I just saw Emperor X in New Haven for the second time. I saw him last year, in a small venue whose name I don’t remember, and then again tonight, at a brewery. Last time I shouted for him to play “Raytracer” at least four times. Tonight it was the second song he played. I sang along:

Did you ever get help,
with a pro – oooooo – blem, or exercise?

He sang it in a way that differed from the recording, so I stumbled a bit in the lyric’s second half and quieted back down. Then he sang the next line, the one that I remember grabbed my attention when I heard it for the first time, back in 2021:

Did you ever get sad on your bed late at night,
crying, listening to Either/Or?

Cheap. But yeah, I did. According to my last.fm, I listened to that album about twenty times in the fall semester of my freshman year of high school. And about thirty more times since. I liked Elliott Smith a lot in high school.

Anyway, when I heard that line in this song, I remember looking up the rest of the lyrics, and then listening to it on repeat for a while. I fell in love with that “problem or exercise” line. It reminded me of when my life was filled with problem sets.

There was CS50, which was easy enough. I don’t remember ever needing help in that. My code would generally run smoothly, and if it didn’t, Stack Exchange was there to help. There were office hours but I don’t think I ever went.

Then there was my suitemate’s philosophy class which ambushed him with a bunch of unexpected set theory problems. Luckily for him, set theory was my jam in high school. About once a week, I’d give him a quasi-lecture on whatever set theory stuff he needed. Then I’d do most of his homework for him.

And there was MATH230, Yale’s most rigorous intro-level math course, which I came into college excited to excel in. I did alright. When our professor explained things in class, I grasped them pretty easily. My lecture notes were good. One time he asked for help spelling the word “giraffe” mid-lecture and I guided him through it. I felt good.

The problem sets were the most challenging coursework I’d seen in my life up until that point. No matter, I was eighteen and ready to spend nights awake in the library grinding them out. And I did, sometimes. When, on occasion, I derived a proof I was particularly proud of – one that I intuitively got, one that I felt I could boil down to plain language – I’d send it to my friends back at home and explain it to them. There was some measure of vanity involved in that, but I think I was mostly just happy at how much sense it made, how pretty math could be.

But other times I couldn’t derive the proofs on my own. After trying every tool I could think of, I just wouldn’t be able to crack it. The class was collaborative by nature – there were big study halls multiple times per week, where we were encouraged to work out the answers with our classmates. I went once. A girl I worked with provided me with some piece of insight that allowed me to work out a problem that was giving me a lot of trouble. I didn’t provide anything useful in exchange. I mean, I tried, but progress just wasn’t happening that night on a couple of other problems.

There’s some point here about not being willing to accept help, but that’s not the point, really. I didn’t go to the study halls again. All the work on my problem sets was my own. Sometimes I left problems blank.

I was singing along to “Raytracer” by Emperor X:

Did you ever get help with the problems?
No, you never can admit it
That’s fine, I’m going home to fail

I got a middling grade on that class’s first midterm and dropped it without talking to the professor. Then I became an English major. None of this is the point. The point is:

There were three smaller bands before Emperor X took the stage. To briefly describe each, in order: mathy rock-n-roll revival, local-scene-favorite pop punk, Manchester Orchestra with more shouting. I enjoyed them all. And, from the looks of it, they were mostly enjoying themselves too. I watched the guitarists for most of the sets, asked myself if I could play what they were playing, snuck glances at their pedal boards.

Then I’d look up at their faces and I’d realize most of them weren’t much older than me. We’re in the same stage of life, really – and yes, I could play pretty much any of the guitar parts I saw, given a bit of time to rehearse. But I’m watching them instead. And haven’t I seen this pop punk band before? I recognize the vocalist’s stage schtick.

I spoke with the guy behind Emperor X after his set, just like I did last year. I bought another album. I told him he ruined my bit by playing “Raytracer” so early in the set and he laughed. He said he’d see me again next time.

And next time, I’ll probably still be here, won’t I? I’ll watch some talented musicians play and remind myself that I-Could-Do-This-If-I-Really-Wanted-To. I’ll remember my math years again, telling myself that if I had just grinded harder, I could have been a published author at Princeton doing some fuck-off math Ph. D. right now. I’ll even entertain the thought of buying some textbooks again, of autodidactifying myself to at least an undergrad level of math specialization.

I’ll watch more of my alternate lives dance in front of me, in different bodies maybe, imagining the possibility that they all still inhabit me, too. But I’ll be twenty-three or twenty-four then, probably considering my next career move, likely with no album out. Maybe I’ll get two beers, instead of one.