In this Dream Tour segment, the dream pop artist, Charlee Remitz, reveals who she would want on her ultimate tour lineup. You can check out their picks, after the break.
I would open each show with something iconic—something like that first piano stroke of Bennie and the Jets. Or the all-knowing, “Welcome to your lives.” It wouldn’t be the same thing over and over again. It’d be like a mood ring, feeling the dramas and tragedies of each audience and catering to their uniqueness, their own distinctive color. I think I’d hang planets and stars from the ceiling and cover the stage in flowers. A space garden where we can all be lonely and sad.
On the surface, it would be just that—a bunch of sad girls crying to their sad girl music, pretending that depression is a personality and anxiety is cute. But as the show went on, it would get deeper and deeper until suddenly we’re all screaming “Free Falling” at the top of our lungs and realizing that we’re not okay and maybe we need to free-fall to find those things we’re all looking for: Happiness. Purpose. Identity. Love.
I’d choose performers with transparency. I admire Taylor Swift’s spoken love letters to the fans. A different speech for every city. A new and eager attempt to relate to their humanities with humanity so impossible to comprehend, we don’t even try, but we find comfort in this idea that someone who is Someone feels that love is just as much blue as it is red.
I’d choose performers who are secure. John Mayer would get up on stage with his guitar and his quirks and he’d stand there in his shoes, making a statement, “be who you are,” without trying at all. He’d drag out a song for fifteen minutes and talk about lettuce wraps and Tom Petty in the same breath. He’d ensure his place in our hearts as Someone Who Gets It, while strumming the silvery “In Your Atmosphere,” and we’d all remember how it feels to be on a plane going home to someone you love, which would, in turn, conjure up the wonder of being on a plane as the sun’s setting and the clouds are looking all fluffy and edible. We would all just sit in it. That miracle. That sensation. And we would decide that life is so much more than just being sad and depressed.
At some point, Foster the People would grace the stage, drumming up a rebellion with “Pumped up Kicks,” and after everything turned political for a moment, causing us to recall how bad things are and how important we all can be to the cause, Neil Young would ask the lovers, the broken-hearted, the confused and the hopeless to dance one final dance to “Harvest Moon.”
When the lights came back on and the crowd trampled over plastic cups and empty popcorn bags, they wouldn’t feel insignificant. They wouldn’t feel small. They’d feel connected, like quaking aspen, to each other, to the universe, to their icons, and to their selves.