… Dance
As the crowd moved around me, remixed tracks blasting in my ears, I wondered if this would be it — the highlight of my experience with the music scene in Spain. It was still early in my first week, and I’d found myself in the middle of Madrid’s Pride concert. With our curfew up in under half an hour, and our hotel mere steps away, my friends and I allowed ourselves to get swiftly entangled in the crowd. The turnout seemed impressive, people of all ages and appearances filling the quaint plaza beside our residence. I couldn’t identify the blaring song that throbbed from the stage’s speakers, or who the flamboyantly-dressed cover band playing it was, but the energy, fast-paced and alive in the humid city night, still possessed me, and I danced along.
And it was fun, those brief intervals of those nights, but not memorable; not legendary. I didn’t expect memorable or legendary out of the entertainment scene. At that point, so early in the trip, I didn’t know about the BBK Bilbao Music Festival and the Barcelona Beach Festival. I thought those little glimpses of excitement I snatched between dinners and curfews during the days of Madrid Pride were the peak of my trip, as far as songs and dancing went. I was promptly and happily proven wrong as I slid into the second half of July and my Spain trip.
If you’re of age — 18, which no one on the trip was, so I can’t vouch for this — nightclubs are an option to satisfy a craving for music and dancing. Personally, though, I don’t think anything can compare to a real, live concert. I should know: On this trip I went to my very first. I didn’t count the ones I went to as a young, young child, or the little venues where high-school rappers in my neighborhood would cover hip-hop hits. I had expect my first real concert to fall in the first week of August, when my best friend back home and I were scheduled to see one of our favorite artists on Toronto Island. Instead, unexpectedly, it ended up being in Bilbao, at the BBK Festival where The Colts and Tame Impala were headlining.
I went to the Bilbao concert with three other friends, and the commute there felt endless. We got lost looking for the subway stop in the unfamiliar new city; when we finally found it, we had to wait a few stops on the metro, then walk even farther to the festival buses. Those only dropped us off at the foot of the mountain, so we were left to climb up it. The trek up was long and steep, my calves burning as I trudged, in worn Converse, up the dirt path. But when we were at the top, we were instantly rewarded: the city, sparkling with lights in the violet dusk, lay beneath us, encircled by hills. The view was breathtaking, but I only took it in for a minute before we had to head to our real attraction: the concert itself.
And of course, that was even better: filled with people, and lights, and different stages, different music, all blending together. We met up with other friends, gorged ourselves on the free Pringles one stand was giving out, and jumped and swayed to the music. The lyrics of The Colts were barely understandable over the pulsing bass and screaming crowd — at first I wasn’t even sure if they were singing in English or Spanish or some other language — but the beat was still nice to move to, and as my ears adjusted, I began to understand and enjoy the music.
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After the Bilbao Festival, I wasn’t sure if I would attend more concerts. I had thought there was only one festival on the trip; but in Barcelona, I had the opportunity for another. The Beach Festival there was even better — in my opinion, since it was more suited to my tastes. It was on the shore of the Barceloneta Beach, and when my friends and I first arrived the sky was awash in pale, peachy colors, perfectly contrasting against the palm trees. As the night went on the sky turned a deep, dark blue, and the concert lights reflected onto the ocean water, that I could still hear lapping, gently, even as music blasted.
I was only there for one act, but for the entirety of it: the artist was DJ/producer David Guetta, who I already liked and knew. It was easier to shout-sing along to songs I knew by heart, songs I heard on the radio and saved to my iPod, rather than to try to discern the new tracks I had encountered at the BBK. With dazzling light shows, songs that pulsed through the shoreline, and an enthusiastic audience numbering close to fifty thousand, the Barcelona Beach Festival was one of my favorite experiences of the trip. I even managed to nab a souvenir — just a tank top with the octopus-head logo on the front and the headliners on the back — even though I doubt I need any object to remind me of such an unforgettable night.
If you have any appreciation for music, schedule a trip to Spain in the summer, when concerts and festivals abound. The Bilbao BBK Festival featured more indie and alternative music and a breathtaking view, while the Barcelona Beach venue offered electronic favorites and a laid-back, beautiful setting. Both are different yet similar, and I am so glad to have lived them both.
— realized this was still in my drafts as I went back to check my Medium account. So sorry for the delay! —
