Firsts and Lasts

By KARLEIGH YANCY/Editor in Chief

I am a nervous person. I think that would shock some of my friends, because I’ll do things like fling myself off of a 20-foot dock in Samoa, or tell the waiter “I’ll eat whatever, just surprise me.” Some might call me bold, but I have a kryptonite: other people terrify me.

A few weeks ago, I was bored out of my mind, scrolling on Instagram, and I saw a post. The Green Room is an organization in Tyler that organizes concerts with local independent bands, and to celebrate four years, they were going to be hosting a huge music festival. Sixteen bands playing, from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.

I’m a big fan of music, and I’d been meaning to catch a show for a while, but something always came up and the timing was never right. I thought about attending the festival for a while, but I decided against it. I told myself I would have a busy week, that I didn’t really need to go, even if I wanted to. But this wasn’t the truth.

Honestly, deep down, I was scared that the feeling would return. It’s the same one that’s been lingering around since middle school. The feeling that I’m too weird to be normal, but not weird enough to be interesting. The feeling that leaves me in the corner, wishing someone, anyone would strike up a conversation. The feeling that keeps me at home when I really want to be listening to music and having a good time. This was the truth.

So, I decided against going. But then, a week later, the announcement came. “Louder Together Fest will be our final show at True Vine and the last Green Room event for a while as we plan what’s next,” the Instagram post read. As a journalist, I knew what this meant.

The first concert I ever shot was going to be The Green Room’s last show.

A ROCKY START

I pull up at 3 p.m., just in time to catch Houston natives Jumprope starting off the second wave of acts for the day. I walk to the front table where they’re selling wristbands, and I tell them I’m with the Talon. I don’t know why I’m nervous, because I’m literally in charge of the organization. The worker at the table turns to a person with a clipboard for direction. I’m not the usual reporter that covers their shows, so they don’t recognize me, but no matter. They give me a green wristband and tell me I’m good to go. I don’t feel good to go.

I make my way through True Vine Brewing Company, to the back warehouse where the second wave bands are playing. I find a spot near the back of the crowd, and I open my bag to start setting up my camera. Suddenly, I realized: I don’t have a zoom lens. My precious, sacred zoom lens, that lets me hide away in corners and capture close ups inconspicuously. I look around, and there are other photographers already here, scurrying about the place, with much better equipment than mine and buckets of confidence that I didn’t have.

I’m going to be sick.

I try to calm myself down. I brought my terrible digicam to shoot as well, because although the quality sucks, the photos look authentic and cool. From what I can tell, that’s all that really matters when you’re shooting concerts. I press the shutter, and it starts glitching. Badly. My photos are all turning out blurry, and I can’t figure out how to fix it.

At this point, I’m fully freaking out. I obviously don’t know what I’m doing, I’m way out of my element, and there are five other people here getting way better shots than I ever could. Everyone else here is way more comfortable than me, and I clearly don’t fit in. I walk outside and back in about five times to try and gather my bearings. I want to leave. I want to go home. But then, I look up.

There’s a guy in the crowd, tall and lanky, wearing a long red robe, like a wizard. He’s doing this dance, and he’s solely alone in this action. Honestly? It’s weird…but in a comforting way. I look around and realize that nobody cares what he’s doing. He’s just being himself, feeling the music.

It’s a bit sobering. The band playing is good – really good. The crowd is into it, and they’re having fun. I feel so dumb. I had gotten so wrapped up in my anxiety-induced pity party that I hadn’t even taken time to enjoy the thing I love: the music. So I take a deep breath, and I let go.

A NEW START

As the day went on, the more relaxed I became. Adaloe is the second band to go on, and I’d been looking forward to seeing them live. I know the frontman, Corbin, through some mutual friends, and his band just released a great EP. A large crowd fills in as they start, but I have a new resolve. I’m not going to let this shake me anymore. As the set continues, I get more comfortable with moving through the crowd, and I finally figure out what’s wrong with my digicam. I’m able to actually enjoy the music, and I get a few good photos in as well.

I had originally planned to leave after Adaloe’s set to work on homework for a moment and return later. The crowd has thinned out significantly, and I’m on the way to the restaurant area of the venue, when all of a sudden, a Frank Zappa lookalike in a bright green tracksuit plops a drum right in the middle of the room and starts wailing on it like a madman. The crowd is sparse, I have room, and clearly the front man of Primo Danger is above the social construct of boundaries.

I run right up to the middle, get low to the ground, and start snapping photos like the paparazzi. Now, these initial photos are NOT good ones. However, as Primo Danger works through their setlist, something shifts. Suddenly, I’m right up front, shooting mere inches away from the musicians. I feel comfortable ducking behind barriers and darting through the crowd. I’m fully banging my head between shots! I did it! I’m doing it! I’m comfortable!

A BREAK FROM THE NOISE

The rest of the afternoon is great. I decide to take a small break from the noise and head to the restaurant, where I see an old friend of mine: Andy, who I knew in high school, and hadn’t seen in a year. We catch up for a moment, but I have homework to do, so we part ways after promising to hang out at a later set. After working for an hour, I look up and see a familiar sight: bright pink hair, and a Cheshire cat grin to her side. They’re two of the coolest people in any given room, and a relief to see – my friends, Saffron and Justin.

“I’m so excited to see you!” squeals Saff, while Justin grins, flashing a delightfully quirky gold tooth. They tell me about their escapades throughout the day, and I tell them about mine. After they head into the show, I decide to step outside for a moment and check out some merch booths. On the way, I’m chased down by Corbin, which is good, because I want to buy an Adaloe shirt from him anyways. There’s one left, and it just happens to be my size. He tells me it’s $20, and then adds “but we’re friends, so you can just pay whatever you want.” I give him $20, and as I leave, I hear him yelling to a friend about selling out of their merch.

I run back inside and catch the very end of Tela Bella, the last band of the second wave. I shoot a few photos of them, when I get a text from my friend Henry. I honestly didn’t think he was coming, since the band he wanted to see had to cancel at the last minute, but I was glad to see him. We hug and make our way over to the pavilion, where the last wave of bands is going to be performing.

A HAPPY ENDING

Andy catches us outside, and I introduce him to Henry. We debate which Smiling Friends character best suits each person, and soon enough, the music starts up again. Fiction Love kicks off the final wave of bands for the night, and they’re great. After shooting some photos, I make my way to the back, where Henry stands. We joke about how some of the alt kids here will mosh to anything, and watch as they thrash around to up tempo indie rock that doesn’t even remotely resemble an appropriate genre for that kind of movement.

“I respect it, though,” I say. “They have a space they can be themselves.”

I spot Saffron and Justin again as Fiction Love plays their last tune. The lights on stage illuminate Saffron’s neon pink hair as she sways with Justin. After the set wraps up, I introduce them to Henry. We discuss the new Frankenstein film, and talk about the lack of movies about the Spanish War. Soon, Ratt Maker starts up. This is my second time seeing them live, after catching them at Stanley’s Barbecue a few weeks ago. I know I’m in for a good show. I run around and take photos, weaving through the crowd. I nearly get myself kicked, but the shot I snagged of the bassist, Chris French is worth it. Eventually, I make my way back where Henry is. I take a beat to drink some water and catch a breath, and as I look around, I see Andy waving at me and doing a funny little shimmy.

Ratt Maker plays their final song, and I’m tapped out for the night. I make my way out, snap a few selfies, and say goodbyes to a slew of people.

I don’t know what I was so freaked out about at the beginning of the day. I had a blast taking photos, and they were good. It was comforting to have people excited to see me. I didn’t feel out of place. There were people who know me, that like me here. Suddenly, I understand what made The Green Room special.

There’s not a lot of spaces for alternative communities in Tyler. But here, people have a place to be themselves, to express themselves freely. They can try new things, they can let go. Finally, I get it. The Green Room isn’t just about music. It’s about belonging. I hope that they find a new venue, and I hope I get to shoot twenty more concerts with them. I hope that my first ever Green Room show won’t be my last. But even if it is, I’ll always carry the experience I had with me.

Thank you, Green Room. Till next time.