This is a story about being terribly homesick, more or less.

Of the first few shows I covered in Boston, Sidewalk Driver’s album release party celebrating For All The Boys And Girls stands out as a favorite because it was the first time I ever felt like I was a part of a scene in any capacity. It was September of 2009, and I had spent the summer leading up to the show talking to handfuls of bands that came through TT’s/Great Scott/The Middle East/etc. each week in hopes of providing a new look at the Boston scene through our blog, one composed of candid interviews that shed light on Boston bands in a way the existing outlets in town (seemingly) weren’t interested in exploring at the time. This brought us to Sidewalk Driver. The show for For All The Boys And Girls was more of a party complete with streamers and balloons and half of Tad’s family flew up from Florida for the whole shebang and everything. TT’s was packed for it, and the night was one big, burly, sweaty and sparkly bear hug—it felt more like an occasion than a CD release party, one that all of our friends had come out to either play or support, and the positivity swarmed over us like one tidal wave of amazing from Tad’s entrance to the encore.

Last night, Sidewalk Driver—in all their glammed-out, goofy, theatrical pop rock glory complete with glitter cannons and Tad’s 7” silver platforms—played a Williamsburg rock bar and I went, and I was so happy to see them I could’ve fucking cried. Between their set and an epic weekend in Boston that involved romping around in the snow and other spectacular things with some of my very best friends, many of whom I hung out with at that same CD release show back in 2009, I miss Boston and the life I had there terribly. 

I don’t regret moving here for a minute—it was the right time to put myself to the test, to see if I really am the big fish in the small pond who can handle a suicide dive into the Pacific. But I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t hard here, or that I’m content with where I’m at professionally at the moment. Or if I said that “HFH” as a lot of people knew her is over and out, potentially for good. It doesn’t change the fact that I miss everybody and that I wish I could be in two places at once. I’m just taken aback by how I can be so stoked to see a bunch of people who make me genuinely happy and yet I can be so sad about it at the same time, and how a few songs I heard for the first time in 2009 can still make me feel like a million bucks after what feels like a lifetime later.