Austin City Limits
Southern California nights are usually enveloped in a cool breeze and cotton candy sky as the weather cools for October. Leaves drift off the trees leaving gardens barren and my mother’s lavender flowers turn gray instead of purple. I thought that Austin, Texas, would be similar. I wondered if it would have the same warm breeze that lifted your hair and ran down your spine. Heading into the heart of Austin’s fields for the Austin City Limits Music Festival, I was surprised by the heat of the glowing sun and depths of blue in Lady Bird Lake.
Austin City Limits presented a fusion of alternative and country, featuring a myriad of artists from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, whom have graced the Sirius XM radio of my dad’s car far too many times, to Kacey Musgraves, who’s hit song ‘breadwinner’ dominated my Spotify favorites. Glistening in sweat, Lil Nas X and Oliver Tree persuaded thousands of fans to jump and throw their hands in the air. As one of many fans standing in the sea of body glitter and dirty white converse, I marveled at not just the performers, but also the people admiring the stages of shining lights.
There is something impressive about standing in the blazing sun with matching clothing sets and fishnet tights. Listening to someone who’s only ever filled the cords of your earbuds, there is a sense of desperation the closer you are to the stage. Hayley Williams of Paramore screams, “Ain’t it fun to be on your own? Living in the real world?” She sings to a crowd of people who are thinking of that one person or that one moment. Hayley was sharing her music with the thirty-something-year-old couple next to me, who proudly comment, “being thirty is when your life truly starts because you can pay for everything you’ve wanted” or the high school girls on my left who rejoiced over breaking up with bad boyfriends in between each song. In between my glances at others around me, I thought about singing that song in the car the first time I moved out of my home. The thrill of freedom intertwined with the fear of loneliness written in the melodies of a song. But that was my one experience– I wonder how some lyrics, likely made in a groovy music studio, could fill in the gaps of memories of thousands of people all at once. Hayley had composed those lyrics herself, but their meaning extended across every person drenched in Austin’s October heat.
I stood in the crowd watching adults dance like it was their first middle school party. Some college freshmen were bouncing to a beat that had been written the same year they were born. It was in these moments, moments when everyone was looking at a stage, that I found myself dazed. Why couldn’t I simply watch the stage where Kacey was dancing or Oliver Tree was singing? Why was one girl crying over Red Hot Chili Peppers “Under the Bridge” and another singing like she wrote it with the band?
People watching is an art, one that I’ve become skilled in within the last few years. Simultaneously, I have become far more introspective — which is another way of saying I’ve become terrifyingly aware. When did my shoes shrink in size and why does my dress feel tighter now than it did this morning? Why can’t I let my arms sway with everyone else. I wonder where the line is drawn– the line between self awareness and self consciousness. I like to tell myself it's anything but me: the songs are over-stimulating and the crowd is overwhelming. Right?
I’d like to say the beauty of Austin is written in the curves of its lush, emerald trees on rolling hills. But that isn’t true. That description is reserved for Italy’s Lake Como or the hidden gems of Kyoto. Austin’s authenticity is found in its people. People wear cowboy hats reminiscent of a midwestern costume. People take pride in brisket sandwiches and breakfast tacos. People visit Barton Springs to lay on a beach towel to tan, hold a book for motivational life guidance, or chat with friends about their favorite rosey red swimsuit. Austin’s people spark a sense of peaceful comradery.
I don’t know many cities where farmers say hello to concert goers walking out of the festival fields. Is there another place where the local bikers wave to tourists crossing the bridge over Lady Bird Lake? There is a sense of peace buried in Austin’s fields and born between the bridges over its lakes. This same peace can be found in the breeze on your walk through UT’s campus or in the taste of strawberry lemonade from Juiceland.
I’d never been to Austin until this past weekend. Maybe I feel elated by Austin’s atmosphere because the 20-something-year-old guy smiled at me a little brighter than most in the middle of Flume’s set. Maybe I feel this way because I found the first pair of cowgirl boots I’d ever considered buying: baby pink with white lightning bolts. Maybe I feel this way because a friend so kindly invited me to the festival and her golden doodle made me miss my own pets (likely enjoying their midday snooze right about now). I wonder if Austin City Limits, like any other festival, is hosted for the performers to find talent in each other, the fans to find solace in each other, or the wallflowers to get lost in a song as the sun sparks freckles across their cheeks and a sense of belonging in their bones. October in Austin is laced with good music but even better people. I missed this year’s Socal skies and breezy Sundays, but I’m glad I learned that my thirties will be fantastic, and that I’m not the only person who has cried to one of Paramore’s songs. Maybe I’ll spend some more time in Austin for personal epiphanies and melodious moments.
