I was supposed to be in London today, attending a concert by Brazilian metal band Semblant. Since I’m not there and can’t do that, here’s more from the beginning of the journey…

After Groningen, I could not wait for more—music, live music, live metal music! And soon after we got home from Groningen, Within Temptation announced that its Resist Tour was coming to the U.S. When I saw they were coming to Philadelphia, New York and Boston, over the first three days of March, that settled it. 

The weekend got off to a great start. On Thursday, I am cruising through Connecticut along I-95, about halfway into the five-hour drive, mentally ticking off my packing list—now where did I put the tickets? Oh sh*t! Kristin had even texted to remind me to bring them, and I’d replied, sure, no problem, they’re right here on the fridge. And then I went off without them—needless to say, I’m in a panic. I get off the highway—naturally, no easy rest area or side street was handy, but I find a spot to get out of the way of traffic, and send Kristin a frantic message.  Within a few minutes, my very tech-savvy daughter has it all under control: “Electronic tickets—everything’s fine.”

On Friday, we leave Kristin’s place crazy early for the hour drive to Philadelphia, running through Wendy’s first for what we believe will be our last meal for a long time, and then head to the Fillmore. The GPS leads us to what looks like a vacant lot with chain-link fence and barbed wire curled around the top, under an elevated highway—this is the parking? Luckily our friend from the Facebook fan group, whom we’ve never met in person before, arrives about the same time with a carload of more friends, and she knows the drill. 

For all three shows, we have general admission tickets. We are packed onto the floor like sardines, with several hundred others. Groningen was the first time I ever experienced this. When we first get inside the venue, the crowd is thin—the die-hard fans arrive early, and the rest fill in later. All kinds of people are here, all ages, from little kids riding their parents’ shoulders to oldsters like me, most wearing band Tee-shirts, many sporting fantastical tattoos, long hair, short hair, all different color hair, from gray (dyed, on twenty-somethings—why is this trendy, I can’t help wondering) to cerise to blue (like mine). Some tiny college girls behind me are long-time fans of Within Temptation and seeing them for the first time—I will give them room, just as some of the In Flames fans moved over to give me room. One of my takeaways from the weekend was just how nice everyone is; you feel like you are  crammed in with 500 of your best friends—literally.

Smash into Pieces opens the show. First out is the drummer, completely hidden under a black cape and an illuminated mask, then joined by the others. The crowd slowly warms up—it seems this band is new to everyone else as well as me. But they lead off urging everyone to jump, and before I know it we are jumping and head-banging and every molecule in the room is vibrating. In the middle of it all, their vocalist dives into the crowd. Gasps and cheers—all I can see is his feet sticking oddly above the crowd, then vanishing. They’ve dropped him! But he clambers back onto the stage and with a wisecrack, goes on.

Next up, In Flames—the vocalist’s cheeky banter with the folks over there in the middle front, the white-haired, bearded guy with the gorgeous white guitar, the bass guitarist with his slashed jeans revealing a tattooed knee, the other guitarist with wild head-banging rocker hair and incredible biceps, and the drummer going crazy up there in back—I am grabbed by the throat and pulled into the music. If this is metal, give me more! 

When Within Temptation comes out, they are as spectacular as I remember them, and this time, I sing along on many more songs. And when it’s over, all I can say is, “Wow, we get to do it again tomorrow!”

After the show, a clutch of us huddle together in the cold rain by the stage door, hoping Sharon and the boys will come and talk to us; she’d had some trouble with her voice initially and said she had a bit of a cold. But she does come over, and the others ask for photos.  She agrees, but says, smiling, “Go home—it’s raining! Aren’t you cold?” 

Finally we make our way to my car for the drive back to Kristin’s. The rain is turning to snow, and within a few more miles, it’s snowing heavily. We will flirt with this storm the whole weekend. 

In the morning, we’re up and back in the car for the drive to New York, where we will catch the show at Playstation Theater in Times Square. We make another friend in the line at the theater. I satisfy a craving for a hot dog off a foodcart near the line. Then with our friend’s help, we secure spots at the barrier again. Some friends from Philly are here too. 

Each band pulls me into their world—the musicians deep in their music yet feeding off the crowd, the crowd feeding off them, heads banging, singing along, horns up. Red and blue light fingers explode through the haze, the floor vibrates under my feet. I never want it to end!

Between bands, the lights come up and we chat with people standing near us. In New York, In Flames had a lot fans and one guy had been a fan for over ten years, and this was his first time seeing them live. His excitement at being there was over-flowing, and caught In Flames’s vocalist, Anders Friden’s attention. Anders asked him for his phone and tried to snap a photo of the crowd but the phone locked him out. The fan was devastated. But after the set, the setlist was tossed toward us, and I caught it and gave it to him, setting off tears of joy.

With the crowd warmed up by Smash into Pieces, In Flames further incites moshing and crowd-surfing. We keep an eye out, lest crowd-surfers slide in our direction. One guy surfs 4 or 5 times, with his lime green underpants hanging out. 

After the show, we get our picture with Smash into Pieces. The drummer is still draped in black, right down to the black makeup on his (her?) hands. Kristin and our group of friends headed outside, but I lag behind for some reason, and as a result, get to chat with Anders and guitarist Chris Broderick who are hanging out by the door. “You converted me!” I tell them and fist-bump with Anders.

After dinner at the nearby Hard Rock Café, we catch the 7 train to a Marriott in Queens for the night. And then up and out to hit the road again, this time toward home—to Massachusetts.

Sunday was perfect driving weather, with plenty of sun and not a snowflake in sight, but by the time we arrive, the weather is degenerating. Our new friend from New York joins us in line at the House of Blues, directly across the street from Fenway Park.

The show is a reprise of the two prior nights. Each crowd is different, but the atmosphere is thick with enthusiasm and excitement. Afterward, we emerge from the theater to find snow falling steadily and the street blanketed. WT’s bus is standing nearby. We pace up and down, stomp our feet, and watch the snow fall. We hope the band will appear. A couple at a time, they come out of the bus and wander over to us to chat a moment, sign autographs and take pictures, before heading to the pub down the block. Finally, Sharon comes out, and she too pauses to visit with us. They have a driving day ahead of them tomorrow, and she seems relaxed. 

Tonight, with heavy snow forecast (already a few inches on the ground), my worried husband has lined up a hotel in Copley Square where we can sleep through the storm. 

What a night, what a weekend. When’s the next one?