By Taylor Long

Dear Death Cab for Cutie,

I love you. Really, I do. For the past four years, I’ve been quite the dedicated fan; buying every album, every T-shirt, attending as many concerts as possible.

We’re all familiar with the expression “love at first sight.” Well, with you, it was “love at first listen.” The first time I heard the heartbreaking beauty of a Death Cab for Cutie song, I was standing in Seattle’s newly created Experience Music Project, at a listening station in the gift shop. I heard the first 15 seconds of “Title Track,” the first song off your brilliant sophomore effort, We Have The Facts And We’re Voting Yes, and I was in love. The sparse, unforgettable intro, the way the drums kicked in after the first verse, Ben Gibbard’s alluring voice-I was looking for a sound, I didn’t know what, I couldn’t describe it, but you had captured it. You won me over, and from that moment on, it was nothing but bliss.

The first time I saw you live, it was in the Crocodile Café in Seattle, a small, scenester-ridden café not even half the size of Hofstra USA. Most recently, I saw you live last Friday at the Roseland Ballroom in New York City, a venue with a total capacity of exactly 3,500. We’ve come a long way, baby.

Just like a good friend, you’ve been there for me through my formative years, and I’ve been there for yours. I found you during my sophomore year of high school; you were on your “sophomore” album. When I left to come to New York for college, Photo Album’s “Blacking Out The Friction,” was there for me, appropriately warning me that “the hardest part is yet to come / when you will cross the country alone.” When I came back from my first year of college, you were prepping Transatlanticism, and I was there for your first show at the Gorge, Washington’s big outdoor arena. I got into every side-project of every member of the band, every musical ambition. I saw Ben Gibbard perform solo, I got into one of Nick Harmer’s projects, Juno, and I even got to meet and interview Ben Gibbard as part of The Postal Service last spring. Our love was in its honeymoon stage, and boy, was the love good.

And of course, throughout the disappointments of love and relationships, you were there. There was “Title Track” for those disappointing went-nowhere kisses, “For What Reason” for that time I thought writing a letter was a good idea, and “A Lack of Color” for when I regretted that letter a week later. “Champagne From A Paper Cup” was perfect for nights when alcohol seemed like a great way to forget a face, and “Company Calls Epilogue” for when the pure sadness had settled in.

You released Transatlanticism at the beginning of a very transitional point in my life (mid-fall semester of last year), and it’s obvious that that album was a very important transitional part of yours. Suddenly, you were appearing on Craig Kilborn’s show and “Last Call With Carson Daly” (for which I saw the taping). Next thing I knew, Transatlanticism was selling like a Tommy Lee-Pamela Anderson sex tape, and our private love affair seemed less private; “Transatlanticism” was featured on “Six Feet Under,” you were slated to tour Europe with Blink 182, and you signed on to do the Vote for Change tour with such names as Bruce Springsteen, R.E.M. and Pearl Jam.

But still, you were there for me. In fact, you were literally everywhere for me. I saw you three times in New York last fall, four times in New York this spring, and twice in Seattle over the summer. When the presidential election talk started heating up, you were there with a witty shirt in support of my candidate of choice. I knew we still had something special, even if I had to share you with other people.

But I’m going to be honest, Death Cab. It’s taking some getting used to. No love is perfect. I don’t like having to fight my way to my usual spot at the front of the stage. I don’t like all these crazy teenaged fans who sing the words to the songs out louder than Ben at shows. I’ve spent an already ridiculous price on T-shirts, albums and tickets, and now ticket prices are rising even higher (mostly because of TicketBastard Ticketmaster).

Don’t get me wrong. I am happy that you’re finding fans and can support yourself with your career(s) of choice, really I am. But you must understand. Everyone has that one band that they watch grow, and even though my joy for all the new people discovering your musical genius is great, a small part of our relationship has died and gone. I’ll forever be that seemingly pretentious fan that holds on to our first concert, your first and second albums, but I will still be upfront at all your concerts (provided I can still afford them), no matter what happens. You are the musical love of my life, and I will keep our love affair alive and strong.

Forever Yours,

Taylor Long

p.s. Yes, I realize the narcissism, self-indulgence and cheese quotients of this column, but in case you didn’t get it, that’s the point.