This past summer, I experienced one of the standard teenage rites of passage – my first concert. My favorite band, the Dear Hunter, was playing in Vienna, the closest they were going to get to my side of the country for next couple years or so. So my brother got me, his friend, and himself tickets for August 14, close enough to my birthday to be called a birthday present.

The Jammin’ Java was a cool place, with dark ambiance and pounding music that got louder and louder as 7:30 approached. The concert was fairly small, standing-room only, but by the time the opening band (O’Brother) came out, the place was packed all the way to the door. I was in the front row.

The first band I heard at the very first concert of my seventeen years will always have a special place in my heart. I’ll remember the noise, how ear-splittingly, organ-vibratingly loud it was. I’ll remember when the drummer decided it wasn’t enough just to play like he had a seizure, but to snap his drumstick in half and launch it at my forehead. A man next to picked it up and offered it to me, as if he was saying, “You want this?” (Obviously we couldn’t hear each other.) I declined. Certainly, I’ll remember how terrible they were. The crowd also agreed that they sucked. No one moved around, the applause was only polite, and there was all of one person jumping around and screaming and enjoying herself.

O’Brother had clearly overstayed their welcome, and I was hoping that the second band I would hear in the first concert of my life would be better than the first. Deas Vail appeared to be more established, and their sound far smoother and slightly softer, more acoustic than O’Brother’s standard punk-rock fare. I only wish my ears were better at that point so I could have appreciated them, but from what I heard and understood of their low key songs, they were a welcome relief. Their set was too short, but then it didn’t matter anymore because the Dear Hunter was coming on stage.

What can I say? It was spectacular. Everyone in the room (but my brother and his friend) knew all the words to each song. I screamed until my voice was hoarse. My brother and his friend stared at me with an amused look on their faces as I jumped around and acted like the crazy fan I was. They played a mix of old and new, although most of the songs were from the newest album. Since it was their fifth sold out show, the lead singer, Casey Crescenzo, played two old favorites acoustic. Unfortunately, by that time my ears were so shot that everything started to sound tinny and mechanical. But it was probably just my ears.

On the ride home, I fell fast asleep, more exhausted than I thought I was. I waited for my ears to recover, which they didn’t until the next day. The experience was at times painful (I’m looking at you, O’Brother), at times out-of-this-world, but something I’ll definitely not hesitate to do again.