Post By Andrew Bundy
On an otherwise unremarkable Thursday night, I found myself standing next to one of the most important artists in the world to me, equal parts star struck and feeling like Leo in that scene on the bow of the Titanic. My favorite singer, Colleen Green, knows me; she said; “What’s up, dude,” to me earlier.
She probably just sees me as that fan that goes to all her LA shows and stands in the front singing along, whipping his hair around like a lonely loser, but I honestly don’t care. Her music changed my life and maybe even saved it. Every time she starts playing a song I love, I’m reminded why I have so many reasons to pull the covers off my face in the morning. Seeing her perform makes me not want to die once I drive home.
She played a new tune to close out her set, aptly titled “Maybe I’ll Get Hit by a Bus”. (If I’m remembering the name right)
I’ve been lucky enough to see her debut several new songs over the last two years. I live in a city where I can power through an hour of traffic and see Colleen play all the time. So, why do I want to die exactly?
I know Colleen doesn’t have a car; I offer her a ride home so she doesn’t have to call a Lyft, and she accepts. Time stopped for a few seconds. I had this eerie realization that this incredible artist I’d just given five bucks for a cassette to – whose hat I was wearing – needed a ride home. Here she is; trademark sunglasses, sleek leather jacket, blue checkmark next to her twitter profile – a woman with thousands of fans… but the artistic world we live in doesn’t just dole out magic limo drivers.
After the show, Colleen throws her guitar on her back and gives me the thumbs up to head out. We’re walking to my car and several people thank Colleen for her set. I ask her if she ever gets tired of the gratitude, if it ever feels forced or gets old – I worry I gush about her too much. But she says it’s always appreciated. I tell her again how much her stuff means to me, while clearing all the cassettes and used CDs off my front seat.
I feel more than a little silly when I turn the car on and Colleen’s song, “Some People”, is still playing in the background from the drive down before.
“Oh, this is you,” I laugh.
Colleen chuckled a little too, then immediately hit the AM button on my radio. Normally I don’t let anyone decide what music plays in my car, but one’s favorite singer is clearly an exception to such stupid rules.
“There’s this really good station that plays a lot of oldies,” she said, while turning the dial.
I pull into a drive way she points in the direction of. Colleen collects her stuff out of the back seat, and thanks me. I smile, stumbling over my words as she closes the door.
I start “Some People” over again. I sit for a long time listening to it before heading back – hoping Colleen knows just how important it is to some people that artists like her exist. I drove downtown, alone, that evening, smoking a joint, assuming my weekend was going to be shit. I drove back feeling like making dreams real was possible again. There was a lot of doubt and discouragement in between. But that’s art for you.