The first time I met My Favorite Band, I said exactly four words to them, “Hi,” “thank you,” and “bye.” I had been aware of them for less than a year, but they had already changed my life as I sat listening to them, an anxious and – as I would realize years later – depressed high school senior. Their fifth album was the soundtrack to my lunch periods and walks between classes, during a time when getting through a single school day was a bigger challenge than even the toughest final exam. Their sixth album, much happier in tone, came out right as I was reaching the finish line of high school, paralleling my shift in disposition that came with graduation. A tour was announced shortly after, including a stop in Seattle, my closest Concert City. Only one problem; I was nineteen. A baby, in the eyes of the stern bouncer who would look at my vertically printed Washington State ID and scoff. There was only one thing to do. I, along with my ever-supportive Dad would have to travel to see My Favorite Band in their home city. In Vancouver, British Columbia. Canada.
So there I stood, for the first time in a different country, clutching my very first vinylrecord, meeting My Favorite Band. “Hi,” I said as I caught their eyes for the first time. “Thank you,” I said as they signed the record. “Bye.” I said as I wandered to find a seat on the berm. I sat through the concert, not moving a muscle from the moment they took the stage. I fell in love with live music that night. A member of My Favorite Band ended that concert by yelling “I don’t know what’s next!” and in a sick twist of irony, what was next turned out to be COVID-19. The entire concert industry screeched to a halt, and many bands went quiet, to wait out the storm that ended up lasting years. My Favorite Band could have done that exact thing, but instead, they adapted. Patreon, Discord, and Zoom became tools to connect with a small group of fans who had previously only gotten to talk to them in passing. In no time, they knew our names, and through a series of “Zoom Hangs,” I slowly gained the confidence to hold up a conversation with them. By the time they were touring for their seventh, and most recent album, I’d had a couple birthdays. No one could keep me out of those 21+ venues. I was unstoppable. Seattle was the first stop on their first tour since COVID, and I approached with a casual “helloooo,” which turned into a casual, if short, conversation. I felt as though I knew them, and not even in an awkward, parasocial kind of way. The third time involved a meetup with many of the fellow fans I had only ever met online. Two shared ice cream runs, an extended shopping trip, and a long walk through the cold to the first brewery that could hold us preceded a show from Our Favorite Band the next night. The fourth time I was sung to, hand in hand, by a member of My Favorite Band from my position in the front row. By that time I had abandoned the quiet awe from my first concert. I was singing and bopping along, not caring who saw me. I realized, somewhere in there, that My Favorite Band had not just made some of my favorite music, but had helped to introduce me to the most incredible community. They’ve also had a bigger influence on my music taste than any other source, including my Bumbershoot-obsessed dad, and the frustratingly accurate algorithm of Spotify, which I’ll admit to using for lack of a better alternative. I owe so much to My Favorite Band, from my love of live music, to the majority of my online friendships, to my newfound desires to learn to play the guitar, and share my favorite tunes on air. So, My Favorite Band, if I haven’t already said it enough, thank you.
The title of this article is “how to befriend your favorite band.” It is by no means a guide on how you should go about that same thing. Your favorite band may be secretive and nearly impossible to talk to, let alone befriend. (I speak from the experience of meeting my second-favorite band.) You may have to develop your own plan, write up your own guide once you’ve done it. It might be incredibly difficult, it might be impossible. Because, in the end, the act of befriending My Favorite Band was largely accidental. I didn’t have a plan, it just happened right as I needed it to. You might just say I got lucky, that my life is some fanfiction where I can run up to My Favorite Band at a festival and receive an enthusiastic “(Y/N)!” response, a snippet of genuine excitement to see that I, a humble fan, made the not-so-perilous international journey to see them yet again. This is, admittedly, accurate. I was lucky to have found them that fateful day, alone in my high school’s hallway. I was lucky they were so eager to get to know their fans, even if it required monetary support. I was lucky to have the friendship, not only of the band, but of a core group of fans who I still regularly talk to today. I was lucky and I know it, and each time I’m lucky enough to get the chance to see them live, I’ll clap my hands to show it.
Written by Katie J. Moore
Illustration by Alec Phipps
