A plea for a more pleasant musical experience
I haven’t been to a concert in awhile.
I don’t have a lot of time to go to concerts, but when I finally get my hands on a pair of tickets to a show I get giddy like a little kid.
I excitedly found myself at the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver recently, and I was all ready to see one of my favorite bands. I should have remembered, however, that some people don’t know how to go to concerts, and would actually rather ruin the experience for everyone else around them.
I was unlucky enough to stand next to Little Miss American Idol during the entire show. As though she were trying out for America’s favorite reality contest, this genius had figured that everyone at the concert had paid to hear her sing. I understand that a part of the concert-going experience is singing along to your favorite songs or my tolerating general crowd annoyances during the show, but this person had decided to take singing to the extreme. Singing louder than most would believe possible, this woman tried sing along to every song, whether she knew the words or not. I did not think she was drunk, and that made it worse. Had she been drunk, at least she could have blamed her vocal performance on the overpriced booze. Not only was her singing annoying, but for some reason, she felt entitled to push through half the crowd to get closer to the stage, as though she were the heir to Row One, Center Spot.
After Singing Girl had finally been jostled out of ear-shot, I was accosted by a girl I’ll refer to as Uterus. About half-way through the show, Uterus tapped me on the shoulder.
“Please move. I’m trying to get to my friend!” Uterus said.
I was standing in the fourth row, and it had been a struggle to retain my spot thus far into the show. I was not about to relinquish my precious foot space for a girl who should have made better plans with her friends than what must have been like this, “OK, half way through the concert, I’ll meet you at the front row. Be annoying and inconvenience everyone else? No one will mind.”
After I refused to move, Uterus named herself.
“Please move, I’m trying to get to my friend,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” said the look I gave her.
“Um, I have a uterus!” She yelled back at me.
I started laughing. What in the world did that have to do with anything? I have two younger sisters, and they had never used that excuse for anything, so I figured that there couldn’t be anything that I just didn’t understand.
“Congrats!” I yelled back at her.
I’m sure her boyfriend is glad she can still have children.
After that glorious incident, I was again frustrated at the concert. The man in front of me, who was clearly in high school (I could tell by his curious gaze- and t-shirt which labeled him such), he decided to spend the entire concert leaning backwards into me. Now normally, I don’t mind people using me as a support structure, it makes me feel wanted, however this time, I was perturbed.
“I don’t even know this guy,” I thought.
I kept pushing and pushing him forward, but he refused to budge, no matter how forceful I got. I eventually gave up, but not without giving him a good unapologetic neck-snapping push.
These stories contribute to my plea: let’s reform the concert-going process. There should be a concert going Bill of Rights, an understanding of Concert Etiquette, a Hammurabi’s Law of taking in a show, posted in enormous lettering at the entrance of every venue. I encourage all readers to post any concert horror stories or Bill of Rights suggestions, and hopefully we can compile some sort of standard of etiquette.
Contact Campus Press staff writer Justin Kutner at email@example.com.