On Wednesday, June 10, I attended my 100th concert. And while the number itself wasn’t a surprise because I have meticulously recounted and written down all of the shows I’ve seen to date, when I went to log that show in my notes, it made me pause. I began to think about why concerts have remained such a constant in my life.
If I consider what attending 100 concerts over the course of my 40 years of life means, the obvious answer is a lot of money spent. (Shoutout to my parents for the tickets to the shows prior to my early 20s :-D). I consider that those 100 shows are more than just entertainment. I consider that those 100 shows serve as time machines or markers in time. Certain songs, certain artists, certain venues – Each marker in time connects to a different version of me. They connect to a different season in my life. They connect to memories that I can recall as soon as I hear a particular song.
I recall rich and Bennetts 2013 Halloween bar crawl and Concert. A staple in Charlotte and a must attend event for anyone old enough to drink and have a good time. I went to several of those bar crawl and concert combos in my 20s. 2013 was the last one. OneRepublic and Flo Rida where the headliners. That was The year my social circle changed. That was one of the last nights I hung out with some of those people.
I reflect on John Legend‘s 2005 Get Lifted tour. I had just completed my freshman year of college. My boyfriend at the time bought tickets for my birthday. It was at Oven’s Auditorium. I wore white capri pants and he wore a Miami Dolphins throwback I bought for his birthday a few months before. He wasn’t a huge fan but he knew that I had worn that CD clean out in my Mustang CD player all year long and bought the tickets just for me.
Concerts remind me of friendship. I saw Danity Kane in 2014 on a reunion tour with three of my friends from college. And not just friends from college. Friends who used to come to my apartment on Monday nights to make margaritas and watch Making the Band before Danity Kane became famous for real. We screamed the lyrics of “Damaged” like it was 2008 all over again.
On February 8, 2025, I saw a folk/rock singer named Alex Lambert at the Neighborhood Theater here. I don’t really remember that show. It was two days after my godmother’s funeral. I remember my head feeling foggy for several weeks around that time. The guy could sing and play the guitar something serious but I honestly don’t remember it. I just remember feeling heavy because of everything that was going on.
Concerts are a source of pure joy. I recall the kingdom tour with Maverick City Music and Kirk Franklin in 2022. I’d seen Maverick City before and they’re great. But when Kirk Franklin got up there and started splitting the audience into altos, sopranos and tenors and had us all singing our parts for Melodies from Heaven and Silver and Gold? The little church kid in me was so happy. And I was surrounded by thousands of other former church kids who sang like we were all members of the same choir for just that one night. It was beautiful.
And after reflecting on those pivotal moments or concerts or markers in time, I realized that it’s not about the concerts at all. It’s about consistency. It’s about things that remain the same when everything else changes. Somewhere between concert #1 and concert #100, I realized something. Concerts are one of the few things I never stopped loving.
Jobs changed.
Relationships changed.
Cities changed.
Friend groups shifted.
Hobbies came and went.
My faith was lost and found.
But through all of it, I kept pressing play on all of the music that I love. There is something beautiful about identifying the things that survive every season of your life. Not many people get to say they have loved something consistently enough to do it 100 times.
Show #100 was Summer Walker. Her Still Finally Over It Tour. It wasn’t the best or my favorite concert that I’ve attended but it was special. It was special because I went with my favorite cousin (Shoutout to all my favorite cousins – y’all know who you are ;-D) It was special because standing in the crowd hearing songs from her early career days – songs I streamed on the daily at a particular time of my life – it hit different in those moments than whenever I played them before. But they sounded just like I needed them to.
Maybe that’s why concert #100 felt different.
Not because it was Summer Walker and I have been waiting to scream out the lyrics to “Session 32” ever since I bought those tickets in February.
Not because it was a milestone.
But because at 40 years old, I found myself taking inventory of what remains. What still feels like me after all these years. The answer isn’t complicated.
It’s music.
It’s standing in a crowd waiting for the lights to go down.
It’s hearing the opening notes of a song I love.
It’s remembering who I was and appreciating who I’ve become.
One hundred concerts later, I still haven’t outgrown the feeling of sharing a moment – hearing songs I love with thousands of strangers who love them too.
Relatable Rhythms 
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