CAAMP & The Lumineers

Alone in a borrowed car, newly acquired speeding ticket still waiting to be unearthed from the depths of the cupholder, I drummed my fingers alone to the easy and comforting lifts of Caamp’s familiar folk tunes. But I was neither at ease nor comforted: the sound was not coming from the car’s radio, but rather from the concert hall I was still a mile away from. It was June 1 and I was approaching the Bank of New Hampshire Pavilion in Gilford, an hour’s drive from school. All of my friends were already at the venue, the last two having decided to get out of the car and trek the rest of the way on foot--the only way to overpass the line of cars stretching farther than my eyes could see.

Gripping the steering wheel and pushing down my bubbling road rage, I rolled down the windows and turned off my own music. It was drizzling slightly now, not the type of rain that actually dampens your clothes but closer to a mist, leaving pinpricks of cool on your skin like the cloud is trying to give you freckles. Groups of people walking in twos or threes passed on both sides of me in steady streams. I imagined myself in an army of other unlucky drivers, doomed to creep slowly through the queue until we were finally given admittance to the venue’s parking lot (which was really just an empty dirt lot).

By the time I found a spot, reached the venue, returned to the car to return my open beverage, and finally met up with my friends on the lawn, Caamp’s set had ended. Rather than the usual amounts of annoyance from being abandoned to the dismal duty of finding a parking spot, I found myself enjoying a sense of camaraderie with these other bearers of my burden. Although none of us were able to experience Caamp’s performance firsthand, we had all shared the experience of hearing the whispers of the concert from the confines of our car.

I arrived just in time for the start of The Lumineers’ set. And, from the moment it started, it was magic. A few of Dartmouth’s greek houses had chartered a school bus to drive them to the event, so familiar faces sprung up around me left and right. Ballads such as “Ophelia,” “Leader of the Landslide,” and “Slow It Down”--a discovery I had on repeat for weeks afterwards--lilted through the wet and hazy air. The night was slow, sweet with the smell of smuggled cheap wine and the occasional whiff of a graciously passed joint. But the crowd was alive with feeling, due to the expertise of lead band members Wesley Schultz and Jeremiah Fraites.

Schultz’s stage presence was not outright overbearing, but he occupied the limelight more so than Fraites or any of the other band members. There was something soothing about his red beard and steadiness on the guitar, but, as my friends and I discussed after the concert, also a little strange about his command of the performance despite him and Fraites being co-founders of the group. Overall, though, there was an aura of peace on stage and in the crowd. Schultz gave the classic speech about how nice it was to gather again for the sake of music, after the pandemic put a stop to the live music scene for nearly two years.

Although the concert was for Brightside, my favorite songs all hail from the bands’ earlier albums. Before the encore, the band gathered together at the front of the stage for a touching performance of “Big Parade.” For most of the concert, Shultz had occupied center-stage alone, so it was wonderful to see the other talents of the Lumineers come into the light, like Neyla Pekarek, cellist and the only woman in the group.

To finish out the encore, the band started up the instantly recognizable opening of fan favorite “Stubborn Love.” All night, everyone around me--and myself included--had been screaming, begging for them to play it next. When the song finally started, the closing song to an incredible concert, the crowd went nuts. Going nuts at a Lumineers concert is very different from going nuts at other concerts; it is not about the dancing, or the upbeat nature of the music. Rather, what I got most out of my experience that night was the shared feeling: the camaraderie of being stuck in the car while you miss the entire opening set, but turning it around all the same. The laughter at the raindrops hitting our skin, when there could have been disappointment. The relief and joy at hearing the familiar opening chords to a song that, for many, has been a light through difficult times. Shultz’s lyrics are an assurance that we are not alone, that there are others who know what it is like to go through pain, heartbreak, fear, disappointment. The emotions that are often so hard to communicate to another person, those are affirmed and made beautiful by the Lumineers.

And “Stubborn Love” hits the emotion that is hardest of all to communicate--love. Love for someone who is constantly testing your limits, who is not perfect, as none of us are. And I felt that love all around me as the band played their final song, and the crowd sang out at the top of our lungs. As we skipped and jumped around and laughed in the rain. And, finally, the music slowly reverberated to a close, until all that was left were the cheers and applause from the audience. Before the chaos of leaving the pavilion and connecting with my friends (and remembering where I had parked), I took everything in and smiled to myself. An incredible concert, one I will never forget.