This Way to the Barricade: Reclaiming Joy Through Live Music
Last year, what I thought would serve as an escape, a respite from a world that was burning, both literally and figuratively, turned into something much more. By deciding to drive across the country to support L.S. Dunes’ first major U.S. tour, I was reminded of what it feels like to really be alive, to truly live a life and make it meaningful in whatever way brings you happiness. After a year filled with tragedy on top of tragedy, I desperately needed a safe space to reconnect with myself and find that happy place again.
Last night of the L.S. Dunes “Like Magick” tour in Phoenix, AZ (L>R: Anthony Green, Tucker Rule, Me, Frank Iero)
That tour, like most meaningful things, was more than I ever imagined it could be. It was part nostalgia, part discovery, a chance to reconnect with people, form new friendships, and be reminded that good still exists in the world, even if we have to look a little harder for it these days. Most importantly, it awakened a part of me I felt I had lost long ago.
For far too long, I let my love of live music fade away. Not intentionally, but somewhere along the way, while trying to build a career and navigate relationships with family, friends, lovers, and “frenemies”, I got lost. I was busy giving all of my energy to others, and with it, my happiness. Suddenly, there was nothing left for me. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I could look in the mirror and see someone staring back, silently asking, Who are you? I knew I was living a life that would never allow me to be truly happy, but what did that even mean? That realization forced me to question what happiness looked like for me. Where was my happy place, and would I ever find it again?
When you start looking back on your life to answer questions like these, you begin to notice patterns—or, in my case, huge neon signs flashing: this way to the barricade. There are more happy memories than I can count that involve a sweaty pit, crowd surfers being lobbed over my head, and feeling deeply connected to myself and my body, to the musicians and their art, and to something bigger than me. As the pit surged around me, I always thought, This must be what it feels like to be alive. Every sense is engaged to the nth degree. It is the purest definition of living in the moment. Then the chaos of the crowd fades into the background, and you are the only person in the room, overcome with goosebumps, waves of warmth, and a flood of excitement. The darkness of the world gives way to stage lights, epic guitar riffs, love and compassion, inspiration, and safety.
At the Rose Bowl for Oasis Live ‘25
But bigger than all of these feelings, for me, is a sense of fate. The belief that, somehow, for some reason, I am exactly where I need to be in that fleeting moment in time. When I trust that feeling, I’ve always likened it to what it must feel like to fall in love, because I can never imagine wanting to be anywhere else or doing anything different. Looking back, I realize I knew who I was in those moments. I went after what I wanted. I was fearless. I let my childlike sense of adventure, wonder, and awe lead me, and it took me on the wildest ride of my life. I would leave those wonderfully shitty dive bars, concert halls, and arenas thinking, Oh yeah, there I am. I didn’t have to ask the question that so often screamed for an answer, demanding to be heard when I didn’t yet have the courage to say, I don’t know. So who am I now?
Right now, I’m just a girl standing in front of a stage, sometimes sitting at a keyboard or behind a video camera, sometimes cuddling her dog and having a good cry, trying to survive in a world full of uncertainty. Some dreams have come true. Some have been shattered. Others turned into nightmares. I clung to certain dreams desperately because I believed they were what happiness was supposed to look like, because that’s what society tells us. But happiness is something you have to define for yourself. And when I found myself helping other people’s dreams come true, I was reminded that I, too, am a dreamer, and I’m not done making my own dreams come true.
Anthony Green and I at Strummer’s in Fresno, CA on his “So Long Avalon” tour in 2025.
Over the past year, I’ve come to realize that every day gives me permission to dream a new dream, and that letting old dreams fade away is okay. It’s necessary for growth, and it’s actually kind of exciting. I feel a new sense of freedom now; the freedom to make mistakes, and the freedom to chase whatever brings me happiness, in whatever form it takes. I am happy to be me.
