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mellophase · 2 years

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Post-Mortem: My Heart Bled Out At Prudential Center (A True Story of Music and Human Connection)

I went to MCR’s first show in Newark a few weeks ago. I travelled over six hundred miles (something I didn’t really realize until after the fact, somehow, and I was appalled at myself for doing it) to see them in their home state. I’ve had some time to process the experience and recover from flying there and back and being awake for thirty-two hours because EWR was way too cold to sleep in, and I want to just write down the experience and some things I came away with because I’m not quite sure it was all real. This is super fucking long so I’m including a break. Hope you enjoy!

It was quiet the morning I left. No one besides I, my partner, Ticketmaster, and God knew where I was going that morning. My brother knew I had tickets, but didn’t know when I was going. It was stupid in hindsight-- Newark isn’t necessarily the kindest city in New Jersey nor the US, and I’d never been there on my own before. My mother knew I would be out of town, but she thought I’d be a two hour drive away, not a two hour flight. I’m old enough to make my own decisions, of course, but even at 20 years old, she’d never be comfortable with me going to Jersey. I went down to my car and couldn’t even manage to turn the radio on. It was 4:30 in the morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. I felt anxiety swell as I pulled into the economy lot at the airport and killed the engine. My headlights stayed on for a minute, illuminating the empty spot in front of me. I had passing thoughts about who I would call if I somehow locked my keys in my car or I left my headlights on by mistake and my car battery died. I dismissed them quickly, “keys, wallet, phone-ing” myself till I felt sure that I actually remembered and then it was dark except for the streetlights.

The shuttle ride to my terminal was quiet other than a man across from me making jokes with the driver (he and his wife were going to Savannah, to a beach, and told me I’d like Newark if I was a city bird. I am not, but it was sweet of them to say.) TSA was unremarkable and uneventful, and I sat in concourse B to do my makeup. I had a little drawstring bag with all the essentials someone could need-- eyeshadow, liner, phone charger, ear buds, a sketchbook, granola bars, and my wallet. I had flown alone so many times before, made some little excursions across a few tri-states, but even I could tell this one was different. I texted my partner the whole two hours before my flight took off, trying hard not to chew my nails and chip the shockingly even black polish I’d so carefully put on while watching the Georgia livestreams Sunday night. I held my breath through the entire taxi process until we took off in the air, a solid 7:00 in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. The sun was just starting to rise, and I was enjoying the soft pinks and purples of the sky. The photos could never do it justice. Nor could it do the bright pink of the sun justice when the man in the seat next to me (14 B, a sweet guy whose wife and son were a couple rows ahead of us) drew my attention to it. I spent most of my time looking out the window. It was the first time I’d flown on a clear day and could actually see the world pass by. There was nothing below me I recognized besides the Appalachian Mountains as we passed them, and it made me smile to see them, knowing I’d be leaving them behind for a day. It was quickly replaced by awe once I saw the familiar landscape of New York City, a sight I hadn’t beheld with my own eyes since I was 16. Then Newark appeared soon after. I held my breath again as we landed at 9:38 AM, and a swiftly turned off Airplane Mode to text my partner to let them know I was safe.

The walk after that was a blur-- departing terminal B, a very kind staff member helping me figure out exactly where I’d have to transfer to get to Newark Penn Station (and texting my partner a quick “Fuck Chicago” because everyone in EWR was more helpful than anyone in O’Hare ever was in all the times I’ve been), and then I was finally on the train to Newark. I could see Prudential Center out the window as we passed, and I felt my heart in my throat. It was so large it was like a beacon.

I stepped off into Penn station, and was immediately hit with the smell that only large cities seem to have-- the smell of exhaust, sewage, and grit. It was such a difference from where I grew up: clean mountain breezes, humidity, and honeysuckle permeating the air so thickly it was sickening. I remember murmuring to myself as soon as I got off the train: “This is insane.”

Then again as I stepped out of the station: “This is insane.”

Again as I walked down Market Street: “This is insane.”

And once more as I saw Prudential Center across the street: “This is insane.”

To this day, I don’t think I’ve uttered those three words more than I did that day.

I was horrendously early, especially for someone with a seated ticket, so I grabbed a coffee before I headed over toward the venue. I met a girl who was also attending the show (she was from Georgia, and she was so kind). We walked over to the venue together, but she was waiting in the GA line, so I bid her farewell. I sat at the benches by Ford Tower, watching hockey players enter and exit the building and drew little nonsense drawings in my sketchbooks (Frank in his outfit from Revenge, Lunchbox (the dog), and Gerard with iced coffee) before tweeting The Homeless Gospel Choir asking for drawing ideas. They asked me to draw their band, and I did in about 40 minutes. I’d only brought pencils with me, so it was sketchy and a little rough, but they loved it anyway. I found out they edited the drawing to make the lines stand out more, and posted it to their Twitter account. By this point, it wasn’t even noon. Still six hours and some change to kill before doors opened.

It was then someone I had seen sitting by the corner came up to me. Dorian|Kate. He was one of the people I remember the most that day because we spent around five hours together just chatting. She was kind. Asked if I minded him smoking around me, I didn’t but I didn’t smoke (but totally asked for a cigarette hours later, and she made sure it wasn’t my first because “I refuse to give someone their first one”). He drove three hours to be there, and they were an artist. We talked about our favorite albums, how we found MCR, the people important to us, and all sorts of things. (She follows me here now and if you’re reading this-- hello! I hope you made it home safe). He drew ‘Very Much Alive’ on my neck for me and laughed when I made a joke about how that was the most homoerotic experience I’d had. I wrote on her arms too, but I don’t remember what she asked me to do. He gave a homeless woman (who we found out was named Tammy) money for her birthday, and spoke to her in the most kind and understanding way I have ever seen. I was fascinated. I am always nervous around strangers for the most part, and I know she is a kinder person that I ever could have been. I wouldn’t have helped (partially because I wasn’t able to), but she didn’t hesitate in the slightest.

I waited with him in the GA line for a while, making sure I wasn’t numbered. I was there to have fun. I met a couple of girls, friends from out of the country (one from London who was just there to drop off and support her friend who was born in Egypt, but now lives in the UAE. They met at a music festival in 2016, and have been friends ever since!), a girl from Newark, and another from New York. I said hi to someone I knew from Twitter. The hours passed quickly, and when I was able to find the energy to speak, I was able to make some wonderful connections with the lovely people around me. I even got to meet three members of The Homeless Gospel Choir: Derek, Maura, and Megan! I gave them my drawing, and they gave me a sticker (and a hug. Derek asked if he could before he did it, which I greatly appreciate because I don’t usually like being touched) in turn. I learned they were from my hometown, and Derek jokingly said I should meet them for wings when they were back in town, and I told them they knew how to reach me now, so just say the word.

As lines tend to do, GA had to move, and so did my friends. It was still another hour until doors opened, so I said goodbye for the time being, and went to go wait by the doors. There was a small group of people sitting by the steps who let me join in on their little circle (who I found out later were Jo, Joy, Lizard, and KJ-- artists I had long admired and appreciated for how they captured the band. Though I’d been following KJ for a lot longer for a piece of Hozier art they’d made years ago. There were also a couple of people I don’t remember the names of because I was very nervous and overwhelmed. I was only able to remember everyone else’s names because I had known of them before I barely heard their names because I'm a little hard of hearing and couldn't focus fast enough to lip read). We chatted back and forth, and I was so nervous I could have thrown up because I was around people I admired a fair bit. I met another man, Brian, who they were all familiar with, and he was kind to me as well. We didn’t speak much, but his eyes were as kind as the people I sat in out little circle with. I was gifted a pin, and they let me take an extra one for my partner who couldn’t attend the concert due to them living overseas. Every one of them was all gentle smiles and kind hearts.

A staff member for Prudential Center announcing that backpacks would not be allowed in the center made my blood run cold, and my heart weigh heavy in my chest. What money I had on me (I had been budgeting before the concert. Saving what I could to buy a shirt, my train tickets, parking at the airport, and some small food items to keep me from having a blood sugar crash. I’d only been able to go to the concert due to a Delta gift card I’d been given for my 20th birthday and the ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’ option with Ticketmaster) was all in cash, and it was $8 compared to the ten I needed to buy a locker. This was it. The show was over before it had even started. I very, very quietly asked if anyone in the group intended to get a locker, but already was pulling up the NJ Transit app to pull up my return ticket to EWR and check the train schedules. There had been no intention to, but Jo offered to get one. That kindness was the whole reason I get to write about this experience now, and I don’t think they will ever understand just how much that means to me.

We stood in line once they started directing us to line up at the doors, and we chattered for a little longer, though I was mostly listening at this point. We said quick goodbyes when they opened, and I agreed to meet them outside the center after the concert, and then it was just another hour before the show.

I found my seat quickly enough (Section 20, row 14, seat 13), and some kind strangers took my photo in front of the stage before the show. I was texting my partner again, though it was on and off as it was well past 11PM in the UK, and they were exhausted. Once they were safely asleep, I meet my seat neighbor, Julianna. She was local, and this was her first time seeing MCR. Her fiancé was in the pit that night, and she got tickets a lot later than he did, so she was running solo that night in her own way, the same as me. Again, there was back and forth conversation, and I learned that she was a speech therapist, she loved Anthony Green and Circa Survive, and that her fiancé had a band at one point in time and was touring, but was now working in music management. I told her about my partner, how I got back into My Chem (DM’ing my now partner on Twitter back in July of last year when I barely knew them asking “You talk about this DILF [Cherri Cola] a lot. What is he from?”), and about my experiences so far that day.

As The Homeless Gospel Choir took the stage, I let myself get lost in the music. Half their set was introduced with “this is a protest song” and I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t hear all the words clearly, the unfamiliarity of them making it a little hard for me to understand, but I could feel their energy, even though I wasn’t right in front of them. Then that little fifteen minute break before Thursday took the stage. I’d seen Thursday two weeks before at a tiny little venue a state over from mine. Same as last time I saw them, I didn’t know a single word, but I still enjoyed everything they brought to the stage. I was familiar with them though digging deeper into the origins of MCR as well as learning about LS Dunes and The Future Violents. I was enjoying the set, and then I felt my heart cinch as I heard the dedication Geoff made before a song:

“This song is for the human rights of everyone in this arena. This song is for reproductive rights. This song is for the right to express your gender and sexuality in a safe way.”

I was never a part of the punk scene in my city. I did so many extracurriculars in high school I never left. I spent 13 hours a day in that building five days a week, and spent weekends there or on the road for band, theater, and speech and debate. But I wondered, had I been involved, if I would have met people like him. People who were so relentlessly strange, and honest, and good. Pepple who had more compassion for their fellow humans than I have ever seen.

The set continued on, they were beautiful— and then they hit me with two more gut punches. One was bringing our Gerard for Jet Black New Year, followed by Anthony Green joining then toward the end of their set. I watched in awe, and my hands were shaking. Not only was awe present, but a distinct feeling of warmth (and a tinge of jealousy— getting to play in a band with your best friends is always something I've ached for, and now they get to play with each other and I felt a little sick). I wasn't inconsolable, but I was quiet during thay half hour before MCR took the stage. I talked to Julianna, cheered for vacuum guy, but I hardly remember it all.

When the static started, I felt my gut heave. I had barely anything left in my stomach, but I felt like I was going to loose everything I had in my body regardless. Bones. Blood. Internal organs. Everything was going good. be ripped out of me. Even as I heard the opening riff of Foundations I felt that tug. I felt a pull so deep inside of me. I had a distinct remembrance of telling people how much performing with a group meant to me. How connected I felt to this group of people. It was overwhelming to feel that not only with the group performing, but the entire arena itself. Everyone was cheering, crying, waiting with bated breath to see what they would do next, singing, screaming— it was breathtaking. I was hit with one moment of sheer joy after another as the songs shifted, even though I'd heard them all before, seeing them in this light was heaven.

Once more, I felt myself choking up as Gerard invited a friend to the stage. Geoff entering for Best Day Ever made that deep, longing ache settle in my chest again. It wasn't a song I knew well, but it was beautiful all the same to watch him and Gerard interact. Men who had known each other longer than I'd been alive. How much that affection and admiration was so very clear even after all this time. By the time they reached the encore, I was a mess. I was silent through Demolition Lovers, and cried my way through The Kids From Yesterday ("This is a song that we play just for us"). Ray's solo had me entirely entranced, and I could feel every emotion from the past day pour out of me. I was so deathly convinced that I was dying. The weight in my chest and the pounding of my skull from my screaming could have been enough to knock me to the floor. I envisioned the blood pouring from my hands, my eyes, my stomach. All because of the way I felt my heart and view had been ripped away and rearranged in the span of an hour and a half. I was silent as I left the center, giving Jo only several quiet thank you's as they returned my bag to me, and then walking to the station. I talked once I got to my platform. A lot. I talked the whole 45 minutes, and I listened in turn. I met some students from New York. A parent who said they received the ticket as a gift, and who said they were so thankful to be able to see them live and listen to them again after a period of trauma where they weren't able to.

Then the train home. Trying to sleep in EWR despite how cold it was. Silence for hours upon hours until TSA opened. I walked through, and just sat at my gate, getting up occasionally to make sure I didn't loose blood flow. Then called my partner once they woke up for the day. The flight home was equally as uneventful, but I had time to think. A lot. I thought about everyone I had met. Everyone who had shown kindness to me and others. Everyone who experienced what I had.

The spell was broken for a little while as I returned to my home state. Especially because I saw the mother of one of my acquaintances from high school. She'd known me since I was a soft, round 12 year old, and here she was seeing me covered in makeup and a Mikey Fuckin Way shirt looking like I hadn't slept in days. She gave me a smile and told me "I thought that was you". The pleasantries we exchanged were brief, but the haze returned as soon as I was behind the wheel of my car and alone with my thoughts again.

I walked out of that concert with more motivation than ever. I wanted to connect. To create. To bring someone solace when they need it and touch the hearts and minds of everyone I could. Even though I was exhausted, the first thing I did when I got home was pick up my guitar and wail. It wasn't good. It wasn't about being good, though, it was about the fact that if I didn't create something right that second, it would all be worth nothing. Every ounce of energy and goodness that had been pushed my way in the past 48 hours was for nothing. I finally collapsed on my bed after a while, too exhausted to do anything but succumb to the exhaustion. But it was still everything I'd ever wanted. It was my secret. One that was between me, my partner, all those strangers, MCR, and whatever god had chosen to smile down upon me enough to let me experience it all.

#essay #this is a long sappy way of saying mcrnj1 was the best night of my fucking life #i will never know anything like it again #my chemical romance #thursday band #the homless gospel choir #frank iero #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #thank you to everyone who was nice to me and kept me sane #thank you for making all of that so special

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