It was an picturesque evening. However, like most things in life, the moments leading up to the good part were not necessarily stellar. Especially when you’re attending a concert at Fiddler’s Green.
In early June, I received an email from Spotify with the subject line, “Want presale tickets to see Mumford & Sons in Denver?” My prompt palpable proclamation was “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD YES” as my phone slipped through my sweaty fingers and off the stationary exercise bike in a bustling midtown NYC rec center. Embedded in the email was a scanned handwritten note from the members of the band. “We’re going to be driving 5,000 miles to play a few more shows in a tour called “The Austin 5,000. We’re offering our top listeners on Spotify”—THAT IS ME—“the chance to get tickets to these shows before they go on general sale. We hope you can join us. Thank you for listening! -B, T, M & W.”
With hours of meticulously crafting and promoting dynamic Spotify playlists, juvenile mixtapes, and shitty guitar covers behind me, the *zing* *pop* *swoosh* of my email browser made all of my fandom worth it.
On Sept. 28, Mumford & Sons played the opening of their two-show run at Denver’s Fiddler’s Green. Having filled this void with things unreal, I was questioning the negative criticism about the amphitheatre. To my unfortunate vexation, it was everything people said it was. Due to a late class, I arrived midway through Catfish & The Bottlemen’s set to find that the entire upper greenspace was a sea of frumpy blankets, white people, and spilled beer.
Fellow Sentry editor Pedro and I wandered for songs, and songs searching for a spot to squat. At last, we found a patch of grass between two couples and their blankets. We piled on top of each other and seconds after we sat our rumps, we heard a voice next to me antagonize, “Hey I’m sorry…we were planning on stretching our legs where you’re sitting. Could you move like over there or something?” Seriously, I wasn’t sure ifIbelieved whatthey were saying to me.
Mumford & Sons’ set ranged from boisterous rock‘n’roll to snug finger-picking lullabys. From high-octane to chillax, Mumford transformed a space that was on track to ruin my concert experience to one where I was extrapolated to grasping onto each sweet moment. Our best moments can come right after our worst. I was already in empathetic tears by the time Marcus Mumford declared to the amphitheatre, “give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light.” Yes. There is hope and it will set you free.