"If we never bring him along on these things, he's never going to have great experiences." That's what my husband told me when we found out that we had one extra ticket to see Keane after a series of rather laughable events.
While we were both very excited that my husband Michael had a new job (after the third layoff in two and a half years), it meant that he had to fly across the country on training on the very weekend we had planned our romantic getaway (the second since we've been married which was, yeah, almost nine years ago). That included, as mentioned, two tickets to see Keane. I've already pointed out that my son is quite an affinity for the band (as an ASD kid, they're one of his comforts). But, when I saw that they were playing nearby Atlanta I didn't think he was ready for the experience. Since he's been diagnosed on the spectrum, and generally suffers from social anxiety, I worried that bringing him into a noisy concert might be trouble. Even if it is his favorite band in the entire universe.
But now I was stuck with the problem. Certainly, I wanted to see the concert. Call me selfish, but since the birth of my daughter I haven't had a lot of time to experience the things that I love. As much as I adore being a mom, finding it one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, it's way too easy to get lost amidst the diapers and drool and daily routine. I've been a fan of Keane since just before my son was born, and seeing them in concert was something of a personal dream.
And admittedly, I've always been a little strange when it comes to music and liking bands. While I listen to a lot of music, and am a musician myself, there's only a handful of bands that have resonated with me on the level that I would say changed me, bands that have inspired true fandom (at least as much as I'm capable of; I've never been the faint and scream kind of gal). I tend to listen to them with more attention and time than all the others. The first time this sort of hyper band attention really happened, it was the Beatles while I was in high school. Then, when I was in college, came Travis, the Scottish band headed by Fran Healy, famous for hits like "Why Does it Always Rain on Me" and "Closer." Fran's voice, songwriting, and style made Travis my go-to music for most of college. Melancholy, sweet, melodic. I'd bought a CD of theirs freshman year (at an actual record store in Northampton, MA, which, I'm sad to report, no longer exists) when something like four or five people insisted I'd love them. I've never regretted it.
Then I saw Keane play on SNL, just at the end of my first trimester with Liam (in which I barfed continually, I swear): They were a group of handsome British boys with beautiful harmonies, heartbreaking melodies, and deeper-than-usual pop-rock songwriting. I was smitten immediately. We certainly didn't have a lot of money, but I still bought their album. It clicked with me. Rice-Oxley's lyrics spoke to me in a very profound way. This was pop music that wasn't just obsessed with love songs and unattainable women. Rice-Oxley's lyrics spoke of strange and wonderful places, transitioning through life, changing and growing, all with the poetic turn and punched up a notch by Tom Chaplin's powerhouse vocals.
But when I shared Keane with Liam, my appreciation gained a new level. When Liam was two, Perfect Symmetry was released. And since then, we've celebrated each and every album release together. Even Night Train, the EP, which is one of his favorites, even if it took me a while to warm to.
There aren't many points of interest that Liam and I share. In fact, it's one of the hardest things that I've had to deal with as a mother. It depresses me, honestly. Even when I try to involve myself with his pursuits, he's loath to include me. It's hard, day after day, to feel like I can't reach him–worse even, that he doesn't want me to reach him. But Keane's music has been one of the only places we can find common ground, and it's been the cornerstone around which we've built our relationship.
So, even though I wanted to share this live show experience with him, I worried that our shared love wouldn't translate to a venue–especially one I'd have to drive six hours to see in Atlanta. With two kids. Alone. One of them in diapers, still.
After much deliberation, I decided to go for it. But it wasn't without reservations and, well, a certain understanding on my part. I knew it was quite possible that he wouldn't be able to make the show at all. There was a pretty big chance that we'd have to leave at any given point, that he'd have a complete meltdown. I fully anticipated that the music would be too loud, so I brought earphones for him. I scoped out the Tabernacle, the venue where the band played, to make sure there was seating available for little ones.
The morning of the show, he was throwing up because he was so nervous. I felt guilty, doubted myself for bothering with the trip. But he really wanted to go. I kept telling him that he didn't have to, and that we could always go see them another time, but he insisted. From the moment he'd heard we were seeing Keane live, he was resolute. He declared that we had to listen only to Keane for the six hour drive (we did) to mentally prepare himself. He was sure they were going to play his favorite song (they did) and not mine (he was right). Regardless, he was aware of the challenges but his excitement eclipsed his fear.
But no matter how much preparation, you just never know how it's going to shake out in the end. Listen, I'm 31. He's 6. My first rock show was James Taylor, when I was sixteen, and I've never been to a big venue since. Lack of funds, a busy schedule, and two kids really made that nearly impossible. It doesn't matter how much I adore the Beatles, I never saw McCartney live; during my college years, I didn't have enough money to get through school, let alone manage to see Travis on tour. While I did see Ben Folds Five a few months ago, it was the first time at a live show since seeing Ben Folds, solo, seven years before. So the Keane concert was a milestone for both of us, and I kept telling him that he had me way beat on the cool scale (I mean, I love James Taylor and all, but let's face it… not exactly the height of cool for a teenager in the 90s).
I'm happy to say that the concert went far better than anticipated. Sure, he had his moments. Yes, he fell asleep for half the set in my lap, which meant I could only listen and not see a single thing. He was beside himself with joy for the first five songs, and then the overwhelming sense of everything–all the people, all the noise–just got to him. He later told me he was just composing himself. Because as his favorite song, "Somewhere Only We Know" began playing, he woke up again. He finished his Shirley Temple. He ate some more Laffy Taffy. He smiled and his eyes shone, and he really couldn't contain himself.
Oh, and he totally got a Tweet from the drummer, Richard Hughes. Which, as he said, was, "Completely epic!" He wanted me to assure him he was the only kid who got such a Tweet, and as far as I could tell I assured him that he was.
At the end of the show, I bought Liam his first tour exclusive t-shirt. It was far past his bedtime, but he couldn't stop smiling. He was delirious with glee. Fans spotted him and commented how cool it was that he was there. I couldn't have been more proud. Even better, when we got home to visit the family he had to tell them all about his official tour t-shirt (which, I might add, he pretty much wears everywhere if given the chance) and pointed out the venue and date that we attended.
Oh, and how about the band? Yeah. Keane was better, brighter, and tighter than I imagined they'd be. I was amazed by their showmanship, energy, and humility. I mean, this was one of their last stops on a very long tour for an album that released in May. They had every right to be bored and withdrawn. Instead, Tom was the consummate lead singer ("Sea Fog" in particular was full-body chills inducing and tearjerking)–gracious and funny and touching–while Tim bopped around, his long legs never still, as he rocked the keyboard backbone that makes up their sound; Jesse and Richard clearly felt the groove, too. They smiled a lot. They praised the audience (which was a total full house). They told great stories. Clearly, they love what they do.
That I enjoyed things is an understatement. While listening to them live, I realized that Keane has become more than just a band I like. Their songs have become part of the way I understand my son, and a place we can go to connect when I feel like all other roads have been blocked. In the same way that Travis's "Flowers in the Window" reminds me of dating my husband, and their song "Your Eyes" makes me think about deciding to become parents, Keane's music has done something that will stay with me until I'm gone.
That's the thing about music. It's what I'm trying to show my son (who I'm giving guitar lessons to, and will sing any Keane song beautifully if he's behind a guitar–even if he's not playing any chords). I can still remember a scale on a flute, even though I haven't played one in years. I get an absurd amount of joy playing the ukulele. But there's something about sharing love for a mutual song or a band with someone else that draws you closer. I saw it in the incredibly diverse audience at the concert. There were families, college kids, parents with teenagers, 30-somethings on dates, best friends, retirees. The show meant something different to each and every one of them. And it will mean something for Liam and me for as long as we're around. It was a shared experience, but yet it was ours alone.
