Now, it must be said that Red Rocks is obviously my favorite concert venue in Colorado. Maybe even the world—but I haven’t been to many concerts outside of Colorado, so this could change. However, the Fillmore is my number two. I love a small standing-room-only venue. I appreciate the level of artistry it must take to entertain an entire stadium, but there’s something so intimate and fun about bumping shoulders with strangers all night long, bonding as you belt your favorite songs at the top of your lungs.

“I can’t believe you got tickets to see Red Autumn! How’d you know I love them?” I try to remember if I told him about them in passing or if maybe the Dirty Birds knew, but nothing comes to mind.

“I didn’t, I just hoped.” Even beneath the moody lighting of the auditorium, his smile shines so bright it takes my breath away. I know I’m not alone when the woman walking past us looks at him and then proceeds to spill her fresh drink all over the floor.

Solidarity, sister.

“Well, you hoped right. I’m low-key obsessed with them. I’ve been to a few of their shows and they’re great live.”

He tightens his hand around mine. “I’m excited to hear them.”

Back when I used to have a life outside of stocking bookshelves and getting well acquainted with accounting software, I tried to hit as many concerts as I could. Didn’t matter the genre—although I did have to cut back on rock shows after I sprained my wrist because I’d had one too many and got a little overexcited when I saw the mosh pit get going. I just loved getting out and meeting new people and hearing new music. My favorites were the small bands I stumbled upon while in random towns to take pictures.

I first saw Red Autumn on a whim. They’re a group of four women—two sisters, and the other two are friends they made while gigging around Colorado. I don’t know how they categorize their music, but they’re like if your favorite pop girls decided to go alt rock, with a hint of folk. They can sing, dance, and play the crap out of their instruments. They’re the shit, and if I had any musical talent whatsoever, I’d audition to be the fifth member of the group. Until I can do something about my tragic singing voice, I get to be a fangirl. Something I take immense pride in.

“Ooh!” I spot the merch booth in the back corner of the auditorium. “We need T-shirts!”