My husband and I drove two and a half hours to listen to Rhett Miller (of Old 97’s fame) play in Annapolis, MD, today. With an electric stage presence and a brilliant talent for writing lyrics, he deserves more from a culture that often favors glitzier or more sensational musicians. He’s a lunch pail rockstar who’s been showing up for “twenty good years of about twenty-five.” He’s so talented yet so down to earth. Tonight, he even relayed a story of fighting an ant infestation at his home yesterday when he took one night off from touring.
He has all my respect and admiration. That said, I have a particular brand of neurodivergence that makes listening to live music challenging—crowds are suffocating, music venues are freezing, sitting still for more than 90 seconds feels impossible, and music blares at volumes that everyone else seems to love but feels to me like there is a bullhorn pressed against my eardrum.
Tonight we were sitting at a table pushed against the edge of the stage. In the seat next to me, a woman propped her legs up on the stage and flopped back in her chair so that she was almost in my lap. Worse still, she kept interrupting while Rhett was telling heartfelt or hilarious stories between songs.
“That’s because you’re awesome,” she screamed. (I forget the specific anecdote she was responding to.)
“You’re so cool!”
“We love you Rhett!”
God, shut the fuck up, I thought several times, my legs jammed against the stage but my feet still on the floor.
This is classic juice-not-worth-the-squeeze, I fretted, feeling unnerved by the volume and encroachment of my neighbor but also frustrated with myself for being so easily unnerved.
But then Rhett talked about recently having a little trouble hitting certain high notes in some of his songs. “I haven’t sung this one in a while for that reason,” he said. “You guys aren’t going to walk out if I can’t do it, are you?”
“NOOOOO,” screeched the woman next to me, amid other less obnoxious affirmations.
As he sang “Come Around,” he paused just before the chorus with a wee flourish and a puckish expression that said, “Little help here?” The whole place swelled with voices from the audience, more than willing and ready to carry the song for the next few notes.
Cue a montage of every magical and meaningful thing in my life, as well as a few tears.
To talk about the power of music feels almost impossible to do without a belabored trip to Clichéland. But when you experience a spontaneous collective moment and hear voices joined in synergistic effort out of love—for a song and the man who wrote it—I think you start to believe we just might be able to save ourselves.
We love you, Rhett. You’re so cool.
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We love you, Alexandra! You're so cool!
Rhett Miller sounds like an incredible talent with a humble personality. I can't imagine how challenging it must be to listen to live music with neurodivergence, but it's inspiring to see someone like him still shine. 🎶 Excellent work!