|damn you, Carey|
The first indie song I ever heard was “I And Love And You” by the Avett Brothers. Love at first sound, you could say.
|Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I’m in?|
To this day, a somewhat spiritual calamity comes over me when that song plays. And I think that’s the way it is for most indie-lovers.
I grew up in a reformed Baptist church. I know all the hymns, the prayers and the Sunday school stories. So when I went to my first mega non-denominational church, I was shell-shocked.
There were people dancing. Jumping. Hands high and voices screaming. I couldn’t even hear myself. So I stood there, hands at my side, mumbling along the words on the screen. It was foreign to me and I hated it. I just didn’t know how to be one of these people.
Last September, my best friend and I went to a Mumford & Sons concert in our city. It was amazing, they played exactly as I imagined they would. They were charming and British and made the crowd laugh. They played Lovers’ Eyes, then Below My Feet, then The Cave — and then they played Little Lion Man. And by that time I was screaming. Jumping. Dancing.
That’s the magic of indie music, and fortunately, there’s no shortage of it.
Murmurs 