Allow me to share a grieving moment of my own through music.

September 13, 2001.

Two days after the horrific day of September 11. I remember the city of Chicago was dead silent. No airplanes, no loud music, no horns honking in traffic. It was a collective feeling of sadness and respect for human kind that hushed the normally bustling streets.

I had tickets to PJ Harvey at The Riviera in Chicago on the 13th, and was struggling; trying to decide if going to a rock concert was the right thing to do. It was a tough decision, but we decided to go – mostly because we didn’t want terrorists and hate-mongers to continue to alter our lives.

Before the show, the crowd was on edge. There were whispers and nervous laughter as nobody knew exactly what they were doing there. Everyone’s eyes revealed sadness and lingering shock.

PJ Harvey took the stage. She talked about an earlier band meeting – how they debated whether they should do the show. Were they being disrespectful? In the end, they decided they absolutely must play. That in times like these it is crucial for people to gather and mourn and help each other stand up.

She plugged in and ripped the first chord. It was loud. A chill shot up from my heels to the back of my neck. The air was suddenly warm and you could feel the audience take one giant deep breath and slowly exhale – as if we’d been deprived of oxygen for the past 48 hours. I became overwhelmed with sadness, then the far away screams of thousands of innocent people got a little quieter. We were all happy to be together. And we were exhausted but ready to rock.

Because that’s how we roll.