A Field Guide to Using Your Phone at a Concert (also A Rumination on Life)

When I was in middle school, I played trombone in the school’s concert band and jazz band. I was technically sound. I knew exactly what I should do. But I was too afraid of messing up to put any air in the horn. The school cafagymatorium was unreasonably intimidating.

Late in my final year of middle school, I got the call. Our jazz band leader would point to me at a random point during a particularly energetic song in the set. It was time for my solo.

Fast forward 15 or so years and I am at Prospect Park Bandshell in Brooklyn. Jason Isbell is introducing a song he wrote for his currently “very pregnant” wife. The song, “Cover Me Up”, is an epic piece. Even streaming on Spotify arouses some feelings in the least romantic among us.

On the subway home, these two separate memories converged.

You see, in middle school, someone kicked the cord out of the recording equipment. The recording of my one and only (and as I remember it, quite terrible) jazz band solo never happened. It existed in that moment of 90 seconds or so and then only in my memory.

During Jason’s heartfelt performance, hundreds experienced it through their phones. The soft blue glow on their faces as Jason belted out poetic words that brought a tear to my eye and a rapid pace to my heart.

In one moment, a recording of a less-than-awesome performance never happened. In another, hundreds recorded a more-than-awesome performance. In both cases, I will be able to vividly recall both moments only in my mind’s eye. My iPhone was in my pocket this past Friday, where it stayed the whole show.

When you experience concerts through your phone you are not just depriving yourself. Your secondhand presentation deprives those who see the photo or video. It’s getting brisket made with Aaron Franklin’s magic formula, but not cooked by Franklin. Or even worse, watching someone else eat Franklin’s world famous brisket. At best your low light photo is an imitation lacking the soul and meaning imbued by the original creator.

I used to try to take photos at concerts. I thought my friends would need to see proof I was at this amazing event. Then I realized I might have shitty friends if they don’t believe me when I tell them I was there.

With no photos, my stories became better. I felt what the artistic creator was bringing (or not bringing) to the table. I vibed with the music on a whole other level.

I understand the desire to share an amazing experience. Humans should share things they find amazing. To help you do that, I’ve come up with a few ways to share your concert experience in a way that won’t remove you from actually experiencing the concert.

A. Arrive early and get a photo of the band logo on the drum kit. It shows your dedication to detail and to the band.

B. Take a picture of the marquee. This is especially great for your social cred if the sign reads “SOLD OUT”.

C. Take a photo of your ticket stub with the caption, “this show was so awesome, I completely forgot to take a photo”.

Buy the ticket. See the band you’ve never heard of and the bands in your Spotify most played. And see the show, experience the effort these craftsmen and women put into their music. See their art, not your phone.

Inspired by The Minimalists and Michael Carroll and Jason Isbell and Father John Misty.