I recently saw The Black Keys in concert.  They totally blew me away.  When others have asked me how it was, I can only describe it by saying that it was the most life-altering show I’ve seen in a long time.  This is not a designation that I award lightly.  In fact, only two other times.

The first Life Altering Concert, and really the only one that matters in the grand scheme of things:  the first time I saw Pearl Jam.  Lollapalooza 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds.   The lineup, even then, was phenomenal:  Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Jesus and Mary Chain, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Ministry, Ice Cube (who dropped more F-bombs in a sentence than I had ever heard, then or since — he had been stopped at the U.S./Canadian border, and barely made it in time for his set.  But that’s another story).

Come to think of it, these life-changing concerts have always occurred at the intersection of a major life change.  The Pearl Jam show was a month before I started law school.  DMB (Life Altering Concert #2) was around the time of my wedding.  The Black Keys show came right before the Big Birthday.  Skeptics would say that it’s not really the music that is life-changing, it’s just the timing of the concert.  But of course I know differently.

On that July day so long ago, my main reason for coming to Lollapalooza was Pearl Jam.  I was a huge fan, but hadn’t seen them live yet.  My friend and I thought they were taking the stage later, but as we sat eating lunch, we heard the roar of the crowd and…..Eddie.  We literally dropped everything (the gyro was terrible anyway), and sprinted over.

It’s funny that in a concert setting, your concept of personal space is miniscule.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers is not only acceptable, it’s preferred.  We got pretty close to the stage, and while I couldn’t tell you the playlist, I do remember very clearly thinking:  these are my people.

That is what concerts are all about.   Live music is collective yet private, public but intimate, all at once.   And aren’t we all, throughout life, just looking for our people?  Our village?   We are lucky to find it in different contexts along the way – in friendships, in our profession, in our kids’ schools – people who share a similar world view, and make our daily lives better.

But a love of live music bonds us in a way like no other.  To the dude at the Gorge with the Pearl Jam tattoo, and the guy with the tattered “Drop in the Park” t-shirt (“Buttercup! Buttercup!”), I say:  I get you.  You are my people; you are my friend, even if I don’t know you.

And the friend who was at the Pearl Jam show with me that day — that life-changing show cemented our friendship, forever.  He’s always been my friend, even when we didn’t see each other for nine years.   That’s just the way it works.