Over two years ago, my girlfriend came to me with a crazy dream she had. In it, I was Jay Z. I was still “me,” but I looked like Jay Z and had the platinum-selling rap mogul status of Jay Z. Meanwhile, my girlfriend had assumed the role of Beyoncé. She was still “herself,” but looked like Queen B and carried the empowering feminist aura that comes with being the most influential female artist alive. In her dream, we performed a concert in tandem and then rode off into the sunset on a motorcycle. That’s one hell of a dream.
There’s nothing quite like a last show. And last Sunday, I was at my first.
Nearly five years ago, I met one of my best friends, who would soon introduce me to his favorite band, a local group named Bomb the Music Industry. The band is everything you may presume by that moniker. It released all its music online, for free. Its shows are extremely cheap, to the point where it feels like you’re only paying to reimburse the band for the cost of renting the venue. In short, this is just a bunch of dudes playing music for the sake of playing music.
When I first heard Bomb’s snarling guitars reverberating through a set of speakers, I promised my friend we’d see them in concert. And after five years of bad luck and twists of fate, I was finally able to make it to a Bomb show. Its last show.