You are what you love, regardless of admitting it.

New York, even when I’m lost in its almost infinite depths, usually comforts me more than any city in the world. I think I like most the fact that you can get anywhere, anytime, even when the subway is under construction. I like the heat and the fact that after I wore the same shirt for 36 hours straight it had a sort of grimy, chemical feel just from being in the city. Magic, I tell you. Things drift like that. However, the expanse of New York and the number of people there can make for some shitty concerts.

I came with the intention of seeing at least two concerts—Okkervil River on Thursday evening, and the Siren Music Festival on Saturday. Siren is a huge, sweaty, hipster-brimming extravaganza on Coney Island. The day was hazy, the air was hot, and Coney Island smells iffy. Also, we got lost on our drive there and ended up visiting all five boroughs in one and a half hours. I didn’t mind this so much as the actual disappointment of Siren. Nobody, not a single person, looked like they were having any fun. The thing that is most important to me in my life of music is the propensity of people to actually love it—to dance, to sing along, to grin. But at Siren nobody was happy. In their oversized sunglasses and floppy haircuts, everyone was a little hostile and definitely registering as bored. There was a similar problem at Okkervil. It was probably because both shows were free, outside, and (Siren especially) very crowded. But why go to Coney Island if you aren’t going to attempt to enjoy it? Why wait around for Will Sheff and the Okkervil boys just to yawn and play with your Converses? The city is beautiful. The music can be lovely, it can be awful. But I hate that these people won’t take ownership of what they purport to enjoy.

Conversely, on Wednesday night I went to see the Weakerthans in Philadelphia, where most of the kids came from the suburbs or New Jersey to see the band (I’d wager). Sure they had adolescent dye-jobs and Blink-182 stickers on their backpacks, but the attendees at the Weakerthans show knew every word, and sang along. These are difficult words too—John Samson likes his ‘benediction’, ‘colonize’ ‘dissemble’ etc. Even when the guy behind me was pumping his fist and singing too loudly to the quiet songs, it was nice to know that people really love the band, love them enough to dance, to sway, to spout the words with meaning or without. New York, for all its bustle and comfort, failed to convey any kind of palpable interest or intent. That bothers me.