I subjected myself to the depths of doom and despair on a random Wednesday at TD Garden Arena.Â
It’s not exactly what it sounds like. I did it to myself. Since I was 14, I’ve been deeply infatuated with and influenced by Phoebe Bridgers’ music. Known for her “sad girl music,” Bridgers portrays melancholy better than any artist. The first song I ever loved of hers was “Kyoto,” from her 2020 album Punisher. It was different from any song I’d ever heard, and remains one of my favorites to this day.Â
Like any slightly emotionally disoriented teenage girl, I constantly played Bridgers’ music in my car on the way to high school. Her songs “You Missed My Heart” and “So Much Wine” feel like a warm hug. They’re soft songs, but so incredibly meaningful.Â
When the time came for “the great war”— the Ticketmaster War — my friends and I were ready to brave the competitive fanbase known as the “Pharbs.” This was back in June, and at the time, the prospect of seeing such a moving, inspirational musician live felt unreal. The tour is called “The Lost Tour” to commemorate Phoebe’s new album, The Lost Weekend, which came out this past August. With some crazy luck of the draw, one of my close college friends managed to score three tickets to see her on Oct. 7 in Boston. I have so much love for music —whether it is Olivia Rodrigo, the Beatles, or the Neighbourhood — but I’ve never connected with an artist on such an emotional level as I have with Phoebe Bridgers.Â
Simply put, The Lost Weekend is a stroke of genius. After six years without a new album, it’s safe to say the Pharbs were anxious for the day Phoebe would make her return to the world. And she made herself known. Her signature indie-folk style remained intact throughout this record. From “The Governor’s Waltz” to “I Can’t Wait,” Bridgers created something so new and out of this world that I couldn’t help but feel personally affected by it, playing it on my walk to classes nearly every day of September.Â
When doomsday finally arrived on a windy, chilly day here in Beantown, my friends and I rode the T down to TD Garden. We locked our phones in pouches at security because this was a notably phone-free concert (incredible idea on Phoebe’s part, I must say). Finally, we made our way to our seats.Â
What came soon after was an experience I will never forget.Â
When Bridgers came out on stage and opened the concert with “Motion Sickness,” one of my all-time favorite songs, the only word that came to mind was starstruck. I fully wept when she revealed herself center stage with a big smile as she strummed her guitar and took in the crowd around her.Â
What an epic human being Phoebe Bridgers is. She has this immense ability to write music that makes people cry, and she does it all with a smile. But the impact she’s had on her fans is the greatest gift of all. She’s an artist who is personable with people. Her lyrics are incredibly relatable: “Romanticize a quiet life / There’s no place like my room…” She understands the melancholy of being a young woman, the struggles that come with family, love, and self-discovery, and I appreciate her openness.Â
The no-phones rule truly transformed the experience. Everyone was present for once. No distractions, no bright screens. Just a girl with her guitar, her music, and an arena filled with supporters. It was the ultimate concert experience. I’ve loved her music since high school, but seeing her perform in person made me realize what music can truly do for people. It creates community; a shared experience. Live music is incredibly special, especially when it comes from an artist you deeply admire.Â
I’ll never forget how I felt while chanting and dancing to “Bobby” with my two best friends, and screaming at the top of my lungs to “Kyoto,” a song I’ve loved since I was somewhat of a child (a high schooler with a lot to learn). Now, at nineteen, I had the amazing opportunity to reflect on how much I’ve grown since I first heard Punisher. Bridgers’ music creates space to think about who we used to be and to grieve the old versions of ourselves.Â
No words could ever do this concert justice. I’d go five more times if I could. There’s a quiet sense of hope in a musician like Phoebe Bridgers: someone who can write the most gut-wrenching music about the difficulties of her life and turn it into something even more beautiful than anyone could imagine: a shared experience among people from all walks of life.
So yes, I am okay. It may have been one of the saddest concerts I’ve ever attended, but it was also the most meaningful.Â
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