It’s hard to explain the magic and sadness that the indie music of the aughts had on us. In our 20s and young and impressionable, chasing love and fumbling how to cope with the overbearing sadness that took over for no other reason than that’s just your 20s. The emotional indie albums that had a chokehold on our hearts. Give Up, Good News for People Who Love Bad News, Set Yourself on Fire, Plans, You Forgot it in People.

The scene and the fashion, a fusion of MySpace scene and hipster chic. Absolutely everything about our identities were tied to our favorite bands. How obsessed with movie soundtrack albums we became and subsequently those movies and directors also becoming defining personality traits. Donnie Darko, Garden State, Royal Tenenbaums, Virgin Suicides.

And we existed in this state of feeling chic and hip and cool and moody and mysterious. We rationalized our irresponsible trysts of the heart as youth’s folly.

Running around San Francisco at this time was crazy and chaotic. The explosion of the indie festival scene. Any band who went on to festival fame debuted at Popscene, courtesy of two promoters with a keen awareness of who was going to blow up right before they did. Popscene was this tiny venue on 330 Rich near the ballpark. The stage a single riser a foot high made for the most intimate of shows. The following dance party where the indie dance music of the era was introduced. Officially Bloghouse now fondly referred as Indie Sleaze. The Rapture, Chromeo, Cut Copy, Bloc Party, Two Door Cinema Club, Phoenix.

I’ll never forget when ‘Kids’ first dropped as a single and telling to DJ to play it and watching everyone rush to dance floor to bop to a song that we would come to hear a million more times in our lifetime.

The complicated romantic trysts of the scene. Sometimes waiting for the DJ to wrap up and hitting Sparky’s All Night Diner and watching the vibrant 2-4am nightlife crowd finally eating for the day. Sometimes dancing in the limelight of the dance floor in front of the eyes that tried to avoid looking at me and evading the eyes that were subsequently suspect.

And as most ladies in our 20s our core group of friends. The ritual of pre drinking, smoking, getting ready blasting our favorite music. Taking transit to wherever we were going then splitting that cab fare home. The insane cab drivers, on speed flying over hills, cursing at everyone, like a wild rollercoaster exciting and exacerbated by alcohol. The occasional heroine addict nodding off at red lights. The OWNER OF YELLOW CAB, “I thought we got rid of all the heroin addicts.”

How the digital camera was a member of the crew and how great we used to be at capturing moments and looking cute at the same time. Reviewing the photos the next day and wondering how the camera was broken till we scrolled to last few photos of all us on the floor laughing uncontrollably.

Dancing at Dolores Park in the light of the downtown skyline at 2am, feeling infinite, young and free. How hard we pushed the moments of this happiness and freedom before returning to our frosty rooms and coping with the loneliness and sadness that lived with us.

All of us sad girls and sad boys. Drinking in our house parties and strumming guitars and singing our favorite songs to each other. The reckless drug use and mantra ‘We’re all going to die anyway.’

And wasn’t that just the theme of the decade.

We’re all going to die anyway.

So go ahead and live and feel.