Every day we move through life carrying skeletons in our inner closets. Over the years, we forget about some – until a random memory suddenly brings them back. And that is when most people are shocked by the fact that we have thathistory.
Most of the time when people learn this fact about me, they go through stages: “Ha! Very funny joke!”, followed by “Nah! You are lying!”, and then “I can’t believe it’s true! I would’ve never guessed that about you.”
I love a variety of music, from classical to “how can you listen to that?”. If one was to listen to one of my Spotify lists, they would think that the list was compiled by complete strangers. Even my husband, after twenty plus years of marriage, can still be surprised about some of the songs I like.
Something must’ve been wired differently when I was being woven in my mother’s womb, because I cannot just listen to songs. I must understand lyrics or at least know what they are about. I do not listen to songs just to listen to the music. If I want to listen to the music only, I will listen to music only. In order for me to like a song, it must be the perfect match: I must like music and lyrics. If one of them sucks, I don’t waste my time on that piece of art ever again.
Alright, without further ado let me tell you how I have fallen out of my deep love for heavy metal. My teenage years were spent during the “Perestroika” era in the Soviet Union, when rock bands were no longer an underground life, but you could finally go to their concerts legally – in actual stadiums. You could go to a concert without being afraid of being arrested and labeled as “untrustworthy element”. During that time foreign rock bands’ cassettes or vinyl records were so scarce and at the cost of your firstborn. One of the Soviet rock bands “Cherniy Kofe” (“Black Coffee”) was my favorite, and when I saw а poster about their upcoming concert in the nearby town, I knew: no matter what or how much – I am going.
The venue was at the Palace of Culture (Cultural Center) “Titan” that could hold a little bit over a thousand people. For Black Coffee’s concert people were packed as sardines in a can, there was no seating available, standing shoulder to shoulder only. The number of people was doubled from what was allowed by the certificate of occupancy.
I am vertically challenged, so I found a spot in a middle of the bleachers – at least from there I could see the stage. The band was amazing, the atmosphere was magical, everyone was high from the euphoria floating in the air, waiving chains, long scarves, anything they could put their hands on at the moment. I made a big knot at the end of my long scarf and was waiving it like a flag above my head. I was so ecstatic that at one point I even saw bright white stars bursting out of my eyes. For a split second I thought it was pure musical euphoria. And then… a shockwave of pain exploded through my brain – someone had just hit me on the back of the head with a metal chain. At that moment I realized that heavy metal was, definitely, not my thing. This was my first and last heavy rock concert I ever attended voluntarily.
I still have Black Coffee’s one song as my favorite on Spotify that I like to listen to from time to time. As for the song they were playing at that moment – I honestly don’t remember. The metal chain probably knocked that memory right out of my head.
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