The case for going to concerts alone — and why it isn’t sad

Early on a Tuesday evening, I arrived at a local dive bar for a show by Dream Syndicate. There’s no opening act (or rather, as Steve Wynn will later joke, the Dream Syndicate are opening for the Dream Syndicate) and a blissfully early 7 p.m. start time. I greeted the door woman, bought a bottle of water, grabbed a bar stool against the far wall, and opened the book in progress on my phone until the show started.

At the end of September, I walked into the Majestic Theatre to see the Michael Shannon/Jason Narducy R.E.M. tribute. It’s a GA venue that holds a little over 1,000. When the doors opened, I headed for the barrier for no other reason than the volume at that proximity helps drown out what jamband fans refer to as “chompers” — people who view concerts as suitable background for their conversations. Delightfully, I found myself standing with four other women. We killed time before the show talking about what other concerts we’d been to recently, and took turns watching each other’s spot when someone needed a bathroom run. (There was no line at the women’s room for that show, a big reason I wanted to be close so I didn’t run the risk of standing near a dude needing to explain R.E.M. to me, like the guy at the bar where I was eating dinner before the show.)

A few weeks earlier, I pulled up at Trinosophes, a coffee shop / artistic consortium that regularly hosts more experimental / less mainstream musicians — Marisa Anderson played a gorgeous show there earlier this year — to see BASIC, an amazing trio that’s a mix of minimalist jazz and experimental rock. I paid the dude at the counter, who was in the middle of pulling a shot of espresso, and then decided to kill some time at People’s Records, the record store attached to the space, along with other show attendees and a couple of musicians in the opening act. I sat in exactly the corner of the room that sounds the best for my damaged hearing and thoroughly enjoyed the sets. 

What all of these concert activities have in common is that I attended them by myself. And this should absolutely not be news of any kind, but recently a leading music magazine posted a news story that announced: “Going to concerts alone is a top-tier human experience.” The story wasn’t actually about that, but was rather a mashup of reporting on how Phoebe Bridgers’ recent phone-free concerts meant that when an attendee spotted a celebrity at the show, they couldn’t report to a gossip publication that this person was supposedly standing alone in the line for the bar (while there are actually many reasons you could be at the bar by yourself despite arriving with an entourage of a dozen people). 

But the writer’s reasoning for why it was okay to be going to a show without a date or a friend(s) actually didn’t make a believable case for it. They offered an awkward and overly exaggerated blather about how solo concertgoing means that you can better participate in “the oneness of things,” which made you wonder if the person writing it had actually been to a concert, much less attended one on their own. And I didn’t realize we had to justify or defend this, or that it was anything out of the ordinary.

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What they got wrong is that the “top tier human experience” is simply going to concerts, full stop. (As Neil Young once said, “Live music is better/bumperstickers should be issued.”) The idea that going to see one of the most important concert tours of the year by oneself is “sad” is so idiotic that it should never have been entertained as any kind of news story. And we absolutely need to abolish the concept that going to a concert alone is any kind of abnormal or undesirable behavior.

I’m biased. I’ve been going to concerts alone since I was 14 years old. This wasn’t necessarily by choice, but rather that I wanted to do something important and no one else I knew wanted to do it, and I wasn’t going to let that minor detail stop me. And as I have moved through my life, sometimes I had a friend or companion to go to shows with me, and sometimes — as it happens to normal people in the course of normal life — I did not. If I only attended a concert when I had someone to go with, I would have missed out on far too much. This is a stupid requirement, clearly determined by people for whom live music is just another thing you can do on a given evening, and these are not people anyone who genuinely loves music should be taking direction from.  

The first time I went to a concert by myself (which was my second concert), I was dropped off at the venue by my mom (who later would explain that she allowed it because she thought it would “get it out of my system.”) It was not difficult to follow the letters and numbers on my ticket to find my seating location, and when I sat down, the women on one side of me immediately and excitedly introduced themselves, while the two dudes on the other side of me managed to tell me within the first two minutes that they’d be glad to buy me a beer “if you don’t have your ID on you,” wink wink. Everyone was excited to see Bruce Springsteen, even if we were roughly a million miles away from the stage in the upper reaches of the New Haven Coliseum. 

Everyone except me had concert stories to tell. Everyone talked about what other concerts they were going to, what radio stations (and which DJ’s specifically) you could count on to be Springsteen-friendly or provide the best info, and everyone swapped information about what other bands were going on tour based on what they had read or heard. I was dropped off when the doors opened, and I thought it would be a long and painful wait until the concert started, but instead I had a dozen new best friends within 15 minutes. 

When the concert was over, the girls sitting next to me gave me their phone numbers and told me to call if I was ever going to a show in Hartford. This was an experience that would repeat itself in different formats forever all across the United States, Canada, and multiple European countries, and still happens now if you want that to be your experience. You can also decide you are going to rock up when you feel like it and occupy your time reading a book and not talk to anybody. Or you can limit your socialization to the time-honored tradition of watching someone’s space while they run to the bathroom. This is all incredibly normal, accepted behaviour which anyone who attends a concert regularly already understands.

Let’s be honest: while as a teenager I dreamed of the day when I could attend every concert my heart desired with every friend who also loved the band in question, the reality always shook out differently. As an adult, it remains challenging to coordinate schedules and availability, not to mention alignment with other critical details like preferred arrival times and seating/standing location. Sometimes it is far, far easier and more convenient if each person manages their own tickets and concert experience. If you want to hang with your pals, then coordinate a post-show meet-up at the bar or the diner or on the way to the subway. There is absolutely nothing about concert attendance that requires accompaniment!

Admittedly, times have changed, and yes, everyone has a small computer in their pocket and myriad ways to occupy their time before the show starts. And these days, a concert isn’t one of the only ways you’re going to meet people who share similar interests as you. But I hear from younger friends who are going to shows by the likes of Harry Styles or Taylor Swift, and I witnessed myself very recently at a Bikini Kill show locally (where I was one of the older people in the front GA section), the kids are still doing the same thing that I did in 1978: they talk to each other, they swap social handles, they exchange important information. It is all still happening if you are open to the experience, and it should reassure anyone who is hesitant about buying a ticket to a concert if they don’t know anyone else who wants to come with them.

The only way going solo can have a negative impact on you is during the ticket-buying process for reserved seating events. That’s because these days, Ticketmaster will not let you buy one of a pair or will tell you you have to select an adjoining seat (even if there is no adjoining seat at that moment, a thing that has happened to me and countless of my pals). Buying a single ticket used to be the way to game yourself to the best possible seat, as there would always be a leftover hanging around; even if I was going to a show with friends, we still might try for individual tickets as a way to better optimize our chances for a better seat. Thank you, Ticketmaster, for continuing to find ways to make this process painful!

The only real downside to solo concert attendance is if you are a single woman and a man in your vicinity has decided it is his solemn responsibility to interrogate anyone who doesn’t look like him to determine their worthiness, e.g., the kind of guys who would talk to whatever man I brought with me to a show and, despite them telling him, “She’s the fan, I just came with because I was interested in checking them out,” there is no way we could possibly be worthy of the space we were occupying. (But that is a completely different essay.)

I’d argue that it is actually an expression of supreme self-love and self-awareness that you’re comfortable enough with yourself to be absolutely content going to a concert as a party of one. Honestly, no one should be waiting for another person to do anything they want to do (except, I dunno, tandem bike riding). But what we absolutely should stop doing is paying attention to other people living their lives the way they want to live them, and that includes making a decision to go to a concert without an entourage. Buy the ticket. Go to the show. I’ll see you there.

The post The case for going to concerts alone — and why it isn’t sad appeared first on Salon.com.