This morning, I am tired. I walked to work, rain drizzling down around me, wondering how I’d been able to complete my Bachelors degree by getting four hours a sleep a night. Because, I’d gotten home at around 1:30, which meant that my sleep cycle was not as lengthy as it usually is.
But the disruption was worth it.
A friend of mine won tickets to see Typhoon and asked if I wanted to go with her. Naturally, a couple weeks ago, I agreed quickly. I was unsure on Tuesday if I wanted to go, though. If I could go. I didn’t want to be social; I wanted to sit and hide from everyone and everything–my go-to way to deal with anything I don’t really want to deal with. How could I possibly go out and have fun when someone I loved just died?
I expressed this to her and she told me it might be good for me to get out; to not sit in a room and hide from everyone and everything. Other friends of mine agreed, So, I said yes. I knew that if I passed up the opportunity to see one of my new favourite bands, I’d be incredibly sad. And, in a way, I also knew that I couldn’t just stop my life to grieve.
So, I went. And I had a great time (there were some bumps, but they make for a really good freaking story, so I’m okay with that). I really liked one of the opening bands, Little Lamb the Beekeeper. The singer had a great raspy alto voice that I quite enjoyed.
And then there was Typhoon. They were amazing.
Their performance was stellar. They all work so well together; it’s easy to see them as a collaborative unit, where the individual players function in order to create this beautiful whole. They sounded great, they had great energy; the crowd loved them.
Not a lot of people danced, though. Which was weird. You kind of have to dance to Typhoon. Their beats demand to be danced to. But, I digress.
Also, the lead singer is freaking adorable. Not only is his voice sheer perfection, but he’s just so fucking cute.
If you haven’t checked out the band, you should. Their lyrics are catchy and haunting. Some hit you straight in the gut and don’t leave until you’ve felt the sheer enormity of their weight. Like, the song “Possible Deaths,” which might be the song I play on repeat this month. Give it a listen. You won’t regret it.