Black Women, It’s Okay To Go To Rock Concerts.
Learnings from a reluctant black concertgoer.
Feeling at ease in predominantly white spaces can be difficult for black women.
“Why are you wearing that shirt? Do you even listen to XX band?” These are familiar remarks that many of us have encountered at some point in our lives. Comments that elicit eye rolls and cringes in response to the pretentiousness of gatekeeping.
For black individuals, there is often an undercurrent of racial micro-aggression, prompting thoughts like, “Why assume that I don’t listen to XX?”. Nobody wants to be confined to a box or have people make stereotypical assumptions about their music choices based on their appearance.
To a certain extent, it’s understandable — human beings are naturally protective of their likes and dislikes. Social Identity Theory (Tajfel & Turner, 1979) explains that when we identify with a particular group, we adopt its characteristics, and conform to its norms, beliefs, and even its dress and behaviours.
Music has always played a significant role in shaping identity. Growing up in the early 2000s, I experienced the prevalence of groups like emo, indie kids, and scene kids — genres and subcultures I enjoyed but considered unconventional for a black teenage girl at that time. Many too can relate to the fear of being labelled an ‘Oreo’ or accused of “trying to look white” for having a diverse music taste and appearance.
Conversely, within the alternative scene, there was often a disdain for notoriously black-dominated genres like hip-hop and rap, showing the historical tension between the two music tastes. Noel Gallagher, for instance, once declared hip-hop “wrong” for Glastonbury, an iconic, British contemporary festival, contrasting with Glastonbury’s embrace of artists like Kendrick Lamar in recent years.
Yet, despite the naysayers, I’ve always embraced all forms of music, including rock. As a black British person, I’ve recognised that rock’s roots can be traced back to African-American music history. Rock music originated in the 1950s and 1960s, including elements of rhythm and blues and country music, both with black roots. This knowledge has always elicited a sense of pride in me as the black diaspora remains as influential as ever in the music scene.
Still, I’ve always felt reluctant to attend rock concerts. The feeling is similar to the hesitation experienced by some Black individuals in frequenting certain spaces — pubs being a prominent example discussed on social media. The racist history of the UK is widely known, and it wasn’t too long ago that pubs across the country displayed signs reading “no blacks, no Irish, no dogs” during the 60s. Such cultural memories undeniably influence our comfort in choosing places to visit, particularly when we know we’ll be in the minority, with Black people representing just 4% of the British population.
Even so, last year, I liberated myself from the weight of my fears and did something I wouldn’t have considered in my teenage years — I attended a Paramore concert, solo.
The experience turned out to be exhilarating, not only because Paramore is one of my favourite bands and I know the majority of their songs, but also because the atmosphere was electrifying.
Before the concert, I hesitated, wondering if I would be the only black woman there and if I might encounter hostility. However, having invested around £100 and secured some fantastic seats, not attending was not an option. Therefore, I decided to go regardless of the lingering discomfort in my stomach.
Following my normal routine, I bought two beers and located my seat, finding two white millennial couples on either side of me. As I settled in, excitement overcame any initial discomfort, after all, I was there to enjoy the music, and no one could take that away from me.
The concert opened with the indie band Bloc Party, fronted by Kele Okereke, a singer of Nigerian heritage, who reminded me of the contributions that black artists have made to the indie landscape. Watching Block Party was great and I was soon nodding along to their iconic songs.
So, was the concert uncomfortable at times? Yes, especially when navigating past both couples for toilet breaks or to purchase more drinks, receiving disapproving looks in return. Did I care? No.
While the incredible Hayley Williams danced on stage and encouraged the crowd to join in, I couldn’t help but notice that no one around me seemed willing to dance. Dancing and good vibes were familiar to me, as I frequently attended R&B and hip-hop gigs, and this Paramore concert was no exception. Undeterred, I embraced the moment, throwing caution to the wind as I stood up, sang my heart out, and did my two-step. We had invested too much money to sit like statues.
Life is like that, too. Why should we sit still when we can have fun? Why let stupid comments or fear of the unknown stop us from doing what we want and enjoying ourselves? Black women and people, in general, have every right to take up space without apology. I left that concert feeling not only liberated but also with a fresh perspective. It’s okay to be in white spaces; I don’t need to justify my presence.
As I’ve attended more gigs, it’s clear that the indie scene has become more diverse, with black women like Willow, Rachel Chinouriri, and Arlo Parks at the forefront. I’ve been enjoying going to various types of gigs, and this will continue. I’ve also noticed an increase in the number of people of colour attending these types of concerts, which is encouraging as Gen-Z embrace a wider range of musical tastes. I hope this becomes a trend for years to come. I also hope that the next generation of black women isn’t afraid to take up space in white-dominated venues, as I have been guilty of in the past.
