*originally published in Sound Waves Magazine June 2017
From out on my back deck in the woods of Stonington, CT I hear all kinds of noise. Tractor trailer truck tires hitting the highway’s shoulder rivets, dirt bikes whirling the grounds of a backyard, Ninja motorcycles racing for a thrill, various yelps and squeals from the woods which could be a deer giving birth or a human working an electric saw for a tree house. An 8-year old kid learning the saxophone, coyotes fighting, the boom of a fireworks finale, my dog whimpering in the closet, weed whackers and water cannonballs from a nearby pool. A camera drone, a piper twin, a generator during a power outage.
I can deal with all these noises. But one I cannot fathom, or accept, is the thunder of a suicide bomb inside a concert venue. Or, the sound of my 22-year old daughter who has already attended over 50 concerts, telling me she’s afraid to go to concerts now.
STOP THIS NOISE.
My first concert was The Beach Boys at the Yale Bowl in New Haven, CT. Everybody remembers their first concert. I plan to go see Brian Wilson’s Pet Sounds tour at Foxwoods Resort Casino in September to make it all come full circle. Concerts are sacred things. When I saw Bruce Springsteen in concert for the first time, it changed my life. (This happens to a lot of people.) The hope – the joy – the energy – the feeling you get that life is worth living, worth celebrating, worth screaming at the top of your lungs for. That’s what concerts are for.
BUT NOT THIS.
We simply cannot let them win.