COLE STRYKER

A group of us had driven a couple hours in the snow to catch the Unicorns in Pittsburgh. A band that none of us had ever heard called Arcade Fire opened, blowing the headlining band out of the water. I’ve never seen an audience react to an opening band with such enthusiasm.

It was the only time that any of us had ever seen a band literally before anyone else rise to worldwide fame in a matter of weeks. It’s the kind of entitlement music snobs relish. A few months later, Funeral dropped. The record got insane rotation on our hall and college radio station, which I managed.

That December, our dorm shook with shouting from NFL hysteria, as the Steelers inevitably bonked during the playoffs.

Meanwhile, my group of friends huddled around a laptop, furiously refreshing Pitchfork’s Top 50 Albums of 2004. Funeral hadn’t made it onto the list in any previous installment. We were rooting for it. This was our band. Finally, after a half hour of waiting for Pitchfork’s servers to handle our request for the final page of their list, we high-fived and cheered in semi-ironic jubilation when Funeral edged out Animal Collective for the #1 spot. I mean, we realized how ridiculous we were.

And that’s when I uttered an eternal line:

“You guys, this was like…our super bowl.”