what i know about acoustic guitars

Acoustic guitars. They still get me every time.

Since I was in high school, I've worshipped (so-to-speak) at the altar of Chris Carrabba. Like tons of other self-described "complex" and emo-ish teens already panicked about "finding" themselves during freshman year, I loved Dashboard Confessional's music from the beginning. It was one of the first times music had "clicked" and made me feel something or think something – or both. I would crank up the volume and use it to celebrate a great feeling, or turn a notch louder and scream along with it as a crutch to help me through what I was sure was an end-of-the-world problem. It could consume me and help me accomplish whatever kind of emotional release I needed at any given moment. I went so far as to research his previous bands and took quite a liking to Further Seems Forever because of the album that featured him singing. (For the record, FSF went downhill from there.) I felt this irrational connection to a complete stranger, but it gave me something to belong to. And that's all that mattered.

I saw him live several times. The first was in a pretty intimate venue compared with what he must play to now, which I've always been a little bit proud of. It was my first "cool" concert, and I was so excited that (as a too-cool-for-everything teenager) I even accepted my parents' condition for my attendance and dragged my mother across the state line and to the foot of the stage to belt out the lyrics with my friends and me. And we had a great time. I had T-shirts and stickers and even made my own memorabilia – bags, necklaces, notebooks, clothing ... Carrabba was "my" music, and I was (like faux musical elitists always are) crushed when he gave up his solo acoustic stint, took on a permanent band, and rapidly gained popularity. There's always something about a handsome man and a guitar, isn't there?

Because of this dramatic initial attachment, I've followed Dashboard Confessional since. I genuinely enjoy the music, but I think it's mostly out of nostalgia. Some might call it a "guilty pleasure." I own every album, even the ones I know are bad. I buy the ones I anticipate being bad, as well. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I've previewed an album, cringed at the cheesiness of the lyrics, and bought it anyway. I even kept listening after I saw him pack a huge stadium at a state university and creepily appeal for "co-eds" to join him for "a good time" after the show. (He had been all over MTV and heard in a Spider-Man movie by then, after all.) I haven't been to one of his concerts in years, but apparently nothing will deter my fandom.

More important than my near-obsession are the friendships that grew from it. I can think of several people whom I still consider close friends who shared in my following. I remember gushing together while I watched their band practice in whatever spare room they could find to house a drum set, or speeding down a main street bonding over off-key renditions of Carrabba's "old stuff." Then, of course, those friendships blossomed beyond Dashboard Confessional and deepened. Those people are still special to me, and I imagine they always will be. It had always been about the music, but I hadn't yet figured out that it was more about the people.

I realized this week that Dashboard Confessional is celebrating the 10-year anniversary of Carrabba's first album. Ten years! It doesn't feel like 10 years since I started listening. (Whether that's because I'm still that close to a teenage mindset or because time goes by that quickly, I'm not certain, but ... surely I'm not that old!?) As I'm writing this, I realize that I'm actually wearing one of many Dashboard Confessional T-shirts that have piled up in my closet over the years. One made it all the way to Taiwan. I guess some things just stick.