap with braids because I’d rather hurl myself off a cliff than have my hair repeatedly blow in my face. I never took the hood down. Should the chat monsters surrounding me ever close their gaping yappers, they would’ve wondered if I was the unabomber or JLo just trying to keep it on the DLow and not get recognized in AP. If you’re hating your current situation and everyone around you, highly recommend wearing both a hat and a hood. It was like having blinders up and also really came in handy WHEN IT STARTED RAINING HALFWAY THROUGH THE SHOW. Needless to say, I am done with solo concerts. BUT, I tried. I made the pre-judgement about why they wouldn’t be enjoyable that I was incredibly right about. And now I know for sure, seeing live music is only fun for me when I can share the adrenaline and joy with someone else, much like most of life.
The Salty Ju 