I’ve got 33 years of concert going experience. And it’s still a thrill.
Mostly.
The vast majority of shows I attend are in venues ranging from 200 to 2,000 persons, where standing is the only option. Over time, my preferred vantage point has changed.
In the olden days (the 90s, if you will) I liked to be down the front. Either jumping up and down or pinned against the barrier at the front with speakers blasting directly into my ears.
These days I take a more relaxed approach. Happy to stand further back and take it all in without the discomfort.
There are some aspects of gig etiquette that can have a deleterious effect on my enjoyment.
There are plenty of reports that concert crowd behaviour has devolved since the pandemic, as though people have lost all sense of how to behave. Personally, I haven’t seen any difference to pre-Covid times. Maybe I’m going to the wrong shows. Which makes them the right ones.
One big change since my early concert going days is that crowd surfing and stage diving appear a thing of the past.
I’m torn on this one.
While I wouldn’t wish to curtail the personal freedom to hurl oneself off the stage, there were occasions in the early to mid 90s when the inexorable wave of bodies passing overhead with arms, legs and boots flailing in all directions coupled with over eager gig-goers landing on top of you from a height could be distracting. And painful.
Having moved to a vantage spot further back, the main gripe I now have is with tall people.
As a person of slightly below average height, I feel that a carefully policed stepped-system of shortest at the front, through to tallest at the back would be a big plus.
Ok, maybe that’s unreasonable. As well as impractical.
I’m the shortest in the group of friends that I go to gigs with. Unless I swap my friends for people of the same height, the stepped system would result in being stood on my own. Tall people have as much right to be there in the action. What it comes down to is that tall people with good timekeeping are to be commended. Taking up position early allows me to see the obstructions and find an unhindered sightline.
The real problem? The ones that turn up late.
The ones that push their way through the crowd into spaces that don’t exist and stand right in front of me. Though, last week: in a variation on this, a couple worked their way through the crowd several songs in, stopping next to me.
The woman, around 5ft 5in, immediately complained to her partner as to why he’d led them there. She had a perfectly good view where they’d been – but now found herself behind a strapping six-footer. Her partner was unconcerned, he could see fine.
I don’t give the relationship long with that dynamic.
Have some self awareness, is all I ask. If you’re going to push your way in, standing behind instead of in front of the shortie isn’t going to affect your enjoyment and will be appreciated by the person of restricted stature.
Next up: People who see the performers as providing background music to their more pressing need to socialise with their friends.
You’d think the volume would prevent in depth conversation, but they carry on regardless. It does become more of an issue the quieter and more refined the performer. Or the emptier the venue.
I saw a band called Brakes in 2007, with only 30 or so of us in attendance. With such a sparse crowd you’d like to think everyone would give their full attention to supporting the band.
But one group spent the evening largely oblivious to what was happening on stage. It’s disrespectful to the band, and it’s annoying as hell to anyone to everyone that has to put up with the carousing. If you want to have your own private party go to a bar, you don’t need to pay for a ticket.
Then there’s the parrots:
Repeating whatever they hear on stage.
The Duckworth Lewis Method were an Irish supergroup, featuring Neil Hannon of The Divine Comedy, with two albums entirely themed around cricket.
An unlikely but winning combination presented with a love of the game and a sense of humour.
I saw them in 2013. The cricket theme brought in an unusual mix of sport and music lovers. The entire band gave the impression that they were, how shall I put it? Well oiled.
It was the funniest gig I’ve ever been to. They were excellent raconteurs with as much focus on between song storytelling as the music. The only blight on the evening was the guy behind me. He knew all the lyrics… which was commendable. The problem was that he showed this off by continually repeating lines for the benefit of his friend and then explaining the cricketing context or why that line was so clever / funny.
I paid to see the drunk people on stage, not to listen to a running commentary on what I was experiencing. His friend didn’t say much, he may have been thinking the same as me. At least I could move away from him.
I’ve also had this at a comedy show where we were trapped in our seats while a guy in the row behind drove us to distraction.
He kept repeating back what the comedian said before laughing out of time with the rest of us then offering a summation such as “That’s brilliant!”.
Miracles do happen, though. He didn’t come back after the interval. Maybe someone told him he wasn’t welcome back, maybe he thought the interval was actually the end. Whatever the reason, we all breathed a sigh of relief and got on with enjoying the show unencumbered by his interjections.
One of the accusations I’ve seen levelled at unruly crowds since the pandemic is throwing things at the stage.
I don’t condone it. But this is far from a post pandemic problem. Its just that maybe the things being thrown have changed.
The Reading Festival of the ’80s was notorious.
At that time it was largely the preserve of ageing heavy rock bands and the crowd were forthright in letting anyone that disappointed them know.
In the form of beer cans and plastic bottles full of urine hurled stagewards. Full beer can or bottle of piss? I don’t think there’s an answer to which is preferable to see arcing towards you.
It reached a head in 1988.
Bonnie Tyler refused to be cowed by the aerial assault and won the crowd over by standing her ground and unleashing her own barrage of choice language.
Meat Loaf, who followed her did not. He didn’t even get through his first song before the liquid bombardment forced him offstage.
He did gave it another go.
Twice.
The second time he reappeared was with what was intended to be a crowd pleasing rendition of “Bat Out Of Hell.” The delays gave the crowd the chance to re-arm. Sensing blood, they weren’t going to let him off the hook. A piss-filled projectile was delivered with expert precision right into his face.
That was the end of Meat.
Despite the Reading festival pivoting from rock to alternative, the threat remains.
Numerous acts have been met with a volley of human effluent.
Brendan Urie of Panic! At The Disco took a direct hit that knocked him out. Unlike Meat Loaf, he got knocked down but he got up again and finished the set.
This unsociable behaviour can be pinned on the demon drink: Both in loosening the compulsion to adhere to social niceties and the simple fact that what is consumed must be expelled. Those festival toilets can be miles away, so urinating in a bottle and not losing your place can be a more attractive option to the inebriate.
I would like to point out that I have never partaken in such activity.
No matter how much of a trek it is to the toilets I have too much self respect to descend to that level.
I have been subjected to a shower of beer when excitement has overtaken the crowd.
In 2011 I saw Arctic Monkeys in Sheffield.
A hometown show in a giant marquee. As they hit the stage and launched into a frenetic set opener the tent erupted into a bouncing mess of delirium.
Rather than launching their drinks at the band dozens of pints were sent directly up in the air raining beer back down on us all. I went home smelling like a brewery. But on that occasion, it came from a place of excitement. If that happened every gig, I’m sure the good feeling would wane. But as a one off, I can cope.
Being at a festival, the lure of alcohol all day every day is an understandable temptation. Turning up at a gig already plastered is not acceptable. Especially on a Wednesday night.
Watching Gruff Rhys in 2015, I was assailed by the drunk chap behind me whose constant lurching dance moves bore no relation to the sounds Gruff was producing.
A space grew around him in a vain attempt to put some distance between him and us but his movements were so uncontrolled it just gave him more space to ricochet off us like a demented pinball.
He did have sober friends with him. They were apologetic but did nothing to stop him. Just kept propping him up whenever the angle of lurching went too far and sent him back our way.
One other aspect of alcohol’s ability to interrupt the show is one I can’t pin on anyone else. It’s a part of the aging process.
We normally meet up in a pub for a pint and a catch up before the show. Then grab another drink in the venue.
The youthful version of my bladder could easily cope with this and get me through the support and main act without the need to urinate.
These days, a couple of pints are a virtual guarantee that at some point I’ll need to visit the conveniences. Which brings with it: the conundrum of when is an appropriate time to do so.
It needs to be carefully timed, you don’t want to be mid flow and hear the opening chords of your favourite song strike up.
Even waiting for a song that isn’t in your top 10 of that act offers no certainty. Depending on how deep the crowd that you have to push through, how far away the toilets are and if there’s a queue as everyone else decides this is the right time you can easily lose a whole song or more.
Another popular complaint is the scourge of phones at gigs.
Specifically: people watching the action through a screen as they record it rather than being present in the moment.
This isn’t one that bothers me as a crowd member. I can’t speak for those on stage looking out and seeing the backs of phones being held up. That is: with the proviso that as long as the phone being held up isn’t directly in front of me and drawing my gaze to that rather than direct to the stage.
If others want to distract themselves from the real life view to a vastly reduced in scale screen? That’s their prerogative.
Over to you:
Does anyone have any bugbears or examples of audience bad behaviour past or present?
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I’ve mentioned this before, but back in the early 00s, my former piano student got into John Mayer when his debut album, Room for Squares, had only been out a short time and a couple of songs were getting airplay. He asked me if I wanted to go with him to a show at the House of Blues. It was a great show in a more intimate venue and for most of it, we were right up front by the stage. Just a couple of years later, Mayer was a much bigger name, and once again, my former student asked me if I wanted to go, as he and his friends had an extra ticket. This time, it was at an arena sized venue, and we were far from the stage. The audience was now filled with screaming teenage girls, and it was difficult to hear the music. It was not nearly as an enjoyable experience, and as a middle aged guy, I felt weirdly out of place. What a difference just a couple of years can make.
Other than that, not much to tell. I don’t go to a lot of shows. I give you a lot of credit for hanging in there for something you truly enjoy.