On Tuesday evening, I went to a local dive bar to watch Dream Syndicate perform. There was no opening act (or rather, as Steve Wynn later joked, “The Dream Syndicate” was opening for “The Dream Syndicate”) and a blissful 7 p.m. start time. I greeted the waitress at the door, bought a bottle of water, grabbed a bar stool on the far wall, and opened the book I was reading on my phone until the show started.
At the end of September, I walked into the Majestic Theater to see the Michael Shannon/Jason Narducci REM tribute. This is a GA venue that seats over 1,000 people. When the door opened, I headed toward the fence, for no other reason than that the nearby volume helped drown out what fans of the band call “chompers” — people who view the concert as a suitable backdrop for conversation. Happily, I found myself standing with four other women. We were killing time before the show, talking about other concerts we’d been to recently, and taking turns looking at each other’s spots when someone needed to use the bathroom. (There was no line in the women’s room at that show, which was a big reason I wanted to get closer, so I wouldn’t risk standing next to a guy who needed to explain REM to me, like the guy I had dinner with at the bar before the show.)
A few weeks ago I stopped by Trinosophes, a coffee shop/arts union that often hosts more experimental/alternative musicians—Marissa Anderson had a gorgeous show there earlier this year—to see BASIC, a stunning trio that fuses minimalist jazz and experimental rock. I paid the guy at the counter, who was having an espresso, and decided to kill some time at People’s Records, a record store attached to the venue, along with other showgoers and a few musicians who were performing the opening act. I sat in the corner of the room, which is the best for my damaged hearing, and thoroughly enjoyed the settings.
We absolutely need to dismantle the idea that going to a concert alone is anything unusual or bad behavior.
What all these concert events have in common is that I attend them myself. This should definitely not be news to anything, but a leading music magazine recently published a news story declaring that “going to a concert alone is one of the supreme human experiences.” The story wasn’t actually about that, but a mash-up of coverage of Phoebe Bridgers’ recent phone-free concert, which meant that when attendees spotted a celebrity at the show, they couldn’t actually report that person to the bar, even though you had someone standing in the place alone, although you could report it to someone outside the bar.
But the author’s reasoning as to why it’s okay to go to the show without a date or friends doesn’t actually provide a compelling reason. Their awkward and over-the-top gibberish about solo concerts meaning you can better participate in “the oneness of things” makes you wonder if the person writing this has actually been to a concert, let alone attended one themselves. I didn’t realize we had to prove or defend this, or that this was anything unusual.
Want more from culture than just the latest trends? The Swell emphasizes timeless art.
Register here
Their mistake is that the “top human experience” is just going to a concert. (As Neil Young once said, “Live music is better/should issue bumper stickers.”) The idea that watching one of the most important tours of the year alone is “sad” is so silly that it should never be considered news coverage of any kind. We absolutely need to dismantle the notion that going to a concert alone is anything unusual or bad behavior.
I’m biased. I’ve been going to concerts alone since I was 14 years old. It wasn’t necessarily my choice, but I wanted to do something important that no one else I knew wanted to do, and I wasn’t going to let this little detail stop me. As I progressed throughout my life, sometimes I had friends or peers going to shows with me, and sometimes—as happens to normal people in normal life—I didn’t. If I only attended concerts if I had company, I would miss out on so much. This is a silly request that is clearly dictated by people who think live music is just another thing you can do on a given night, which is not something anyone who truly loves music should be guided by.
The first time I went to a concert alone (it was my second), my mom dropped me off at the venue (she later explained that she allowed this because she thought it would “get it out of my system.”) It wasn’t difficult to find my seat location by following the letters and numbers on the ticket, and when I sat down, the lady on my side immediately excitedly introduced herself, while the two guys on my other side managed to tell me within the first two minutes that they would be happy to buy me a beer “if you didn’t bring your ID,” with a wink. Everyone was excited to see Bruce Springsteen, even though we were about a million miles away from the stage upstream from the New Haven Coliseum.
Everyone had a concert story to tell except me. Everyone talks about what other concerts they’re going to, which radio stations (specifically which DJs) can be counted on to be friendly to Springsteen or provide the best information, and everyone swaps information about other bands’ upcoming tours based on what they’ve read or heard. As soon as the door opened and I was dropped off, I thought it would be a long and agonizing wait before the concert started, but instead, I made a dozen new good friends in 15 minutes.
After the concert, the girls sitting next to me gave me their phone numbers and told me to call me if I ever went to a show in Hartford. This experience will forever be repeated in different forms in the United States, Canada, and several European countries, and can still happen now if you want this to be your experience. You can also decide to rock out when you want and spend time reading a book without talking to anyone. Or you could limit your social interactions to the time-honored tradition of observing someone’s space while they run to the bathroom. This is very normal, accepted behavior that anyone who attends concerts regularly already understands.
If I only attended concerts if I had company, I would miss out on so much. This is a silly request that is clearly dictated by people who think live music is just another thing you can do on a given night, which is not something anyone who truly loves music should be guided by.
Let’s be honest: when I was a teenager I dreamed of the day I could attend every concert my heart desired with every friend who also loved the band, but reality always came out in a different way. As an adult, it can still be challenging to coordinate schedules and availability, let alone other key details such as preferred arrival times and seating/standing locations. Sometimes it’s easier and more convenient if everyone manages their own tickets and concert experience. If you want to hang out with friends, plan a post-show gathering at a bar, restaurant, or on your way to the subway. Absolutely no accompaniment is needed for a concert!
Sure, times have changed, yes, everyone has a little computer in their pocket and there are countless ways to kill time before a show. Nowadays, concerts are not one of the only ways you can meet people with similar interests as you. But I’ve heard from younger friends that they’re going to see shows by people like Harry Styles or Taylor Swift, and I witnessed it myself recently at a local Bikini Kill show (I was one of the seniors in the pre-GA section at the time), and the kids were still doing the same things I did in 1978: they talked to each other, they exchanged social handles, they exchanged important information. This can still happen if you’re open to the experience, which should be reassuring to those who are hesitant to buy concert tickets if they don’t know anyone else who wants to go with them.
The only way acting alone can negatively impact you is during the ticket purchase process for a reserved seat event. That’s because nowadays, Ticketmaster won’t let you buy a pair, or will tell you that you have to choose an adjacent seat (even if there aren’t adjacent seats at the time, this has happened to me and countless of my friends). In the past, buying a one-way ticket was a way to get yourself the best seat since there were always seats left. Even if I were going to a show with a friend, we’d still probably try to buy separate tickets to better improve our chances of getting better seats. Thank you, Ticketmaster, for continuing to find ways to make this process a pain!
(Karin Ross) Walk alone
The only real downside to attending a solo concert is that if you’re a single woman and a man in your neighborhood decides it’s his solemn duty to interrogate anyone who doesn’t look like him to determine their worth, for example, the kind of man who will talk to any man I bring to a show even though they tell him, “She’s a fan and I’m just there because I’m interested in checking them out,” there’s no way we deserve the space we occupy. (But that’s an entirely different article.)
I think it’s actually an expression of supreme self-love and self-awareness that you’re happy enough with yourself to be absolutely content to go to a concert as a party of one. Honestly, no one should have to wait for another person to do anything they want to do (except, I don’t know, tandem bike riding). But what we should definitely stop doing is focusing on other people living their lives the way they want, which includes deciding to go to a concert without an entourage. Buy a ticket. Go to a show. We’ll see you there.
Read more
From music columnist Caryn Rose