(writing this in the aftermath of hearing about philip seymour hoffman's death was probably not the best idea. bear with me, and i apologize in advance if this is melodramatic or long)
I have a hard time believing in romantic soul mates, but the concept applied to music more than anything. A musical soul mate provides an essential piece of you that you didn't realize was mussing. They don't smooth your sharp edges and hide your blemishes, but instead encourage you to embrace them. And like any soul mate, they arrive at the right time in your life. The time when you need them most.
At its peak, Fall Out Boy was more of an acquaintance than a friend. I had seen clips of the deer-man and thought it was weird. I liked Dance Dance and This Ain't a Scene. But beyond that, we didn't have much of a relationship. I listened to pop and rap and RnB and hip-hop, and didn't give FOB more than a passing glance.
The summer after I graduated high school, the summer of 2010, most of my friends had drifted away from me for one reason or another. They found people who were more fun to be around, more funny, more lively, less ... me. I was getting ready to pack up to go to college and I was at a big turning point in my life. I got that new music itch, when your music library is too rehearsed and stale, so I asked my friend to give me some new music to listen to. She essentially handed over the entire Fueled By Ramen discography: PATD, The Hush Sound, TAI..., Cobra Starship, and of course, Fall Out Boy.
My iPod was perpetually in "Artist > Fall Out Boy" for months. I learned the songs and researched metaphors; I watched music videos and interviews; I learned back stories and posted lyric statuses on facebook every other day. One day, I asked my friend what you guys were up to now, whether you were working on a new album or had put out any singles recently. And she told me you were on hiatus ... which essentially meant you were broken up. Indefinitely.
I was heartbroken. I remember crying to my (bewildered) mom about it, sitting on the couch watching the video for "What a Catch, Donnie" with new perspective. But I didn't stop listening.
My friend and I joked that one day, years and years from now, we'd be wearing mom jeans to a FOB reunion concert, which we'd drag our kids to. You guys would be using walkers to get around on stage. (It was a very dramatized pipe dream.)
Fall Out Boy filled the hole that my former friends left, and helped me connect and reconnect with friends, both old and new. Though I'm usually too shy to initiate conversation, one girl I was riding the elevator with the first week of classes was wearing a Fall Out Boy sweatshirt and I told her how much I loved the band. We remain close friends to this day.
This time last year, the friend who had given me FOB's discography all those years ago wasn't speaking to me. After FOB came off hiatus, we reconnected, and that summer I flew down south to visit her and we saw the show at the Ryman together like we had always dreamed of doing. We left the mom jeans at home, though.
On April 15th, FOB-sweatshirt-friend and I hopped on a bus from Boston to New York to go to the taping of Fall Out Boy's Fuse show. That was the day of the Boston marathon bombings.
On the weeks leading up to my 21st birthday (June 1st), I was incredibly depressed and felt an overwhelming sense of dread and loneliness. Around that time, I stumbled across a tumblr ask that Patrick had answered a while back, about having a deal with himself that he would kill himself before 21, and what a waste that would have been.
The week before the Boston House of Blues show (which I originally couldn't get tickets to) I came across a craiglist ad from a guy who was looking to sell two tickets to the show. I bought them. Looking forward to that concert was what kept me going in the days leading up to my 21st birthday.
It was my first Fall Out Boy concert. (And it was AMAZING.)
That night, I also had the privilege of meeting Patrick when he came out to say hi to fans after the show. I had so much I wanted to say (which I obviously couldn't get out because I was so darn excited and ecstatic) but it basically boils down to this:
Thank you for being there when no one else was. Thank you for openness and honesty. Thank you for the music that gets me going in the mornings when I can barely get out of bed, and for the music that provides the soundtrack to my good days. Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for helping me save my friendships. Thank you for helping me save myself.
Thank you for coming back.
(PS: If this was the back of your yearbook, I'd write U ROCK DONT EVA CHANGE in sharpie.)
