the last few weeks have been filled with intentionally seeking out places i’ve been to many times before, and trying to notice new things about them. inevitably, more noticing leads to more appreciation. since my lake merritt day three weekends ago, i’ve had many walks that have taken me by its perimeter, and i feel more connected to the water and the lights and the grass and the people every time. this is home.
there’s many things in the bay that make me feel at home. two weekends ago, it was the breeze by the alameda beach shoreline (where i’ve done almost a dozen bike rides); last weekend, it was the sunshine in dolores park (where i’ve spent many days people watching and celebrating countless birthdays); and this week, it was a concert at the William Randolph Hearst Greek Theatre.
this year, i’ve been to a lot of musical sets (22!) at a lot of venues; after all, it’s the sritej-and-juliet-proclaimed “year of dancing.” and in that time, almost no venues were repeated; I prefer it that way! variety has made it endlessly more interesting. but if there was a venue to repeat, it’d be the greek theatre. every show i’ve seen there has been so different in terms of the music played and stagecraft and the audience’s vibes.
but i noticed that there’s one thing that basically every artist who sets foot on that stage calls out almost immediately: it’s an “intimate” space. the amphitheater holds 8,500 people and yet it feels small. it feels like a backyard, and in fact it was my backyard! i lived just a few hundreds feet away my freshman year of college, and took the proximity entirely for granted.
it’s a beautiful place to reminisce about. y’know, when i saw Lorde in 2018 at the (much larger) oracle arena, she fondly reflected about the last time she was in the bay, performing at The Greek Theatre. she said that what she remembered was that it felt “intimate.” later, i found out that after those shows in 2014, she partied with the students at bowles hall, and when my friend told me that, i think you could see the jealousy palpably steaming out of me.
in 2022, Carly Rae Jepsen expressed the same sentiment in the middle of her show, that the greek theatre felt intimate, and that the structure of the venue made it so that she could see everyone and everyone could see her. she later looked out upon hundreds of people waving their phone flashlights in a living wall of thousands as she sang “Comeback,” one of the most vulnerable songs of the set.
and this last monday, when Parcels took the stage, not 2 songs went by before they called out how “intimate” the greek theatre felt. it was the first american city in their world tour, and apparently a warm welcome despite the pouring rain that had been ongoing since the morning. they said that they weren’t sure if people would come to the outdoor venue given the heavy showers, but sure enough, people were there in ponchos and coats, and in an act of divine intervention, the rain stopped right as they started playing, and stayed away until the last 5 minutes of the set.
later in the show, they left their respective areas and instruments, came to the front edge of the stage, sat down criss-cross applesauce, held each other close, and sang while looking at each other. i’ve seen shows with 20x less people that have been less intimate.
after the show, in the rain once more, i took my friend nika on a tour of berkeley’s campus, and thought about all the times i’d done this walk previously, walking next to the Hearst Mining Fountation, and by The Campanile, and down Sather Road. this was the route drew and i took after seeing mike gordon perform, as he gave me an hour-long lesson on the history of the grateful dead and improvisational rock as we drank modelos we bought in bulk from a hot dog vendor on the street. i love the greek theater not just for the time inside of it, but the inevitable nights out afterwards. it’s such an important part of a deep Berkeley ecosystem that is woven everlastingly into my psyche.
earlier this year, i went to a show at another amphitheater, frost on stanford’s campus. it was okay, but it doesn’t warrant a love letter just yet.