I attended my first [popular music] concert at the age of 22.
And ever since then, I have disliked concerts.
If you love concerts, hear me out.
The concert I attended when I was 22 was outside. It was loud and there was lots of cigarette smoke. I hate loud music and cigarette smoke. People throw so many things you can recycle in the trash. You can't bring your own reusable water bottle, thanks to a few people who smuggled in alcohol and ruined it for the people who want to stay hydrated.
If you buy the kind of tickets I have to buy to concerts (the cheapest ones, which are still super expensive), there is usually nowhere that is not gross to sit.
I recently attended a concert inside. It was a small-ish concert, inside a dark bar (dislike) with posters for all the bands who would be coming next. Most bands had grotesque graphics and dark names. The artist I was seeing sang songs about peace, nature, harmony, unity. I watched the bartenders and concert-goers throw away huge amounts of recycling, while an opening act sang about the evils of Monsanto and received loud cheers. I felt confused. There was no cigarette smoke, but there was a different kind of smoke. I learned, from my concert-experienced husband, that you do not mention that it smells like that kind of smoke. Oops. Sorry about that, fellow concert-goers. I also learned from him that you should not wear the shirt of the band or artist you are going to see; and I learned (too late) that you should not spend the whole day listening to that artist in preparation for the show.
We sat (sat!) through an opening act that was fine, a second opening act, which required ear plugs (dislike). Then it was time. Earplugs in place, we got up and pushed our way into the sea of sweaty, swaying bodies. It was about 15 degrees warmer in that part of the room. We found our spot. It was like ten pm. My bedtime.
And then it happened. The artist we had come to see came on the stage. He looked different from the last two times we'd seen him. He started playing. And, despite disliking almost everything else about the whole concert experience, I knew why I had come. The energy that lights up the room, when you are all standing there, swaying and sweating on each other, singing, is beautiful. It lights up the dark place. Maybe that's why bars are so dark... it helps you to see the colors of the music. And so we stayed, dancing as much as you can in a tiny space, singing, cheering, laughing, trying not to be too grossed out when the people around us brushed their sweaty arms against ours. Most importantly, we felt. We felt the magic of the music, the presence of the humans around us, the connection with the songwriter. And I began to feel that I might like concerts. Just a little bit.
And ever since then, I have disliked concerts.
If you love concerts, hear me out.
The concert I attended when I was 22 was outside. It was loud and there was lots of cigarette smoke. I hate loud music and cigarette smoke. People throw so many things you can recycle in the trash. You can't bring your own reusable water bottle, thanks to a few people who smuggled in alcohol and ruined it for the people who want to stay hydrated.
If you buy the kind of tickets I have to buy to concerts (the cheapest ones, which are still super expensive), there is usually nowhere that is not gross to sit.
I recently attended a concert inside. It was a small-ish concert, inside a dark bar (dislike) with posters for all the bands who would be coming next. Most bands had grotesque graphics and dark names. The artist I was seeing sang songs about peace, nature, harmony, unity. I watched the bartenders and concert-goers throw away huge amounts of recycling, while an opening act sang about the evils of Monsanto and received loud cheers. I felt confused. There was no cigarette smoke, but there was a different kind of smoke. I learned, from my concert-experienced husband, that you do not mention that it smells like that kind of smoke. Oops. Sorry about that, fellow concert-goers. I also learned from him that you should not wear the shirt of the band or artist you are going to see; and I learned (too late) that you should not spend the whole day listening to that artist in preparation for the show.
We sat (sat!) through an opening act that was fine, a second opening act, which required ear plugs (dislike). Then it was time. Earplugs in place, we got up and pushed our way into the sea of sweaty, swaying bodies. It was about 15 degrees warmer in that part of the room. We found our spot. It was like ten pm. My bedtime.
And then it happened. The artist we had come to see came on the stage. He looked different from the last two times we'd seen him. He started playing. And, despite disliking almost everything else about the whole concert experience, I knew why I had come. The energy that lights up the room, when you are all standing there, swaying and sweating on each other, singing, is beautiful. It lights up the dark place. Maybe that's why bars are so dark... it helps you to see the colors of the music. And so we stayed, dancing as much as you can in a tiny space, singing, cheering, laughing, trying not to be too grossed out when the people around us brushed their sweaty arms against ours. Most importantly, we felt. We felt the magic of the music, the presence of the humans around us, the connection with the songwriter. And I began to feel that I might like concerts. Just a little bit.
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