From the Viewing Platform: An Introduction

Hi. My name is Jordan. I was born and raised in New Jersey, I’ve got a younger brother, my favorite color is blue, I have loved music from the moment I was born, and I’m disabled. Obviously, one of these things affects my life more than the others (and I don’t mean the part about being from Jersey). I spent a lot of my life not realizing that there was something, or really, several things, physically different about me and thinking that I just wasn’t meant to enjoy the activities everyone else does. I thought I was meant to be the bookworm, or the scholar, or the lazy girl. I didn’t like being hot or sweating or running or any of the things that would’ve made me more like my brother, who was by far the more active of the two of us. It took almost twenty-two years of increasing struggles  for me to accept that there was something seriously wrong, and then another two to convince myself that it was okay to do something about it. 

Needless to say, I spent a very long time avoiding doing the things I wanted to or enjoyed out of fear, not only for how I would feel physically but also for what other people would say. I’m not visibly disabled unless I’m using my mobility aid, which I don’t need every day or for every activity. Sometimes, I still bring it for my own peace of mind when I go places, but the days I pull it out of my bag are much less frequent than they were when I was at my worst. Many, many years ago, I had the dream that I would be the one on the stage, putting on the show, but the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized that it’s okay for some dreams to stay dreams. Being a behind-the-scenes kind of girl is much more my speed now, and I can’t say that hasn’t been influenced by how inaccessible the live music space is at times. I got a lot of comments, some passive and some outright aggressive, from friends and family about how I wasn’t “really” disabled. It all came back to me being lazy or unwilling or some other nastier word, because I didn’t look like I was struggling. For years, even after the very pricey consensus of several medical professionals that I was, in fact, not well, I still hesitated to open up to people in my life about my symptoms and struggles in fear of how they’d react. I’m just now getting to the point where I no longer feel like I’m justifying my existence when I tell people I’m disabled.

There are years of my life I’ll never get to fully experience because I was so afraid to do anything that may make me feel like absolute garbage – physically and emotionally. Going to shows has always been one of my favorite activities, and there are so many artists and tours I didn’t get to see because I didn’t think I could. It was actually on the way to a concert shortly after my 24th birthday that I bought my first cane. I sobbed in the middle of a CVS in midtown Manhattan while I made my purchase and tried to convince myself that it wasn’t just because I was lazy or didn’t want to stand. The results of the pep talk were mixed, but I swiped my card and got on the train and made it to the show in Newark.

I wasn’t prepared to be disabled at a show that night. The two mile walk from Penn Station to the venue, the hours of standing in line outside, the crowds, the stairs and escalators and more goddamn stairs… I wasn’t ready to be disabled that night. The cane helped with the standing, but the questions from security and the other people in line and even the person I went with weren’t as easily dodged. There’s so much that, as an able bodied person (or someone who had always assumed they were one), you have no idea goes into not only being at the show itself but also preparing to try to do just that. There’s planning, plotting, and so much mental and emotional work that comes in the days and weeks before a show that I never had to think about before that night. 

Almost three years and dozens of shows later, I’ve learned better. By this point, I’ve got a mental checklist of things I need to ask, things I need to bring, and exact circumstances to try to have the optimal experience where I can actual enjoy a show without fainting or having a knee go out or getting so overheated I have to be dragged from the pit. These aren’t things you have to think about if you’re not disabled or don’t have a concert buddy who is. I’ve had so many of my kind, wonderful, gracious friends say to me, in the aftermath of a show, that they had no idea I had to go through all of that just to be able to be in the same room. It’s not just the Ticketmaster battles and the nightmare parking in terribly laid out parking garages. It’s calling the venue over and over to see what you need to do to get accommodations and getting different answers every time you speak with someone, just to be told to talk to security five minutes before doors to see if they have a single, rickety folding chair for you to sit in at the back of the venue. It’s people talking loudly and aggressively about pushing you off barricade because they camped out and it’s not fair that you got in first to be close to security in case you have a medical episode. It’s not having a bathroom you can safely make it to because the only single stall is in the medical tent and they’re really not supposed to let you in there. It’s trekking back and forth across a poorly paved parking lot looking for the shuttle that, somehow, none of the security members know where to get on because they won’t let your dad anywhere near the main parking lot to come get you after the show is over. And it’s so much more.

That’s not to say there aren’t great venues or staff members who will look out for you. There are certainly the epic highs to match the epic lows of concert going. There are bands who will see you out there in the ADA section and show you the same love they show the rest of the crowd. There are staff who will see you hobbling toward the restrooms and open the hidden door to the accessible stall without you even having to ask, and there are security guards who will ask you if you need anything every time they see you wandering toward the exit, and there are so many wonderful people in every crowd who will go out of their way to help you. There are the people who will make room for you to sit on the ground between sets, and there are people who will flag security down to get you water, and you’ll meet all of them.

Most of all, there are the beautiful, kind friends you’ll make along the way who will volunteer to be your ADA companion and hold your shit when you need to put your head between your knees and hand you a Liquid IV so you don’t crash halfway through the night. I’ve been so lucky to make not just one but so many of those kinds of friends – they’ve encouraged me, included me, and accommodated me in ways I never would have thought of. They’re the ones who have cheered me on and cheered me up and made me think it’s possible to have the same type of experiences they do at shows. They’ve planned with me in mind, from saving me spots because I couldn’t show up hours before doors to making sure our Airbnb didn’t have too many flights of stairs for me to do after standing for a whole show. They’ve shared their food and water and electric fans and, most importantly, their love with me, and for them, I cannot be nearly grateful enough. Truthfully, they’re half of the reason I’ve been able to be brave enough to not only go to shows but to share the good, the bad, and the ugly here with everyone else.

That’s exactly what I intend to do, by the way. You and me, we’re going to go on an adventure together. I want to bring you along with me while I try to make the most out of every show I get to experience this year, whether it’s with my friends or by myself. I’ll show you the triumphs and defeats, the easy and the painfully hard parts of what it’s like to be disabled in the live music space. In my dream world (my new dream world, not the one where I became the 14th winner of American Idol), I’m part of changing how venues and artists accommodate the people who need accessibility the most, and so are you. This is just the beginning of one of the greatest things we can do together, and I couldn’t be more excited.

See you so very soon,

Jordan