There were six radio presets and six CD slots in the 2007 Honda Pilot that I drove in high school. I was a master at flipping from FM to CD and could replace a disc in seconds. Wherever I was in town, I knew exactly which CD and track to switch to so that the song ended as I pulled into my driveway.

Even though my radio scanning prowess was off the charts, I often reverted back to Disc 4, Track 3: “Laundry Room” from the Avett Brothers’ “Live Vol. Four.” It was the ultimate song to drive home to, perfect for singing along in harmony and pounding the dashboard like a bass drum as the finale crescendoed. The way that the last chord so effortlessly transitioned into the next track is what cemented this album as my go-to.

It was around this time when I started getting “into” music — listening to it anyway. I had just discovered Spotify and was building my music library quickly. My love for the Avett Brothers began then, but scouring their discography, I was surprised by how different their songs sounded in live recording compared to studio ones — and how much better I liked the live versions.

“Live Vol. Four” led me to the remaining three volumes and a laundry list of live performances on YouTube. There was no turning back from the thrall of YouTube series like Tiny Desk, COLORS studio, Paste Magazine, and Cardinal Sessions. The list of musicians I wanted to see perform in concert grew and grew.

The closest venues were in Austin, TX, an hour away from my hometown. I would make the trip whenever I could and dream of living in the city so I could see concerts every week. Even though I only went to the concerts of my favorite bands, the best part was always hearing the openers. Before every concert, I would try to listen to a couple of songs in preparation, but it was always the live performance that unlocked the soul of the music.

“The Oh Hellos” opened my first ever concert. I remember one of the band members climbed the stage scaffolding so that he could play from a nearby tree limb. The energy there simply couldn’t be matched through headphones. The following year I watched them headline a show in the same venue and fell in love with their openers, “The Marmalakes.” Another year later, I saw them perform at Austin’s famous Blues on the Green concert series. After seeing them in person, streaming their songs only served to bring back the memory of their performance.

The way I listen, discover, and appreciate music wholly changed once I began regularly attending live concerts. When you share a room with an artist, watching them make music out of nothing, feeling the beat in your heart, singing out to add your voice to the song, lifting your hands to the sky, and dancing with hundreds of fans doing the same — it’s ceremonial. Listening to music thereafter doesn’t bring joy just because of the song but because you remember experiencing it.

People tend to claim music as their own. We make our playlists, build our song libraries, pay our streaming subscriptions, and post our Spotify Wrapped and Replays. When it comes to listening to music, we keep it digitized. Live music, however, can’t be digitized. So we usually don’t engage. We wait around for a Spotify notification or Instagram ad to tell us the band we follow is coming to town. Otherwise we save up for the next big ticket music festival, maybe for the music and variety, but for the perfect social media post too. All the while, music is constantly performed in venues big and small across the country every night of the week.
Just last week, The Weeknd, YOLA, Still Woozy, Francis Dillon, and Remi Wolf came to Boston. This week? Pinegrove, Two Friends, Dua Lipa. Not to mention 30 or more artists to discover…just this week. Live music is alive and well and happening in Boston as we speak. It’s moving and inspiring audiences every single night. Whether in a crowded bar room, outdoor amphitheater, or rock club, let’s go find it.

— Staff writer Jacob R. Jimenez can be reached at jacob.jimenez@thecrimson.com