My boyfriend’s in a band. Well, not my boyfriend. My husband, Micah. He’s been in this band, Mantelope, for about a year and a half. He’s the drummer and there’s a bassist, and three guitarists, one who doubles as the lead singer. They’ve had a couple shows, with the most recent one being last night. 

I arrived at the venue (the local record store) an hour early, before the band had even finished their sound check. Micah was there, his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. My husband certainly looks the part of a drummer: piercings, long hair, mustache, cool, thrifted wardrobe. Plus he can back up looking the part by also being really good at drumming. I made small talk with the other wives and girlfriends of the band members while listening to the sickening synth sounds of the other opening band’s sound check. 

No matter how early I start trying to plan my best “drummer’s girlfriend” outfit for Mantelope concerts, I always feel ridiculously under- or over-dressed. I try to pick an outfit that is comfortable enough to stand around in, but also cool enough to fit in with the other wives and girlfriends. Last night my recently acquired low-rise jeans, black midriff-baring tank top, jacket from my great aunt, and earrings I picked up in Belfast seemed safe in my bedroom mirror. But compared to the sleek body suits and thrifted jewelry bedecking the necks and arms of the other WAGS, I felt like a poser. 

We gather on the giant old peeling leather couch at the other end of the room to listen as the band starts their sound check. I sweated through my tank top as the girlfriends discussed holiday travel plans. The group is made up of two recently minted wives and two girlfriends of many years. There was also a potential undefined relationship attending the concert, although she didn’t come stand up front with us once the show started. 

Watching the band warm up, I can’t help but stare while Micah drums. He’s so talented. He’s been drumming since middle school and you can tell. The first concert I saw him perform at was in the bassist’s barber shop after hours. It was about a week after we’d gotten engaged and I couldn’t believe the well of love and admiration I had for him could get any deeper. And yet. 

The day Micah asked me to be his girlfriend, he played me “The First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes on his guitar to help me fall asleep. For Valentine’s, he recorded a cover of “Bless the Telephone” by Labi Siffre as a gift to me. We are planning a Christmas hymn sing-along where he’ll play guitar sometime this December. I was well aware of his musical talent, but his talent for drumming is something entirely apart. 

Once the concert finally starts, I have a hard time looking anywhere else but at him. He’s so serious, so concentrated, watching intently for a cue from the lead singer, counting up until the chorus drops. At least he is, until I catch his eye and a smile grows across his face and he blushes a little, looking away. 

His big moment is when the band covers “Ode to the Mets” by the Strokes. This is the one song that Micah sings and plays drums for. Wide-open vocals while performing a complicated (at least to me) drum line. Watching his drum, watching him sing at the drum kit like he’s David Bazan, makes me so proud to be his wife. One of the other wives leans over to tell me this is her favorite song the band plays. One of our friends standing behind me mouths, “This is the best one!” 

There is something so attractive about watching the man who talks baby talk to me in the mornings and makes me little iced lattes every morning being on a stage, drumming so hard the walls and floors vibrate. I was never a Justin Bieber, One Direction, boy-band fanatic, but what I feel watching Micah play must be what the hype is all about. It’s gotta be a rockstar thing. 

When the band finishes, we all step outside into the cool night air. The boys are all pouring sweat from the stage lights and the effort. People come up to Micah after the show and compliment him and I just beam. My husband’s in a band.

Carlisle Patete

Carlisle Patete (‘22) came to Calvin University from the mountains of North Carolina and graduated with a double major in film & media and creative writing. After brief stints in Los Angeles and Chicago, she now resides in Chattanooga, Tennessee, where she enjoys sweet tea on her front porch and identifying every tree and bird she runs into on any hiking trail.