Teenage screams erupted as George Daniel, Ross MacDonald, Adam Hann, and Matthew Healy, members of the indie rock band The 1975, took the stage. George, wearing a crisp white t-shirt revealing his bicep tattoos and a shy smile, plopped down on his drum seat, twirling his drumsticks. Adam and Ross followed, wrapping their guitars around the bodies. Matty swayed to the microphone with his signature bottle of wine in hand.

Without an introduction they began to play their hit single “The City.” Sweaty bodies migrated toward the stage. Their screams increased and their bodies swayed to the upbeat sounds. The lyrics effortlessly spewed from my mouth as if it was the National Anthem. In a matter of seconds my full bladder and hunger had vanished.
A constellation of cell phone lights flickered through the crowd. Two girls in front of me, who looked no more than twelve-years-old, stood rigid behind the screen of their iPhone 6. A couple to my left crooned to each other. Noses millimeters apart, they gazed into each other’s eyes. The entire theater could crumble and they wouldn’t have noticed.

I danced, my braids and body swaying unison. Everything held me in its magic until I zoomed in on Matty Healy. His sloppy movements and stumbling across the stage told me he was drunk before he even took the stage. In the eyes of others this could be seen as just the typical rock star lifestyle. To me, I saw something different. I saw someone broken, someone numb.

“Raise your hand if you never saw us live before,” Matty announced. My hand shot in the air. “I want all of you guys to put your phones away for just this one song because, if you never saw us live before don’t you think it’s kind of bizarre to watch us through a screen?” I smiled and quickly shoved my phone into my bag. With no phones in the air, I had a clear view of the band as they started to play the emotional ballad, “Me.” What I saw was kind of frightening.

Matty sat on the edge of the stage, staring down. When he sang the lyrics, “I was thinking about killing myself, don’t you mind.” For a split second he shoved his face in his palm, and shook his head. I was fighting back tears.

As was he.
He stood.
Guzzled the wine
Lit a cigarette
And the crowd cheered.

“You could just tell,” said my friend, Emily Amelia beside me, “that he loves that dark place right now.”

They performed their next song. I watched Matty closely. He danced, and laughed. Drunk and high off his own music. He jumped onto George’s drum riser, shredding his guitar so hard I swore his fingers would fall off.
One of my favorite parts of that night involved Matty standing on the edge of the stage declaring “Race, religion, sexual orientation- it doesn’t matter tonight. If you’re with someone you love, show them you love them. Grab their hand right now.”

I laced my fingers with Emily’s as they proceeded to play “Chocolate,” one of my favorite songs. We danced the hardest we had that night, shouting the lyrics at the top of our lungs.

They ended with “Sex,” Adam and Matty shredding their guitars. Ross smiled at the crowd, and George pounded his drums. Adam, gleeful, threw his pick into the crowd. George followed, tossing his drum sticks. My ears were ringing, and I loved every second of it.

Matty put out his cigarette on the stage, grabbed his wine bottle and left with a shy wave. That night he made everyone feel alive, the life pulsing from how dead he felt inside.