The sound ripples across the surface of the crowd, invading each ear as it moves. Waves pummel three small bones in the middle ear and ignite vibrations in the cochlea fluid. Ripples in the fluid kickstart 25,000 nerve endings, transferring the vibrations into electrical impulses and sending them to the brain via the auditory nerve. That’s when the consequence of sound lands and we finally close our eyes. Darkness flushes away all distractions. The purity of the moment erases the concerns of tomorrow. We focus without effort and follow each note as it folds into the next. Like synesthetes, we watch the sounds morph into colors and shapes, casting shadows against the walls of the mind. We’re captured, lost in a labyrinth of sound.
For some folks, watching live music is a chore. Their feet hurt from the hours of standing, or their favorite song sounds nothing like it does on the album. They count the minutes until the set ends, thinking only about the traffic after the show. But for others, live music is an on-ramp to a moment of euphoria, replete with setting, company and stimulation. Notes and chords give way to verse. Verse builds into a pre-chorus, which climbs to a chorus and often a hook. The hook clutches our sensibilities and pulls us into a refrain. And here, like teenagers first seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, we scream in collective ecstasy.
Collective ecstasy feels real. Like cobras before a snake charmer, we bounce and wiggle in pseudo-states of hypnosis. A well-placed blues lick or the dancing ivory of a Steinway piano command the chemical stew of our brains. According to UCF neuroscientist Kiminobu Sugaya, “Music can be a drug—a very addictive drug because it’s also acting on the same part of the brain as illegal drugs. Music increases dopamine in the nucleus accumbens, similar to cocaine.” When the feeling of collective ecstasy takes hold, dopamine dumps from person to person and pulls us into a shared state of being. We lose ourselves in communal satisfaction and move like one synergistic organism. The music is the vehicle that delivers this joyride, but the venue, anticipation, and years of loving a band are the unbound highway that help us get there.
The creative process, while painstaking and exhausting for artists, is not entirely enigmatic. Decades of practice, endless noodling on instruments, emulating the greats and developing their own style—this is skill building. Collaboration with other players primes creativity. Theatrics and choreography enhance the show. Yet the germ of an idea—the moment of advent—remains a mystery. Where does it come from? How does it shapeshift into an eventual masterpiece? This spark, fed with the right amount of oxygen and fuel, eventually leads to a flame. And that flame, combined with skill and theatrics, culminates in a way that tugs and pulls an audience like they’re puppets on a string.
I, along with 50,000 others in tour shirts and sun hats, felt this pull on a warm Thursday night in New Orleans. Our mass swayed together, shouting the lyrics to Gimme Shelter back at The Rolling Stones as they ripped through a raucous version of their 1969 classic. 60 years of music history swept away the outside world and plunged us into something special: the present moment, where nothing else mattered.
From the first 8 seconds of solo picking to the thud of the floor tom and riding high hat, The Rolling Stones created a sound with Gimme Shelter that defined an era. While originally born in the mind of Keith Richards (as he watched pedestrians run for cover during a London storm), the song quickly took on a life of its own. Chinooks over Saigon, dead students at Kent State, the My Lai Massacre, the Tet Offensive, Richard Nixon, The Pentagon Papers, my grandmothers wondering what may happen to their sons if drafted—all of it can be heard before Mick Jagger enters with his first lyrics:
“Yes, a storm is threat’ning
My very life today
If I don’t get some shelter
Lord, I’m gonna fade away
War, children
It’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away
War, children
It’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away”
As I sang along with the crowd, my mind raced through the history of that era. I heard the crack of M16s aimed at an invisible enemy. I saw carpet bombing campaigns blowing holes in miles of rice patties. I felt the guts of two nations twist like colicing horses. I smelled the gasoline and tar of a war machine hellbent on bombing a nation “back to the stone age.” It was all there—dirt and blood mixed together—while the song poured from the stage like water from a breached dam. My history, my heritage—the folly of a nation.
But in the same moment, I feel connected in symbiosis to the crowd, the band, and the earth below my feet. I heard the reaching effort of humanity, striving for peace. The lyrics told us the way, and we sang until every voice filled the air:
I’ll tell you love, sister
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
Kiss away, kiss away”
Live music has a way of tearing us open and pressing our emotional buttons. From anger to joy and fear to calmness, the connection between a band and its audience is a unique phenomenon. A song capable of inducing collective ecstasy taps into my favorite drug and Gimme Shelter did just that. For a moment, we were all children riding shoulder-to-shoulder on the Coney Island Cyclone, climbing the highs and lows of human emotion, and doing so together.
My feet were tired and the song sounded different from the version on their album, Let It Bleed. But the moment is now a collective memory, shared amongst 50,000 strong. For 4 minutes and 30 seconds, our voices united into one powerful entity, and unity, wherever it’s found, is a nice change of pace these days.
Stirring Point 
Leave a comment