Have you ever been able to pinpoint the exact moment a piece of music moved you? I mean not just physically, but to tears? To an overwhelming sense of understanding for yourself and the world around you? To the recognition that you’re not alone in navigating it all? If there’s any band that recognizes the importance of casting a light on diving head first into vulnerability, it’s Real Friends. They’ve always been a resource for the reflective music listener, for those in tune with the idea that being human comes with an array of complex emotions. The band’s new record, Blue Hour, perfectly illustrates the value in facing those emotions and breaking down the walls that stifle them in hopes of setting them free. The good news is you don’t have to do any of that without the help of others — that’s what Real Friends is for.

The anticipation of witnessing the band’s latest material live buzzed around Philadelphia’s Theatre of the Living Arts the night their headlining Forever and Ever and Ever and Ever Tour arrived. Everyone readied to welcome the band as if it were their home, attendees eager to reconnect with their introspective wisdom in the form of new songs.

“Our Love Was Like A Sad Song” kicked off the night and sent the room into an emotional frenzy mere moments into the show. Feelings turned to physicality as vocalist Cody Muraro jumped, spun, and stampeded from one end of the stage to the other while crying out words of heartbreaking reflection. The fresh lyrics plucked fans out of the crowd one by one, an endless stream of crowdsurfers surging forward to take part in a new era of Real Friends.

“Cold Blooded” garnered the same reaction, its quick and catchy chorus corralling attendees up and sending them forward full steam ahead. “You left me with a taste of the end / I must have hit a nerve when I said / ‘Can’t you see you’re so cold blooded?’” the crowd pleaded as the bitterness of the question ricocheted around the pit of darting bodies. With every movement, the need for an answer diminished, those once internally-churning feelings releasing themselves into the room and the collective closure that followed patching up all of the wounds they left. Drummer Brian Blake smiled as he watched the therapeutic madness from his elevated seat unfold. 

With everyone’s pent up excitement for experiencing songs from Blue Hour live finally unleashed, the band shifted gears to inject the crowd with the explosive energy of a longtime fan favorite. In a blink, the iconic riff of “Late Nights in My Car” sprinted off the stage and hurtled itself into the room, invoking chaos in bodies that whiplashed back and forth to youth and angst-fueled flashbacks. In another blink Cody was right there with them, leaping off the stage to meet the front of the crowd in its liveliness. Everyone rushed the barricade to scream the beloved lyrics with him, multiple voices merging together to form one palpable display of devotion for the band that had given them the opportunity to do so.

“What a great day in Philly,” Cody declared as he returned to the stage and peered out into the crowd. “Everytime you show up you show Real Friends a lot of love, so from the bottom of my heart I want to thank every one of you in this room.” Moved by that overwhelming love, Cody asked the room to split in two as he introduced the heart-wrenching “Teeth.” Without hesitation, the crowd parted like two open arms eager to embrace someone in need and welcomed him in to continue his heartfelt speech enveloped in the warmth of everyone’s support.

Cody shared his personal attachment to the song, how it emerged out of a dark place he couldn’t fathom emerging from himself. He expressed his appreciation for the power of music, a universal force we can all connect through when the way we’re feeling is too difficult to express. One glance around the room proved how relatable his message was. An observable wave of hurt resonated from person to person as they reflected back on their dark places, but not without the band showing up to remind everyone how healing leaning on others can be. “Tonight, you’re supporting not just the band, but everyone in the room with you,” he continued. “We’re standing together as a family, as a community.”

The shattering honesty and dejection of the song poured out of Cody’s voice. Tattered hearts were revealed as everyone sang along to those familiar feelings, his words of encouragement sticking with us by threading themselves over each fraying seam. We were a family, a community, a unified sea of swaying souls as we let our low moments move through us, purged them out into the world, and mended our wounds together.

Everyone was drenched in emotion when the melancholy of “I’ve Given Up on You” seeped into the room, yet swallowing the difficulty of facing negative memories became effortless with the helping hand of those there that night. “This one’s all you guys,” Cody paused during the middle of the song as he stepped back and let the crowd continue to release the difficulty of the dark days. In an instant, a powerful chorus erupted with the words “It’s been a lonely year” left to take off. Looking around the room and feeling the irony of the moment was breathtaking; surrounded by hundreds of voices reaching out from the depths of isolation, we all realized we were anything but alone. “Thank you for sharing that moment with me. I love you guys,” Cody said sweetly as the song came to an end.

“It’s time to wipe away the tears,” he announced as made his way back to the stage and barreled into the ferocious “Never Has Become Always.” The lights beamed red and the band picked up speed, reinvigorating the room with an unshakeable grit. Guitarists Dave Knox and Eric Haines tossed their bodies into the song with every impassioned strum while attendees followed suit in giving it their all. “Me First” gave everyone another opportunity to eject their energies, the bounce of its beat stirring the crowd up and down. These songs were a much needed visit to life’s spectrum of emotions and reminder that betrayal-tinged resentment was just as important to expel as tears.

Next was bassist Kyle Fasel’s turn to express his appreciation for the band’s supporters. He stepped up to the microphone and credited everyone in the room for the success of Blue Hour’s independent release. With no label backing their latest endeavor, he continued, it was thanks to us the record was heard and felt by the people it was meant to reach. Then, he let his guard down in a brave act of total transparency.

He continued to delve into his thoughts, uncovering a personal piece of his history by sharing the next song’s difficult purpose — a way to cope with the death of his father. Understanding that the devastation of watching a loved one slip away isn’t easy for anyone to endure, Kyle opened his heart, extended his support, and empathized from one human being to another. “If you’ve experienced loss, you’re not alone and I understand what you’re going through,” he promised. It was this message that carried everyone through the weight of “Waiting Room.”

Suddenly there was no stage, no barricade or fan versus band dynamic, just people. People trying their best to make it through their worst. People standing beside other people attempting to do the same. People recognizing the importance of emotional expression, of digging deep into what it means to be human and openly sharing the vulnerabilities that come with it in hopes that it will resonate with someone. People sharing their passion for music’s catharsis thanks to Real Friends.

Tears welled in my eyes, not just because I had the chance to revisit my own experience with departed loved ones, but because I was moved by the gratitude that glowed from the darkest corners of the room as everyone opened the gaping void caused by their losses to make space in their hearts for the individuals around them. There was a sense of trust from every angle, of knowing that with each word we’d catch someone the second they leapt into their vulnerabilities and that they would be there to do the same for us. In this moment it was clear that Kyle was right. The record had reached exactly who it was meant to reach; the people willing to open their hearts, pick up those who fall, and handle their feelings with care. That was it. That was the moment I knew Blue Hour had moved me. I know I can speak for others when I say it changed them too because I watched it happen in real time. I watched the moment Real Friends changed a little piece of our hearts forever.

Having established an environment of trust, the band offered the opportunity to physicalize it by encouraging first-time crowdsurfers to soar above the support of others during “Mess.” “If you’ve never crowdsurfed before, this is the song I want you to do it to” Cody exclaimed just as the beginning of the song rang out. In an instant, dozens of novice and seasoned crowdsurfers alike emerged from the hustle and bustle of the crowd, each one radiating with the glimmer of acceptance after having officially been welcomed into the Real Friends community with open arms.

As the night came to a close, the band called out for one final bout of unadulterated catharsis. “If you’ve had something burning up inside of you, now’s your last chance,” Cody encouraged. “Tell Me You’re Sorry” beamed as everyone whipped back and forth, screamed lyric after lyric, and launched their bodies to the ceiling to give the band one last thanks for giving them a place to let everything free.

Life felt a little lighter stepping out of the venue that night, an overwhelming sense of relief overcoming my once heavy shoulders as I reflected on the healing nature of the experience. Witnessing music you love live is one thing; feeling seen and heard on an emotional level in a crowd full of strangers turned healing partners is another. It wasn’t just a celebration of the new record, but for everything that comes packaged inside — a simultaneous invitation into the band’s fulfilling successes and deepest hardships. It solidified the moment Blue Hour changed me and so many others and the reason Real Friends continues to change those lucky enough to experience them live.

Facing life’s difficulties is inevitable, but facing them alone doesn’t have to be. Knowing I can turn to a band whose raw lyrics and honest conversations remind me of that is incredibly comforting. And the beauty of it all is that you can seek comfort in that too. Real Friends will always be there for you, for everyone, unconditionally through the good and the bad. Forever and ever and ever and ever.