Last night was a very special night for me, and it's been a long time coming. It's taken me, roughly, three years, but I have finally seen Modern Baseball live. What a way to start 2017.

The Superweaks, hailing straight from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, are opening the evening. Their indie-rock sound, at times more ambient, at times straight up emo, gets to me in a matter of seconds, and, you know what? For once, I can tell you why. It's not just because they're extremely talented and their music is catchy - even though, no lies here, it helped quite a lot. It's also because their gritty sound, the obvious DIY feel and their enthusiastic set under terrible, terrible lighting reminded me of Brighton gigs. At a time when I miss my UK home as much as I do, it was everything I needed - to be taken back there, if only for half an hour.

(Also, "Croissants here are pretty tight", anyone?)

By now, you know the drill - if it's a catchy rock band with a female voice, I'm on board almost immediately. It's no wonder why it probably took Thin Lips about ten seconds to get under my skin. Led by energetic frontwoman Chrissy Tashjian, the band produces a strong, catchy set, sings of Tinder and easily catches the attention of a large amount of people in the room. Yes, it was me you saw dad dancing at the back, well spotted everyone. Their indie-rock sound reminded me of Muncie Girls and Candy Hearts, at times, but I won't say you should only check them out if you like those bands. Check them out regardless. They were great, and no one should ever say no to great music.

I got into Modern Baseball's music sometime in 2014, when I stumbled upon I Think You Were in My Profile Picture Once (extracted from 2012's excellent Sports), and, as I was myself dealing with a not so significant other I had trouble taking out of my profile picture, I clicked play, and the rest is emo history.

In the boiling hot Espace B, the Americans are kicking off their first ever European headline tour - yes in style, of course in style, but with some adjustments, as well. Only twenty-four hours before, singer Brendan Lukens announced he would not be present on the tour and would be staying home to focus on his mental health. The remaining band members decided to carry on with the shows, still, which I'm incredibly grateful for, but which needed adapting on their part. We were, therefore, treated to a little acoustic interlude (composed, amongst other songs, by the stunning Tears Over Beers, the lovely Apartment or the band's newest track, This Song Is Gonna Buy Brendan Lukens a New Pair of Socks, from their three-way split with touring mates Thin Lips and The Superweaks). Some songs also got guest vocals, notably from Chrissy Tashjian and from crowd-member Valentin on The Weekend - both did an excellent job at stepping in.

The venue was packed and the crowd could be seen dancing and singing along from start to finish, with people on shoulders during The Weekend and crowdsurfing to Your Graduation. Let's talk about Your Graduation for a minute, shall we. It's easily Modern Baseball's most famous song, and its shouted "Bullshit, you fucking miss me" has now become iconic. If I'm honest with you a minute, I can't even remember the last time I felt as happy as I was when the song kicked in. I took off my necklace, abandoned my bag (and my friend) and threw myself in the moshpit, ended up crying and then fell over on my own bag. This was such a clumsy, me moment to happen, and yet, I wouldn't have had it any other way. There has to be a story to the first time you hear your favourite songs live, hasn't it.

I think this gig will stand out in my Paris gig memories because, it was packed, yes, of course I will remember that it was packed, but I will mostly remember that it was packed with people I've never seen before. Usually, when I go to a small show in Paris, I know everyone in the room. Not this time. This time, it wasn't just us, the hardcore Paris music lovers. It was packed with a bunch of people that I've never seen before, and you could blame it on the fact that I haven't lived in this town for a whole calendar year, but to me, it showed that Modern Baseball attract a wider crowd that I thought they did. They aren't just there for the typical emo kids. They're for everyone. They reach outside the traditional scene environment. 

If you went to the venue toilet, you could see a sign reading "Gender diversity is welcome here. Please use the restroom that best fits your gender identity or expression". It's no secret that Modern Baseball, as a band, have been very vocal about promoting diversity and inclusivity at their gigs and outside, which is something I a hundred percent support. I think, in time, that it will develop into a bigger, broader sense of community. You can see it on stage, the way they dealt with Lukens' absence - with a little help from their friends, both in bands and in the crowd. And you will start seeing it in the crowd. Modern Baseball, through being a band that supports and includes everyone, regardless of gender, sexuality or skin colour, will become a movement. They were never a band for the cool kids that look down on you at gigs anyway. Maybe they were always meant to be a band for the rejected, the outcast and the vulnerable.

Last Wednesday morning, after months of speculation on a lot of hardcore fans' part, We Are The Ocean announced the terrible, yet somehow inevitable : their break-up. We all wished for a miracle to happen, but we have seen most of our favourite bands break up, and we know the tell tale signs. When a band stops touring, gets grown up jobs, doesn't release new music and starts being nostalgic, it's time to collect your pennies for the farewell tour.

Of course, I wish it had never happened. Of course, I wanted the miracle to happen, I wanted them to be saved. (I mean, I even drunk-tweeted the band's account I didn't want them to break up...)
Of course, I'm angry and upset with the music press who never gave them a chance after Dan left - I remember, last year, the interviewer asking them about him during Sunday Brunch. By this point, Dan had been gone for three years and a half, and they were still being asked about the influence his departure had on the band's sound. It's the kind of bullshit no band should have to go through, and, to the best of my knowledge, it's the kind of bullshit no other band in their case has gone through.

I could write something sad and soppy, something lame, a real tearjerker. Instead, I'm going to compile the best things that have happened during my five year, two month and, to this point, twenty-two day stint alongside the London boys. It all started the day I was listening to Nothing Good Has Happened Yet in the Ibis Budget next door to the O2 Academy in Birmingham. They were to support The Blackout the day after and I didn't want to be the only idiot at the front who wouldn't know who they were. Who would have thought. 

(Expect lots of horrible photos from a time I had a terrible camera and didn't know the first thing about taking a half-decent picture)

I didn't want to do a list of all the gigs that happened (especially because there's twenty one of them and that's a long list), but the next one matters a lot, too. In April 2012, We Are The Ocean found their way to Paris, supporting Silverstein at la Boule Noire, a fairly small venue. There was a lot of rain and macarons and tears on my part when Runaway happened. There was also that man who, I think, worked at the venue, who mentioned Johnny Hallyday and we started talking about his ten thousand farewell tours. Why do I remember that, go wonder. I suppose I was just not used to having regular conversations with people in bands. 

• Swindon

• Wembley

I have no idea where any of the live pictures are, so, you know, have my face again.

• Islington.

When a band makes it big, in this scene, they sometimes lose their hardcore fans. The ones who were there from the start, the ones who saw said band in their local pub in front of seventeen people, bar staff included, they sometimes runaway the second their band makes it big. It almost sounds like "making it big" is a dirty word, because we're the alternative scene. We're alternative so a band should not become famous, you know. They should not get into top 40, and they shouldn't be on the radio, and they shouldn't play big venues. In a minute, you will hear a cry, someone will call them sell outs, sell outs because their latest single is on daytime radio, sell outs because they're supporting an über-famous band you don't like, sell outs because their album is battling with pop's most recent sensation for a number one spot on the top 40. Making it big is something no one wants to see their favourite bands do. 

I have been guilty of this, you know. I didn't want my favourite bands to play massive venues. I frowned when people I didn't like became fans. You should have seen my face and my general attitude the day I saw hordes of people asking Joe James, formerly of Blitz Kids, to take selfies with them after the band had supported All Time Low in Paris. Who were they to want pictures with them, they weren't there when they couldn't afford petrol to go play in Bournemouth in the winter of 2011, they have never heard Sell Yourself, they will never know who Billy and Eddie are. Get your newbie hands off my favourite bands. You're not a real fan.

Thank fuck I have stopped being an elitist piece of shit.

Not everyone who wants their favourite band to stay on the small level is the elitist piece of shit I once was - thank God for that. I understand why you wouldn't want your favourite band to ever become big. Arenas are pretty overwhelming and their drinks are overpriced. When your favourite band headlines the O2 Arena, the chances of meeting them are slim to none. The shows are less sweaty and a different kind of intense, and the sense of proximity has been taken away by the barrier, the seven hundred security guards and the twenty photographers pressed in the pit. There's nothing like a smaller, more comfortable, three hundred cap show. You're close enough to your favourite band, chances are, you will run into them at the bar, in the off-licence down the road where they'll be buying Pot Noodles before driving to the nearest Travelodge (that is, if they're lucky enough to stay the night in a Travelodge and not on someone's floor, or worse, in their van) or in the venue toilet. Everyone will know the words to the songs and there will be no barrier. What's not to love.

I stopped wanting my favourite bands to stay at the comfortable three hundred cap venue and Pot Noodle level when they all broke up due to financial difficulties. The day you hear the bassist of one of your favourite bands say to your face that "there's only so much the fans can do" as they're embarking on a farewell tour, it puts everything into perspective. I might enjoy a small show and a chat around a fairly priced beer more than a night out at the Barclaycard Arena in Birmingham with twenty thousand people, but what's comfortable for me might mean the death of my favourite bands, and, in the long run, I'd rather not talk to them than see them being a cashier at their local Tesco because the being in a band thing didn't work out and they couldn't sustain themselves. 

You see it constantly, if you look around. There's people who miss old times when their favourite band's newest music video reaches a million views on YouTube. There's people who, like I have done, look down on newer fans who would dare talking to the band they've liked first, as if being there since the EP they've badly recorded in their mum's basement made you a better fan than being there since you heard one of their tracks on BBC Radio 1, squished between Little Mix and Meghan Trainor. There's people who complain and whine at the sight of an arena tour, because it means they've sold out now they're not playing the 2 Pigs in Cheltenham anymore and they're only doing the Motorpoint Arena in Cardiff.

The day my favourite bands started dropping like flies and I ended up attending six farewell shows in the space of two years, I decided I wanted every single band I loved to become big. I want them to headline big shows, and I want them to have decent meals before and after they play, not crisps sandwiches and two packets of Haribos shared between six people. I want them to have pyro and fireworks and confetti cannons. I want them to be supported by the music press. I want them to be paid enough to live off music. I want them to not have to do a couple of extra shifts at their local pubs in between tours. I want them to become household names. I want to stand in the middle of crowds where everyone will know their names and the lyrics of their songs. I want them to sleep in beds when they're on tour, not on someone's floor, and not in their van. 

I don't want them to have to announce they're breaking up because they don't have enough money.

I've known that for years, but I've only recently started putting it into words. I remember the times when we all dreamt of going to Reading & Leeds, because in 2010, they had a day headlined by blink-182, who were sharing a stage with Paramore, Weezer, All Time Low and You Me At Six. Since that summer, us music fans have wanted our favourite bands to play festivals in France, too. We would look at the Reading & Leeds line up and hope this or that band we loved would be added to the Rock en Seine line-up as it was the same weekend. In between an indie-pop band and a DJ, we prayed to read You Me At Six or Young Guns. It's finally happening - Bring Me The Horizon have played Rock en Seine last year, Don Broco are scheduled to appear at Lollapalooza Paris (alongside Lana Del Rey or Red Hot Chili Peppers) and Main Square Festival (alongside System of a Down and Biffy Clyro) next summer. We're getting there. And when they walk on those stages, I want every person who doesn't know them to be blown away the way I was when I saw them for the first time.

I don't like bands to keep them for myself. I don't like bands to be the only person who's listening to them or who's seeing them live. Being squashed against seventeen thousand people is more pleasant than standing on my own in a basement with another ten people, looking at my feet because I'd be too scared to make eye-contact with them. Music is everything, in my life - once again, I don't think you need me to say it. It's at the front, back and centre of everything I am, of my social life, of my creative mind. It's what makes me feel alive, it's comfort, it's salvation, it's happiness, it's everything. I want everyone to feel the way I feel when I listen to my favourite bands. I want everyone to stand in the middle of a crowd in their hometown and see their favourite band play to seven thousand people. I want everyone to be able to stand in a venue and hear hundreds of people echoing the chorus I've been singing along to for years. I want everyone to be able to experience how nice the guitar player or the frontman of that band is. 

A band making it in the big leagues comes with its inconveniences, of course it does. It comes with shows in arenas, packed trains home and £5 pints that aren't even pints. It comes with seeing people online calling the frontman "daddy" and saying things like "If (insert band member's name) punched me in the face, I'd still thank him for his time" or "I wish (insert band member's name) would fuck me so hard I can't walk for five years". It comes with confessions Twitter acounts and imagine Tumblrs. Not that I read them anyway. I was once sent a Mallory Knox fanfic, I read two lines and closed the page as it was too awkward reading a work of fiction about people I kinda know. It comes with seeing them stood next to someone who might not know every word to every song. These things are a small price to pay to see my favourite bands walk one step further away from the break up for financial reasons. I can deal with hearing someone call the members of a band I love "daddy" if they buy merch, support the band, spread the word. What I have at heart when I love a band is not my personal satisfaction anymore ; what I have at heart is the bigger picture. I can easily close my eyes on every fanfiction in the book if it saves my favourite band from breaking up.

I don't want anyone to go through the pain of their favourite band having split up because they can't afford being on the road any longer, and I sure as hell don't want to have to go through that pain, that frustration and that anger again. 

A couple of days ago, the French version of the pop culture website Konbini published an article about their team members' favourite albums when they were teenagers. Every person got to pick fifteen albums that marked their life from age twelve to age nineteen and try to explain why it mattered. A lot of it is, sadly, "Sum 41 are shit and I thought I was punk" elitism, but I like the idea of the post in itself - here's why I am writing about the fifteen albums that I loved the most when I was a teenager.

This is a throwback to the years when I had long dark hair, when I wore short sleeved t-shirts over long sleeves all winter long, when I had trouble getting through the day at school without tripping on my own feet, when I had braces, when I wore gigantic Vans, when I wore dresses over jeans because I was trying so damn hard to be original, when I had an embarrassing indie phase (we all had one), and when no one wanted to be seen with me, and who could blame them. 

This is a tough list to make as, back then, I could barely afford CDs. We didn't have the Internet at home until I was seventeen and, until then, I had to be extremely resourceful to get my hands on music. I would borrow my friends' MP3 players, my brother's CDs, CDs off the library, tape songs off the radio. There aren't a lot of full albums I actually had access to.

That is the number one album I loved during my teenage years. I ADORED Evanescence - they were the first band I had posters of that wasn't a pop artist, and I wanted to be Amy Lee and dress like Amy Lee and look like Amy Lee. My brother bought me Fallen for Christmas when I was thirteen, and to this day, it's a wonder I can still play the damn thing as I would listen to it on repeat. We used to go on day trips to Picardy or Normandy (don't ask) and I would start playing it as soon as we left home and would just stop it when we got there. It remains one of my favourite albums, and the first rock/metal album I loved.

I have been silent, I know. I haven't even written about every single gig I went to like I used to. 

I had reviews written for Twin Atlantic at the Barrowland and Yellowcard at the Concorde 2, and it didn't feel right.

I think that's the main reason I was silent - some of it didn't feel right. I felt like I was just writing half-arsed reviews just to not fall behind instead of concentrating on writing great content. I ended up publishing festival reviews two months late, they were terrible and my anxious, self-conscious brain hated itself. One resolution for 2017, maybe do this thing more seriously. (Also teach my brain to shut up, but that's another thing altogether).

While I was silent, I gave this little thing a makeover and created categories to make it easier to navigate (even for me, if I'm honest). Now, The Endless Novel looks all swanky and less blog-spotty. As a consequence, some of the reviews have a terrible colour/font/font size issue, but I'm working on it - I'm just a tiny human.

The categories are quite easy to navigate, too : 

I think this blog was becoming something I didn't want it to be - a long collection of half-arsed reviews. I definitely liked it better when it was more personal and diverse. Of course, music is the front, centre and back of my life, I don't think you need an update on that. Yet, it's not my only interest. I read an awful lot and want to write about it - there has to be something to write about when you read up to fifty five books in the space of a year. I also have a life outside of gigs and music - a lot of it is in my brain, and those are the hardest posts to write, but sometimes, the most rewarding. 

I am still inspired to write and I still want to carry on doing this.

It's just that I'm a mess.

Happy new year (if it's still socially okay to wish a happy new year on the twentieth of January). I hope 2017 brings you love and puppies.