Convincing my grandmother to join in this adventure wasn’t hard to do because she is famously kind and open-minded...and because I didn’t give her any details about what I’d signed us up for. I think I actually described EDM as “kind of like free-form jazz but a tiny bit louder.” A tiny bit louder. Still, this massive lie of omission felt okay-ish until we actually arrived at San Bernardino’s San Manuel Amphitheater and I had what can only be described as a bad-granddaughter-induced panic attack. Before we could even see the venue, I felt the first ominous rumble of notably un-jazz-like bass vibrate through the car. As we parked, hundreds of people in thongs and pasties passed us toting signs with messages like “Come Twerk With Us.”

“What’s twerking?” Grammy Annette asked.

“Wow, look at that weird tree over there!” I responded.

In my head, I began drafting an email to my mom, apologizing for exposing her mom to such millennial garbage vocabulary.

Keyed up as I was, I practically lunged between my grandma and the pierced, neon-haired boy who shyly approached us as we queued up at the entrance gate.

“I just wanted to say that it’s awesome that you’re here,” he said, ignoring the human wall I’d made with my body. “I wish my grandmother would come to one of these things with me.” My grandma laughed and gave the boy a gentle and, well, grandmotherly pat on the cheek.