Going to an all ages show as an adult
How to cope with plastered teenagers, enjoy the show and do not undergo a lobotomizing loss of faith of humanity. You got this.
Last night I finally went to a Chance the Rapper concert. I waited for this moment for quite a while. It settled in when I finally bought the tickets to the show three months ago, but really, I’ve been entertaining the thought of going to see Chance live for quite some time. An explicitly absurd amount of time. Last night, it finally happened. Except the experience didn’t play out just quite like I would expect.
As the first caveat, let me quickly say the show was electrifying. There is nothing quite like seeing one of your favorite artists deliver on the big stage and enjoy the spectacle of it all. I’ve been to quite a few shows ranging from the ones that sent my mind racing into space propelled by a combination of neuron fireworks and overall musical high to ones best described as a dispassionate text reading in the middle of a 3am NPR public broadcast. Chance was definitely more in line with the former.
As an adult (questionable self description those who know me would argue), my concert experience has changed drastically. If I wanted to douse my emotional appendages with some sort of potent numbing agent and then slither around the dance-floor to super cuts of a college dorm room Top 40, I’d go to a club or jump of a bridge, still not sure what the most appropriate reaction to that is. The point is, I reserve my substance [over]consumption to run of the mill nights out that take place in a closed off, four wall space and other people present there for the same purpose and in various stages of inebriation. That’s mostly because going out becomes a social experiment. You get together to hangout with friends, do pre-planned and unexpected social activities through the night (like hold Lauren’s hair back after that fifth Goldschlager) and maybe dance a little bit. There is no connection with the music itself as the DJs normally do quick cuts to ensure you don’t feel embarrassed for not knowing the full version of Fresh Prince of Bel Air or don’t get too liberal with the use of the N-Word in a public setting. Concerts are different.
As a concert experience, it can surely remain social, but at it’s core they are private, sentimental and highly personal encounters between the artist and the concert goer. Even in the room/beach/stadium full of people, the best performances make you feel transcendent, like nothing else matters but you and the music. You enter into a sort of symbiotic contract with the performer on terms of which if you continue to passionately wyle out they will continue to serenade and vice versa. Unlike a recorded performance, the passion an artist has often permeates into the venue, making it more of a special feeling to be there.
That’s why I mostly don’t drink at shows. I mean, I enjoy a delightful beverage with varying amount of alcoholic consistency, but I don’t drink. I want to spend my night feeling like I’m on an Ultralight Beam not because Jameson told me so but because I watched Chano from 79th jump on one and sing like he was blasting off into space in a rocket-ship composed entirely of human joy (and he did). If I wanted my night to include scraping a severely inebriated teenager off the floor next to me I would think of some other activity where I could do that and then probably, most definitely not do that activity.
What I’m saying is there needs to be a clearer line of demarcation for the varying stages of concert goers.
I totally get where the kids are coming from as I remember the first time I had a drink. I’m not talking the “your dad thinks it’s cute so he gives you a sip of his scotch why mom grills him from across the room” drink. I’m talking sneak into your friends’ dad’s basement stash and get so posted up on Appleton that reality is sideways. That shit felt good, pre-hangover obviously. It was like this magical moment where everything either became clearer or irrelevant. It was just fun. You stopped caring about some shit and were just in there to have fun. It was also more interesting because, hey, you’re not allowed to do it so naturally you want to do it even more. It felt both a highly enjoyable and a rebellious act well worth the mythological level headaches the following morning. I wanted to do it all the time for social gatherings (hell, most adults still do).
But as a teenager, your access to alcohol is limited outside of the confines of your parental stash. You have to get creative. I get it. So before going to a concert you drink, but because you have to compensate for the fact that a) you can’t drink at the concert and b) there will be some travel time for the drunk to wear off, and given that your transportation options can be limited to bus, subway or rigshaw you compensate some more, you drink a gargantuan amount. Eventually, Chad (it’s always Chad, sorry Chad) comes up with a grand genius idea that if you empty half a coke bottle and fill it with rum it still looks like coke but has the endearing properties of rum. At this point you’ve of course had your travel compensation alcohol, but what the hell, doesn’t seem like a bad idea to have some more. By the time you arrive at the venue you feel extra terrestrial due to the rate you’re melting with the air around you.
What I’m getting to is teenagers partake in the act of drinking for entirely different reasons. There is an element of danger and rebellion, but there is also just pure fascination of this new experience. It becomes a social agent of something they do together, which is circumvent their parents rules and go have fun. It doesn’t help that alcohol makes you feel kind of not bad either (at first). They’re concert experience as such is then centered more around going out to have a few drinks more so than my experience which is dedicating this pocket of my valuable time to enjoying sonic inspiration from someone who’s talents I not only admire but let inspire me in my own day-to-day existence.
Those are two conflicting viewpoints. As much as concerts are social experiences, for many attendees they are also highly private ones. We don’t talk much between each other outside of the “holy shit that was awesome” or “why did he cut this song before the second verse and I didn’t get to yell GAS MONEY part like a deranged lunatic” glances we barely communicate at all. We can discuss it later. Any interactions at the show remain visceral and come as direct reactions to what has been happening on stage.
The teenage experience is a highly social one on the other hand. It involves being in a crowd and surrounded by friends, sometimes testing your pop-culture credential on who can quote more lyrics to go along with a song. It’s a “party over here with us” kind of moment that is more appropriate for festivals where many prefer to choose their own adventure and have more of a dedicated and established drinking culture. It’s as much about interacting with their friends and being with them than it is being with the artist. To which I say, fuck that, I’ll see my friends after the show, Chance the Rapper be gone after this.
If you feel like I’ve crossed the Rubicon to old age and my past times will from henceforth include reminiscing on when we had to use Explorer and telling youths to get off my lawn, you may not be wrong. However, given a jarring amount of similar experiences and discussions I’ve had with close friends and fellow concert goers, this is not an isolated phenomenon brought on by general grumpiness. I am not turning into Clint Eastwood. It’s a documented fact.
So, will I go to another all ages show again? Probably not. Maybe at least have a dedicated understanding of how mechanics of one work at least and get a VIP 19+ ticket, even if I have 0 intentions of partaking.
It’s hard to write about this experience without sounding like a cartoonish old man reminding you that a dime bag really did cost a dime back in the day, but it’s also the overwhelming reality. Obviously, there is an ongoing and grander discussion of existing in a culture where teenage alcohol consumption is not only grown, but is becoming the norm. I am however not here for that battle, I am here to say I want to enjoy the opportunity to enjoy my shows with a like-minded crowd and not have to worry about teenage version of future Lindsey Loham popping molly like they’re M&Ms next to me. in a crowd, thus ruining my musical experience. That’s it, I’m selfish, I want there to be a clear separation at concerts between those who are there for the sauce and those who are there for the music.
But also, Chance killed it.
