Mark Wiedmer: Swifty Heaven

It all started in mid-November. On her way out the door to school one morning, my 16-year-old daughter Ella Beth shouted, “Wish me luck. This is the day Taylor Swift tickets go on sale.”

“OK, good luck,” I responded, having previously discussed the ticket prices for these shows. “But whatever you do, please don’t buy the $900 ticket.”

After briefly wondering how she would purchase a ticket of any price during school hours, I soon learned that every female teenager on the planet with access to a credit card number, as well as a good many of their mothers, were frantically engaged in this same passionate pursuit, their later tears of joy or sorrow tied to the mathematical whims of Ticketmaster.

What’s the phrase Philadelphia 76ers coach Doc Rivers has used a time or two during the ongoing NBA Playoffs? Emotional Terrorism? That’s what attempting to acquire Swift concert tickets the past few months has been like for a fairly large segment of the population who proudly refer to themselves as “Swifties.” It’s been emotional terrorism.

But when Ella Beth bounced through the door for dinner that night, grinning a grin as wide as I’ve ever seen her grin, I suspected she’d somehow bought a Taylor Swift ticket for the concerts scheduled for either Atlanta or Nashville.

And sure enough, her first words were at least three octaves above her normal voice.

“I got it,” she shrieked. “I’m going to see Taylor on May 5th in Nashville. Eeeeeeee. I can’t wait! EEEEEEEEEEE!”

At this point, being a 65-year-old curmudgeon with only marginal appreciation for Swift’s songwriting and singing talents, and not terribly happy about her inclusion of the F-word on her most recent album ”Midnights,” I offered a tepid, “Oh, that’s great, sweetie. What did it cost?”

“Don’t get mad, Dad,” Ella Beth replied. And that was the last thing I heard for a few seconds. After all, Don’t … get … mad … Dad is basically saying, “I know you’re going to be fire-breathing, eye-bulging angry, Dad, but hear me out.”

Yet at some point during, or after, my white out, I also heard the following words, words every kid for centuries (including me) has told their parents to end all arguments: “It’s my money,” which was then, um swiftly followed by “so I bought the $900 ticket. I’m in the VIP section, right in front of the stage. I might even be able to touch her. Maybe her sweat will drip on me and I’ll never wash that patch of skin again. Besides, that was the only ticket I could get. The others were sold out or the computer locked me out.”

Background is in order here. EB, as she is often called, works three part-time jobs while maintaining a 4.0 grade point average and participating in several extra-curricular school activities. She’s a maid every weekend at a bed-and-breakfast. She pet-sits and babysits. She plays the guitar at our church’s Sunday evening chapel service. So the $900 was without question her own money and she has already replenished her savings account with that amount and more in the months since.

Still, as I was swift to respond: “Nine-hundred dollars? I wouldn’t pay $900 to see all four Beatles in concert if they brought John and George back from the dead! And I’ve loved the Beatles since I was six years old.”

Not missing a beat, EB shot back, “Well, Taylor’s my Beatles.”

Sadly, at least for my generation, Swift may have matched, if not topped Beatlemania over the last few months. For instance, according to a story in the New York Times, when Midnights was released in the fall, Swift’s 10th studio album sold a stunning 1,578,000 copies in the blink of an eye, which was the most for any album in seven years. Even more impressive, and positively Beatles-esque, Midnights set a Billboard record for occupying the entire Top 10 on the singles chart.

That’s right: A Billboard first. Better than the Beatles. Egads, may this please be some sort of inflationary-skewed analytic and not an unshakable, irrefutable stat.

Bubbling over to witness this history, Ella Beth began preparing for last Friday months ago. A pair of glitter boots was bought online for $60. A thrift store denim jacket was lovingly decorated in beads and such, right down to the stars on the sleeves, as one can find on Swift's cardigan. A sparkling miniskirt was found in New Orleans. Swift’s signature bright red lipstick was purchased. EB painted each of her 10 fingernails different colors, much as Swift had displayed in a web post to celebrate her 10 albums. Her hair was combed and cut to resemble the singer on one of her previous tours.

Having planned to leave Chattanooga around noon so that Ella Beth could socialize with other Swifties and trade friendship bracelets with them long before the show, we instead left much closer to 1 p.m Eastern time in order for her outfit to look just right. Her older sister, Julia Caroline, spent a good deal less time preparing for Swift’s Atlanta concert a few days earlier, but was no less excited to experience it.

“Oh, I just want to make Taylor proud,” EB said as she climbed into my 2011 Avalon for the trip north. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Nearly three hours later - and after racing to photograph the rear window of an SUV traveling up I-24 with the words “Getaway Car (a Swift hit)” written on that window - we got to Nissan Stadium just in time for her to enter the VIP gate for an hour of raiding the merchandise tent before those poor non-VIP souls could buy out the place.

As for me, I hunkered down in my Avalon with a jug of ice water, a thermos of strong, hot coffee for the drive home and a couple of packs of cashews. I remained in that car for the next nine hours, drifting off when possible due to an occasional gentle rain, every now and then to be awakened by a roaring crowd roughly 75 yards from my car, Taylor’s three-hour performance or the post concert fireworks. Finally, a little past midnight Eastern time, it ended, EB reaching the car about 20 minutes after that. Not quite two hours later we were out of the parking lot and on the interstate. At 4:20 on Saturday morning we pulled into our driveway, Ella Beth having slept since before we reached I-24.

Was it worth it?

“The greatest moment of my life,” Ella Beth gushed. “I’m not sure anything can ever top it. Ever. The Swifties are all so nice, like family. The camaraderie between us all is so special. And Taylor. What a performance. I’ll remember this forever.”

Much as I hate to say this, it just might be the best $900 she’ll ever spend.