How music accompanied my road to recovery, and finding connection along the way.
In June 2022, Lorde played three consecutive sold-out shows at the Roundhouse, London. The Solar Power Tour, aptly titled after her third studio album, consisted of emotive speeches, a revolving sundial centre stage, and an array of costume changes pulled off with a summery ease. I was there; a prime barricade spot secured, and it remains one of my favourite concerts to this day. In retrospect, it was the last place I should have been.
On the surface, I took on the role of a healthy concert-goer. But below that, my body was fighting to keep itself afloat. By this point, I was two rounds of treatment in and being prepped for more invasive chemotherapy and a stem-cell transplant. Travelling to London for a hot and crowded concert at max capacity was a risky move.
I guess this behaviour reflects on my position as a self-proclaimed Lorde ‘stan’. However, I can’t help but feel that the extremity of my actions was speaking to something larger than just wanting to see my favourite artist. There was a burning desire for normality, and most importantly, to dance and to relish in the catharsis of live music.
I have always found solace in music, but its profound impact on my life became apparent after my first cancer diagnosis at the height of the Coronavirus pandemic. Listening to and enjoying music exceeded its pastime novelty, evolving into a greater comfort during a time of personal turmoil.
I can recall the sense of hope that the music distilled in me, whether I could relate to the lyrics or not.
I’ll never forget the albums my mum and I listened to on the countless car trips to the hospital – the streets and motorways completely deserted. Despite the dystopian landscape, our small circulation of albums kept us sane. I can recall the sense of hope that the music distilled in me, whether I could relate to the lyrics or not.
2020 saw an influx of dance albums. From Jessie Ware’s ‘What’s Your Pleasure’; a sexy disco album relishing in groove and escapism, to Gaga’s ‘Chromatica’; a house record that urges us to dance through our pain, to ‘Future Nostalgia‘; Due Lipa’s sophisticated take on pop-funk. It was clear something was occurring in the zeitgeist.
These albums, like many of the time, kept me company during lockdown and in dance music fashion urged me to find freedom elsewhere. It was through this that I was able to reconcile with my illness, repurposing my circumstances with a newfound perspective.
I carried this energy into remission, navigating numerous lockdowns and a move to London to start my degree. A short-lived escapade due to my relapse 6 months later. Unlike the Covid-era, my re-diagnosis was not met with grace. This time the world carried on, and everyone’s lives did too. My exile back home burned with anger, m bitterness, emotions that my music habits definitely reflected – a healthy step in processing my reality.
On the heels of the Roundhouse show, during the three-week hospital stay that followed, I hardly listened to music. A surprising response to the bed-bounding pain and nausea I endured during my stay. An unprecedented heatwave, along with the intensive chemotherapy was an unbearable combo, and to this day I still don’t know why I abstained from music. Maybe it felt pointless due to my lack of mobility, or perhaps I didn’t want my favourites to be darkened with that time.
While battling cancer I missed out on numerous concerts. And in 2023, It seems as though I’ve been on a mission to make up for this. This year alone I’ve seen the most artists than all previous years combined. Including an impromptu trip to Barcelona for Primavera Sound Festival. An unexpected impact of these live music experiences was felt by my connections to the people closest to me.
I feel the closest to my friends when we’re sharing music, dancing sweaty in a random club, or witnessing our favourite songs live. These instances feel like a conversation I’m having with the people I love, over and over again.
And when I think about it this way, as music and people become interchangeable aspects of my life, I realise how my connection to music has always stemmed from the love I have for my friends. Like music, I truly don’t know where I would be without them. Each one completely individual and unique and showing me something new, like perfect songs.
These instances feel like a conversation I’m having with the people I love, over and over again.
In Florence Welch’s fifth studio album ‘Dance Fever’, Welch asks us a question: “Is this how it is? Is this how it’s always been? To exist in the face of suffering and death And somehow still keep singing?”
And it’s with thanks to my friends and the music we love, that I certainly know my answer.