I’ve been assigned to write a review of the Silversun Pickups show at the Norva.

Standing in the Norva’s courtyard waiting for the band to take the stage I should be seeking out people to interview, looking for an “angle” to use; I should be earning my press pass. But I’m not.

I’m not doing any of these things because all I can think about are my songs, my band and myself. To be honest that’s what I think about at every show I go to. I am jealous, I am encouraged, I am motivated and frightened.

I hate talking about this. I hate writing about it even more: my dream, my belief for what is possible with my life. It always comes out wrong. I either end up sounding extremely self-centered or like a confused little boy. I never sound articulate, confident or true.

I look around the crowded courtyard and wonder what drew these people here. The Silversun Pickups aren’t really famous; they aren’t media darlings or the leaders of some underground movement. How can they draw people–complete strangers, people they will never meet out on a Sunday night–and get them to pay $30 a piece just to be in the same room with them? What makes that happen? (Am I capable of doing that?)

I wonder what moves people. What makes them cheer. What entertains them. If it’s desire, honest self-expression, heart and willingness to be vulnerable, then I think I have a shot at being cheered for one day. If it’s something else, some unknown force, some indefinable equation, then I am confident but scared. If it is totally random, unexplainable, dumb luck; if the role my dreams play in my future is pretty much irrelevant, then…I don’t even want to finish that thought.

I hear cheering and music so I go back inside. The band has taken the stage. I’m in a crowd with hundreds of strangers all watching the frontman sing his soul into a microphone.

I feel like I’m watching the girl I love get married. Everyone is happy; everyone is seeing what they came to see. I just keep asking how come that guy isn’t me?

The band onstage is the Silversun Pickups, a four-piece from Los Angeles whose songs are summer songs; they remind you of how fun life can be when sand is stuck to your skin. They make me think that anything is possible with the right melody.

When compared with other bands in the indie scene they could seem a bit too safe; not avant-garde enough and not experimental enough. Some would say they’re a good band, but that’s all, nothing special. That’s all nonsense. They write good pop, the kind you close your eyes and tap you fingers to. Their ability to combine excellent guitar riffs with melodies that will instantly get stuck in your head is one of a kind.

They’re not flashy, they’re just good. Plus they have a girl bass player and if you can’t get with a band with an awesome girl bassist who wears high heels on stage, I don’t really know what to tell you.

The music makes me think I would like L.A., at least if L.A. is what I imagine it to be: A land where dreams come true, the weather is warm, the girls are pretty and everyone has a chance to take the stage.

My band has had mixed results on stage. Sometimes people have enjoyed our songs, sometimes they’ve ignored our songs, sometimes they’ve walked out on our songs. It’s strange to express your most sincere beliefs to an audience that thinks you’re just another garage band. They don’t know the songs I’m playing are the very things that sustain me, that define me. They don’t know that I know I am meant for greatness.

The Silversun Pickups begin to play “Lazy Eye,” their best song. The crowd roars, this is what everyone paid $30 to hear. I close my eyes and let the music surround me like the Glory of Jesus. I ask myself if this was the afterlife would I be ok with it? If this song was all there was for eternal time would I be content?

(Yes.)

“Lazy Eye” is one of those songs. I know it. The crowd knows it. The band knows it. They’ve captured greatness in a six-minute song. They’ve accomplished what every band aims for: they’ve written a hit.

For a few moments we are all one. The song doesn’t belong to the band; it belongs to everyone in the room. This is why people go to shows, to connect with the music and with each other. Lost in the moment I think: Give me distortion, catchy melodies and more beer. Give me recognition and satisfaction. Give me no more worries. Give me guitar pickups and a silver sun to greet me every morning.