Dawes at the Cavern, Thursday

The maximum capacity sign bolted to the front swinging doors of the Cavern say "49", but there was way more people there for Dawes on Thursday. I don't know if they were all fans (there was a couple behind me who collapsed from what I assumed was a washing machine of Jagermeister and Shiner inside their bodies), but I know the guy to my left was. He knew every lyric, every song.

Not to prove a point, but I love North Hills--it reminds me of Springsteen's Nebraska. North Hills has enormous quantities of heart, and doesn't give a shit whether you like slow songs, fast songs, or perfectly-edited radio hits. The album's about exploring the story behind the decisions you make when you're lonely, heartbroken, or just regular-old broken. It's about how all of that interacts with the city that you're living in.

So, it was hard to dance. But for the guy next to me, who made me feel like I should be holding a proud beer up to Dawes' good lyrics, it was a raucous occasion. Am I still a fan / good concert-goer if I stood there with my arms crossed? I felt the bend of the strings during "When You Call My Name"; teared up during "That Western Skyline"; swayed, head down, to "Love is All I Am." I'm not being rhetorical--I'm actually asking: is there a right way to hear music live?

Because to me, Dawes is a band you experience internally. Even their new songs, which, god help me, were so full of folk beauty I wanted to hug the lead singer Taylor Goldsmith, were rich with hurt. Obviously, there isn't a handbook. But it's important to find a band that can turn the bass down, and place you inside your head.