40. Will
FORTY
WILL
The Superbowl was surreal, but the kick-off for our Stay Loud Resistance Tour feels like a fever dream. Nothing about the chaos feels controlled, and we’ve navigated a lot of obstacles, threats, and opposition from all our favorite haters.
Instead of a stadium built for our brand of spectacle, we’ve taken over a city park that has been home to protests, candlelight vigils, and more than a few tense standoffs with riot shields and tear gas.
The stage is smaller than we’re used to, the lighting less polished, and there’s very little separation between us and the enormous crowd of people who showed up.
I like it so much better.
Local community leaders speak before we go on—organizers who have been doing this work long before we came along to amplify it with guitars and stage lights.
A public defender talks about families separated without warning, incarcerated young children crying to go home, and the injustice of innocent people not being allowed due process, that is supposed to be the law of the land.
A local high school teacher talks about students missing from class because people are too afraid to leave their homes to go to school or the grocery store.
A group of young people who give me hope for the future stand up and tell a crowd of thousands how masked, unidentified “police” in mismatched military prints and armored vests have tried to intimidate them with racist and homophobic slurs.
A trans woman speaks about how community is what’s helped her survive a sharp increase in harassment and legislation that tries to erase her existence.
The crowd doesn’t scream and cheer the way fans do at a normal concert. They respond with grit and intention, because this means so much more than four jackasses jumping around onstage ever could. It’s personal. It’s life and death.
As I stand in our curtained-off makeshift backstage area, listening to the last speaker finish, I feel a similar buzz of nerves that I did at the Superbowl, only different. This little stage matters so much more.
Ari bumps his shoulder against mine. “You good?”
I smile, then lean into him to press a kiss to his cheek. “Better than good. You ready?”
Just then, Naz bounces on his toes, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. “We’re on.”
Ari grins, eyes alight with the same energy I’m feeling. “Let’s light it up.”
The crowd screams as we run onto the stage.
Luc’s cheeks blush when he gratefully hands off the microphone to Jesse, who pulls him in for a hard kiss.
Face fully red, he hops off the stage to stand in the front row with his family and a handful of teammates.
Jesse’s mom is standing with her arm linked through Shawna’s—I swear everyone loves that girl.
Luc’s dad stands behind Luc’s two sisters, and Georgia holds a sign she painted herself.
I nearly tear up when I notice the tiny rainbow pin stuck in the pocket of Mr. Martín’s jacket.
The handful of football players are rowdy, jumping up and down and throwing up fists to cheer us on.
All except one of them, who stands off to the side chatting with none other than Alonso Carter, who looks equally enamored.
Naz counts us in. We open with some of our older anti-establishment tracks, and a few other favorites that we’ve tweaked the lyrics for to fit the vibe. The crowd is loving the changes, cheering even harder when the new words hit.
We burn through the set with more intensity than I think we’ve ever had.
Between songs, Jesse keeps the crowd pumped with notes on things that inspired some of our songs, or the changes we made to fit the tour, the overall theme being that love is stronger than fear.
Naz is a machine behind his drum kit, sweat flying from his hair as he drives the beat for each song, yelling out the lyrics and punctuating Jesse’s words with random encouragements like, “Fuck yeah!” and, “You know it!” Ari moves around the stage fluidly, coming to stand next to me, pressing into me, being all kinds of cute and playful.
And I’m living my best life, getting into the music more than I ever have before.
When the first chords of our new song ring out, the crowd hushes. It’s our first time playing it live.
In all the time we’ve been playing together, I have never been so proud of something we’ve created.
Not just because I helped write more of this song than any of the others, but because of what it stands for.
Because it’s unapologetic. By the time we hit the first chorus of the song Ari and I wrote together, there’s a tear falling down my cheek and I’m not even embarrassed about it.
This song hurts. Some of the lyrics are jarring. It’s angry, and sometimes it’s ugly. But it’s also beautiful, and the way the crowd reacts makes me feel hopeful.
Sometimes hope feels reckless, but it’s necessary. And as the final chords ring out and Jesse lifts his chin to deliver the closing lines, I have hope that we are no longer just reacting to the world around us—we’re helping to shape it into something better.
We aren’t as free
As we like to think
So tell me,
What’s it going to be?
They’re arresting the press, calling truth a threat
If they silence the questions, who will be next?
Disagree? You’re an enemy, marked for death
Freedom’s just a word when they’re aiming at your head
They say keep it peaceful, point their weapons at schools
Smoke in the halls while they tighten the rules
Public executions, masked and unchecked
Calling it order while they kneel on your neck
You can taste the fear in the tear gas air
Say it’s not happening, pretend it’s not there
But denial’s a drug and you’re hooked on the lie
How much more before you realize?
We aren’t as free as we like to think
So what’s it gonna be?
What’s it gonna take to come back from this
Everything’s already gone to shit.
Hands in the air or your head in the sand
Your silence just makes you part of their plan
You can’t stay numb, this is it ? —
What’s it gonna take for you to stand up to this?
The church and state hide monsters in plain sight
They crown them with power, swear they’re right
Blame queens who read or blame how you’re born
It’s their fear of love they weaponized for war
You send your kids out dressed for battle
Bulletproof backpacks, more human chattel
To sacrifice for an amendment, a myth you protect
While targeting kids who don’t pass your test
Fodder for the machine, call it keeping the peace
Teach them fear before they learn to speak
If safety’s the lie that you choose to believe
Say it again while they tighten your leash
We aren’t as free as we like to think
What’s it gonna be?
Where is your breaking point? Your outrage? Your morals?
I guess there are none when hate is normal
They call it law, they call it right
While they strip the constitution in broad daylight
You can’t stay numb, don’t look away
Stand up for your neighbors before it’s too late
Door to door, they’re rounding them up
Call them criminals, murderers, rapists to set them up
But it’s their hands that are dirty, their sins that they hide
While they commit the crimes they swear justify
Thirty-four felonies, stacks of blame
Say his name again and again and again
It was never the price of eggs, it was never the law
It was power, control, and a cult you applaud
You’re paying more for less, and losing more than this
When will we value the humanity we have left?
List after list, you pretend you don’t see
Let the perpetrators write policy
They make the rules that put you in danger
You let it slide ‘cause you’re a fucking hater
Say it again (say it again)—We aren’t as free as we like to think
(What’s it gonna be?)
(What’s it gonna be?)
Say it again (say it again)—How much more do we need to bleed?
The End