In this First Concert Ever segment, the electro pop artist, Leela, talks about the story of her first experience with live music. You can check out the story, after the break.
I think most people have heartwarming, nostalgic stories about attending their first concert. That moment of pure bliss, singing along to your favourite lyric at the top of your lungs.
Mine, however, is not one of those stories. But it’s entertaining (now) so I’ll tell it anyway.
I was around 10 years old. It was a Backstreet Boys (obviously) and I went with my mom. Now, to understand why the next part happened, you have to understand my mom a bit. Let’s just say that she is not usually someone that you would usually find at a loud pop concert. She did it for me, though, and that’s very sweet. But in order to attend, she had some conditions for me. The main one was that I had to wear earplugs (which I hated).. but she made it very clear that it was earplugs or no concert so I agreed. Upon arrival, she handed over those silicon earplugs that you can pull off into smaller pieces (the ones that kind of feel like chewy Vaseline.. you’re welcome for that description).
Now being me, the tiny rebel that I was, I wanted to experience the concert in the fullest way possible. So a song or two in, I started pulling apart the earplugs and leaving in smaller and smaller pieces so that I could hear more. That is until one of those tiny little assholes decided to slip down into my ear canal.. deep. Realizing that I could officially hear absolutely nothing in that ear, I started sobbing & told my mom what had happened.
From there, we went and found security who led us into the make-shift first aid area where for the majority of the concert. And so, there I sat, crying, as a med student (who I’m sure meanwhile was questioning their career choice), attempted to pull the tiny piece of earplug out of my ear canal with tweezers. Luckily, they had a teeny, tiny tv that was live-streaming the concert. And that’s what I remember from that experience. Watching the tiny tv, smaller than the one we had at home, while the adults around me tried to hide their laughter at my sad, regretful sobs.
Ps, Dear Backstreet Boys: if you ever read this, I’d like a do-over, please. A chance to experience my first concert over again. This time with NO EARPLUGS.