Some things I learned this weekend:

Red Rocks is too much. It’s too everything. Too beautiful, too big, too intimate, too special, too magical, too historical. I knew all this. But in the same way that words can’t describe Red Rocks and pictures can’t do it justice, memory cannot hold it, either. I remembered that it is an awesome place to see a show, but I forgot how literally I mean that word. Awesome: inspiring awe. When you are close to the stage, it is incredibly intimate – your are right on top of the band and the seats seem to raise straight up at an impossibly steep angle behind you The place feels huge. If you are farther away, the place feels small. Even from the top, even without video screens as it was this weekend, I still felt close to the performance. It seemed intimate. And the view of the Denver skyline and the lights of the city is one of those things that cannot be described but only lived.

( A view of Denver's skyline from a hill behind the amphitheatre. From the top of the amphitheatre they say you can see to Kansas -- but how would you even know?)



Dave Matthews Band is good. You might think, being a fan who in the past year or so has seen nine DMB concerts in five cities across the country, that I would take this for granted. And I kind of do. But I also appreciate their humanity, which is a kind way of saying that sometimes when you love something you love their flaws as much as their perfection. But I don’t know that the band has ever been as on or as damn near perfect as musicians as they were the three nights I saw them.

What a UBM is. As it was explained to me by the guy I sat next to on Friday night (when Erin shunned me and I was forced to go alone), the more UBMs per DMB show, the better the show will be. UBMs, he said, are not necessarily desirable in and of themselves, but they only tend to occur during memorable, quality moments. More UBMs = a better show. So, I said, “Ok. What’s a UBM?” And he told me. A UBM is an Ugly Boyd Moment. Here’s one now.



He may spend a lot of the show standing quietly in the background, looking freakishly chiseled. But when he steps out into the lights and you see those big white teeth and his hair going crazy and he’s leaning back while lifting one leg in the air, why that's a ready-made UBM. And any real fan of DMB is loving the moment. Because let me tell you: The man surely can fiddle.

Mmmm ... Taco Bell. If it’s 1 in the morning and you never even ate an actual dinner and have spent hours standing and rocking out at a concert and driving all over the city and you maybe have just faintest trace of contact high from all the people smoking (this is my dad’s term, which I love) “funny cigarettes,” then nothing and I mean nothing is quite as satisfying as a trip through the Taco Bell drive thru.

Erin a iongantach. I'm sure I massacred that translation, but I think that’s Gaelic for: Erin is the shiznit. The bomb. She’s bananas. (But she swears she ain’t no hollaback girl.) I’ve had some friends who have liked DMB and gone to concerts with me and been enthusiastic when news albums come out and whatever. But Erin is the only one who not only doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy for wanting to go to (Circle One: LA / SanFrancisco / Wisconsin / Denver) to see a DMB show, she wants to come, too.

I do really wish (probably Erin does, too) that Diana also liked the band. I would love to be able to share my excitement about all this with her and not only have her company on these trips (I promised: no more without you!) but also have her come to the shows. Sadly, this is her one and only flaw (though I somewhat doubt if she sees it that way).

So, I feel lucky to have Erin as friend. I probably would anyway, because she’s a pretty cool chick in general, but it’s especially fun to go to a show with her. I actually found myself enjoying Friday night’s show less just because they kept playing songs I knew Erin would have wanted to hear. Everything’s better with a friend, so thank you, Erin, for coming along. Holla!

I don’t miss people I knew in high school. At all. Not that I thought I did. But now I have proof.

I need to live in Denver again. I’m sorry for this one, Diana, but you’ve known it’s true for many years. Trust me, the winter is not that bad. I’ll buy you lots of cute sweaters and socks.



I’ll go back. (More bad news, sweetheart.) But I wasn’t sure I would after this weekend. The first time the idea occurred to me (that Red Rocks might just be the perfect way to “go out on top” as it were) was in July at Alpine with Josh. I had a taste then of how good the Red Rocks run might just be and I wondered. By the end of the second absolutely mind-blowing show of the weekend, it seemed a legitimate possibility. And, quite honestly, at points during Sunday night’s show I was certain. I thought: After this, how could I ever go back?

And maybe I never will see another show as spectacular as what we saw Saturday and Sunday. In fact, I doubt it very much. But that’s no reason to stop. Like I wrote in an earlier post, I am absolutely addicted to that feeling just before the show starts. There is so much possibility and anticipation. That moment is to me what being alive is all about.

Also, I’ll go back to Red Rocks. Whether they play there again next year or they wait seven years before going back again, I’ll be there.