As most of you know, I fell hard in the early 2000s for many subsets of indie rock. In a way, I think it was to be contrary, because nearly all of my friends at the time listened to hip-hop, r&b and the flavor-of-the-week college rock songs
Early Arcade Fire spoke to me, and so did Blonde Redhead and Belle & Sebastian and Rilo Kiley.
And Death Cab for Cutie.
I have a 129-song playlist named “BEN GIBBARD.” I briefly didn’t like Zooey Deschanel because I felt Codes and Keys was too upbeat. Transatlanticism was my first, but Something About Airplanes is special to me. I know the words to nearly every song on Plans. I once wrote a half-page album review in a market that did not care at all about Death Cab. I did not care.
In October, I’ll hear some of my favorite songs live.
I normally don’t impulse-buy concert tickets. I usually don’t buy concert tickets in general. I’m fine with doing a lot of things by myself, but I like sharing concerts with people. But the people who love the bands I love don’t really live near me anymore. I hope the person I’m seeing Death Cab with is prepared for me losing it during the bridge of Tiny Vessels or shouting the lyrics to Fake Frowns.
I have a list of songs I want to hear. If they do Stability (not Stable Song) for some crazy reason, I’ll explode. I’ll settle for Different Names for the Same Thing.
For some crazy reason, I really want to hear Information Travels Faster live.
But I don’t care what they play, because I’m going to be there.
Only 166 days to go.