I saw Fall Out Boy at Terminal 5, but I wouldn’t say I actually “saw” Fall Out Boy.
Due to an undiagnosed genetic condition that caused me to stop growing at approximately fourth grade (that condition being “chronic shortness”), I’m super short. I could probably bend in half and comfortably travel in the overhead compartment of your average commuter plane. It’s great for quickly retrieving things that fell on the floor (or sleeping in the overhead compartment of planes), but otherwise it sucks. Especially at concerts where I’m surrounded by music but directly faced with an up-close-and-personal view of someone’s butt. But, that didn’t stop me from rising to the occasion (like a small lady phoenix!), and seeing Fall Out Boy last Wednesday at Terminal 5.
Fall Out Boy brought all of the cocky, ax-grinding, speaker-riding swagger of Guns ’N Roses (before Axl’s face got all weird) with the emotional hyper-awareness of an Aimee Mann CD. It was part old-school basement punk show (SERIOUS crowd-surfing!) and part religious experience, because if you think all four members of Fall Out Boy and a crowd of about 3,000 fans, baptized in their own sweat and singing “Sugar We’re Going Down” and “Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy” — the gospel straight from the pages of the sacred Fall Out Boy hymnal — in a room of 99 percent humidity and 100 percent devotion isn’t rock religion, then you’re wrong. I couldn’t see past the backs of the genetically endowed taller Fall Out Boy fans around me (so, basically everybody, including the kids), and I totally sweat through my brand-new cute bra, but it’s all good: Fall Out Boy didn’t just save rock at Terminal 5 — they resurrected it.
Check out photos (taken by a taller person) of Fall Out Boy at Terminal 5 on Wednesday, May 29, and don’t sleep on tickets for their September arena tour with twenty one pilots and Panic At The Disco.
Stay tuned for more “It’s All Good” summer music moments with Fruttare.