The Weekend Came Early

The stage is set for the Weeknd. Our reviewer wasn't pleased with her seats, but enjoyed the show.

 

By: Caitlin Tabbert

The lights, the cameras, thousands of screaming fans all in line to witness The Weekend take center stage on a cold Wednesday night in Lincoln. Many fans were already screaming and dancing along to the opening act, NAV. Pushing through throngs of people, my friend and I climbed our way to the nosebleed section, in search of our seats. I have to admit, our seats left a lot to be desired. We, however, did not care. As long as we were breathing the same air as The Weekend, we were A-OKAY. After taking a picture to prove that we actually attended the event, we decided to meet up with some other friends that were also in attendance. After braving the vast labyrinth otherwise known as the Pinnacle Bank Arena, searching through what seemed like endless halls, we finally found them. As what felt like hours ticked by, a slowly simmering sense of excitement began to build amongst the crowd. As the lights in the arena went out, anticipation swelled like an overfilled balloon just waiting for that pinprick. And then, the one, the only, The Weekend appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. Immediately fans screamed their hearts out as he started to sing “ Wicked games.” Turning towards my friend, both of us almost in tears, we sang in unison and enjoyed a moment that was as perfect as could be imagined. Sometime later, after singing our voices raw, dancing like idiots and having to deal with a lady drunkenly bumping into us during every song, the concert, sadly, came to an end. A huge rush of people surged towards the exit, trying to beat the chaos that we call traffic out of Lincoln. As our phone batteries dwindled, we searched every corner to find our ride. After what seemed like days, we finally hit the road back home. Not caring how tired we were going to be the next morning, my friend and I could not help but to recount every little detail, every little nuance, every single moment when we were sure that The Weekend specifically and directly looked at us and sang to us. To our fatigue-addled, drained minds, it was as if we had just come from our own personal show. In our opinion, the Weekend had saved the best show on his nation-wide tour specifically for us, and, of course, the thousands of our close, personal friends who also attended. But mostly just for us. The music could not have been better. The Weekend could not have been better. Our seats? Well, maybe they could have been better. But the experience and the memory? Could not have been better.