I’ve been to plenty of concerts in my time – big stadium shindigs where one end of the room inhabits a different postcode to the other, through to venues so intimate that the performers are, for all intents and purposes, sitting in your lap. They’re very different experiences but each enjoyable in their own way. And I’ve also learned that there are certain rules that should be adhered to when attending a musical performance.
Firstly, don’t try and ‘level jump’ on your friendship with the artist. That’s especially important when attending a small gig and the first thing that happens is that you run into members of the band you’ve come to see. A nod of acknowledgment or a subtle tip of the hat are both entirely acceptable, but squealing like a child and asking for a hug may see you escorted from the venue before a note has been played.
A few weeks back, we saw one of my all-time favourite bands, The Burning Hell, who’d travelled from Canada. As we raced indoors and out of the rain, we almost collided with the group. Knowing that I had to keep my cool, I nodded sagely in their direction. They nodded back. Nothing was said – no words were required.
Things only became awkward later when we ordered bar snacks, including a gigantic bowl of potato wedges. Because seating was limited, everyone I’d come with was sitting down along a wooden siding whilst I hovered, a metre or so away, trying to simultaneously blend in with the gathering throng and remain connected to my group. Then the unthinkable happened – I leaned over to get a potato wedge. As I pulled myself upright, I came face to face with the lead singer of The Burning Hell.
In standing up, a fistful of steaming potato goodness clenched in my fist, I had inadvertently blocked the singer’s passage as he attempted to make the all-important journey from the stage to the bar. To break the deadlock, we each moved to get out of the way of the other but moved in the same direction. Then we did it again. From his perspective, I doubt he saw someone doing their best to be helpful but, rather, someone that was actively seeking to obstruct him from getting through. He may even have considered it a hostage situation. I saw a flash of panic in his eyes as I realised that this fleeting interaction had suddenly driven a (potato) wedge between us.
After being restrained by security, I enjoyed the subsequent gig from outside the venue. Given a choice, I’d have rather remained indoors, but at least I wasn’t hungry.
Last week we trekked over the Festival Hall to see The Flaming Lips. For the uninitiated, there’s no experience on earth quite like a show by The Flaming Lips. It’s a unifying, uplifting, multimedia extravaganza that soothes the human spirit. Unless, of course, you are terrifyingly drunk.
It’s been a while since I’ve stood in the ‘general admission’ area of a large music concert. Things have changed. Whereas once, general admission was a sea of steaming sweat in which individuals clung to their beers like they were the last floatation device left, now it’s mobile phones. I’ve never seen a concert filmed on a phone that I’d ever want to see a second time but, nevertheless, people seemed compelled to record the concert they were ignoring so they could watch an inferior version of it at some future point.
I don’t know where he came from – he simply appeared. Of stocky build and wearing a ‘Regurgitator’ t-shirt, he took up position right in front of us within a distance that means, technically speaking, I may well now be married to him. He hugged his friends, he pointed towards some indeterminate point in the ceiling, he splashed beer all around and danced like a man possessed, if not by the devil, then certainly by beer.
It was then that I realised I was in trouble. Here was a man determined to dance as if he was alone in a paddock and not squashed in with thousands of other human beings. He jumped around. He flailed. Worst of all, he danced backwards towards me. He then seemed surprised when he stood on my feet and even more surprised when I looked unhappy about it. He quickly turned away.
It got worse. At one point, he was so overwhelmed by the moment that he started running up to strangers and demanding that they give him a ‘high-five’. If there’s one thing that strangers don’t appreciate, it’s a high-five from a random drunk person. When they didn’t reciprocate, he then reprimanded for failing to display that right level of enthusiasm. Frankly, he was being something of a jerk.
We were all silly back when we don’t know any better. But, at some point, you leave it behind. The concert – which was spectacular – ended and as we departed Festival Hall, I could see the middle-aged man throwing himself about an empty room. For him, it seems, the music simply never stops.