TL;DR A dozen or so of us hung around for 2.5 hours waiting for the band, they did not come out, but good times were had anyway.

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First off, what a time. What an experience. I had been waiting for close to a decade to see Beach House, and the pandemic put a damper on the possibility of it ever occurring. I think anybody who attended Chicago knows how special a show that was. The energy of that crowd, in that venue, was honestly a little ridiculous. Alex and Victoria pumped out jam after jam, and they made the wait worthwhile for everybody who has been waiting to see them in any sort of live capacity.

The concert itself, zero complaints, and if anything, kudos to the band for stopping during its set to check on an audience member who needed medical assistance. In this post-Astroworld, uh, world, knowing the musicians we pay our hard-earned money to see care about us in return, that means something.

After the show ended, the lights kicked on, and the garbage started being shoveled across the floor, a few stuck around to try and get a setlist, while a smaller group went outside the venue, looking for the best spot to possibly meet the band, or to get an autograph. There were maybe a dozen of us scattered across a parking lot adjacent to the back door of the building, with no easy way to let anybody know that, hey, we're here, just in case the band feels like doing what it has done on other stops of the tour.

We had all read the success stories from other Redditors who waited upward of two hours near the band's tour bus, and there was a sliver of hope that the tour manager would eventually come grab our albums to hand to the band, similar to what has happened in Seattle or overseas. We had all anticipated being told that the band wasn't going to come out, which we didn't see as a deterrent because, as precedent has shown, those who stuck around after that warning were rewarded for their time. And that... did not happen last night. Which is OK. Which is understandable. Which is, well, still disappointing, in all reality.

Don't get me wrong, we all knew the deal. Everybody posted up outside hoping for an opportunity to get their favorite album (or shoes) signed, we knew that it was the band's decision to either come out, send their tour manager as a liaison, or to hang back on the bus until it was time to head back to their hotel. It's not within the band's job description to sign stuff for fans, no matter how long they've been waiting, and again, that notion was both understood and respected. Yet, knowing so many others did succeed where we failed, each and every one of us, I can't lie to you, it stung a little. It would have made getting home well after 1 in the morning suck a lot less, but you know what? It is what it is.

Me personally? I was just happy to be there. Just happy to have been alive, of able body, to be in the presence of the band. To see them walking around, to be able to wave to them, let alone to have seen them perform. As I made my way to the concert about an hour before Beach House took the stage, my life nearly ended in a car accident. I was going the speed limit on Interstate 290 about to change lanes, and I checked my blind spot for the all-clear.

As I began to move over, a car zipped right behind me doing 85 or 90 in a 55, forcing me to jerk back into my original lane. I was maybe 10 inches and a half-second away from being rear-ended, which would have sent my car into a tailspin at high speed, probably launching me into the nearby concrete wall separating the L train and the expressway. Somehow, my instincts (Spidey Sense?) kicked in at just the right time and I narrowly avoided disaster. Or death. Or, even worse, missing the dang performance.

So to me, this show and everything that came with it, and everything that came after it, was a borrowed moment, on borrowed time. The concert was fantastic, and the setlist untouchable, and the people I met as I waited nearly three hours just for a glimpse of the band were all incredible people. And I mean that genuinely. I did not know any of these folks prior to going in or coming out, and most of us just showed up at a spot where we figured we could at least get the band's attention for long enough to get them to come over.

Obviously, that didn't happen and we all went home a little disappointed -- and, we all are going to wake up a little extra sleepy this morning, as I did -- but, it was still worth it to me. Because I got to meet the truest of the true fans. The fans who wanted a signature on their copy of Depression Cherry or the first-run boxed version of Once, Twice, Melody, because Alex and Victoria have changed, have affected, their lives for the better in some way, shape, form, or fashion. These weren't eBay sellers or autograph hounds, but real people with real stories, and to spend a couple hours getting to know those people and hear those stories was in and of itself special.

To those dozen or so people who didn't know me but welcomed me into this impromptu little social circle of Beach House die-hards, thank you. I went into this show feeling excited, but that was nearly taken away from me. I saw my life flash before my eyes, which added an extra layer and level of emotionality to this set in general, so again, just being there was special.