I think it was the depressing pictures of the first socially-distanced 'gig' that did it. Or maybe the tightening of restrictions that confirmed we were drifting further away from the return of live music, instead of getting any closer.
It could have been Van Morrison - with the fearlessness of age - being the only one brave enough to voice what so many of us who adore music are feeling inside.
All I know is I was watching a YouTube video of The Strokes playing Oxegen in 2006 and it broke me. I was hit by grief for this unique, euphoric experience that transports those in its thrall to a higher plane.
I'd been one of the tens of thousands at that gig in Punchestown, the rain lashing us, concert-goers forming circle chains on each other's shoulders. It was my local festival: the thrill of it all. Will that ever happen again?
Watching it on a screen heightened the loss of it. I could remember the communion between artist and audience, but the feeling was out of reach.
Live music died in 2020. Venues across the world lay empty and silenced. Bands vanished; musicians became redundant. It was wrenched from our lives overnight and yet its absence was barely recorded; its return not prioritised. Certainly, it was not given the spotlight treatment that sport was.
Music lovers tend to be sensitive souls and no doubt the reluctance to shout about it was down to respect for those who have lost loved ones in the pandemic. But it is not a simple sacrifice and shouldn't be so dismissed. For many people, myself included, music is life. It can't be shelved indefinitely in case we're unfairly accused of not caring about lives.
A breaking point came when it became clear that phase four in the easing of lockdown restrictions wasn't going ahead.
Beloved venues had, with audacious optimism, gone to great lengths to plan restriction-compliant gigs for the first time since March.
Those of us who were screaming inside with the excitement of seeing a real human playing an actual instrument in our actual ears were dealt a blow when they had to be cancelled. We tried to remain pragmatic and positive, but we're bereft without it.
Understandably so: it's what Bjork would describe as "big-time sensuality" and it's unnatural and abnormal for it to be gone.
The socially-distanced Sam Fender gig in Newcastle upon Tyne made many of us lose hope altogether. It was less of a gig and more a field with human pens in it, containing five people sitting on chairs, watching the live act largely on a cinematic screen.
If this is how it's going to return, don't bother. It's offensive. It's like a gig stripped of all its appeal: soulless.
Was it this that prompted Van Morrison's rallying call to fight to "save live music"?
He believes we need to go back to playing full-capacity audiences. Despite much tittering - by people who never put a head above a parapet - he has a point and I believe time will prove he had foresight. The question is: how do we do it?
Will testing get to a stage where we could be tested on the way into a gig? Will antibodies be the key? It's hard to see the answers now, but we will have to find them.
It pains me to say it, but right now, I'm not sure gigs will ever return with the same sense of abandonment and spontaneity that made them so special.
The heightened awareness of hygiene we have now will make many reluctant to be so intensely physical with strangers.
The longer we go without them, the harder it will be to get them back. But we must try.
Future generations need their own Strokes gig to say: "I was there."