Well, tonight was a first. I attended my first gig, on my lonesome. A momentous occasion, made more special by the fact that I am convinced I was the only one there alone, and that it was pretty small anyway, so I’m sure everyone knew I was on my own as well. Just to labour this point, I was on my own. As a budding music journalist gigging alone should be part of the territory but this was all new. As I entered the venue with the other children (they didn’t look old enough to be ‘kids’) I repeated to myself over and over: “I’m a journalist. I am here to review this gig. I am not here because I have no friends”.
Upon entering I made my way towards the bar. The barman looked shocked that someone was old enough to drink and I couldn’t blame him. Around me was a plethora of androgynous he/shes of indeterminate age, at a push I would have guessed pre-pubescent (Herein they will all be 14). I am 20 years old. If there ever was a moment when the phrase: “I’m too old for this shit” was needed it was right then. I was reminded of the ‘Murtagh List’ episode of How I Met Your Mother, named after the hero of the Lethal Weapons franchise who often repeated that phrase. Despite only being in the room for 5 minutes I was quickly adding ‘going to gigs on my own’ to my very own Murtagh List.
What made the situation worse was my own social ineptitude. Surely people must go to gigs on their own all the time, but rarely would they have been so obvious about it as I was. Around the room I saw people staring at me. It didn’t help that the venue was not exactly busy, at most 30 people were waiting around the changing room sized Academy 2, thus everyone could see everyone else. With some people waiting at the front, and others at the back by the merch, it had all the hall marks of the dreaded school disco. And I felt I was intruding somehow. Like I was at the school disco, but I didn’t attend the school, and I was 45, and naked. Basically I felt out of place. So I moved to the back of the venue with my beer and sat down, by myself.
At this point I’m texting a fair number of people I know just to look busy. I don’t even like half the people I’m texting, I just need something to do with my hands. What do you normally do with your hands in these situations? I cross my legs, but that looks awkward. In hindsight I know no-one is actually watching but all these actions occur only after a complex thought process going on inside my frankly mental brain. At this point, I am frantically alternating between staring at my phone and supping my pint which is almost certainly not worth the £3.80 I reluctantly paid for it. I have already decided I am going to need another drink so I proceed to counting out my silvers on the table to make up the bounty for a lukewarm Carlsberg.
Suddenly a parent enters the room with her daughter and her friends. I chuckle to myself, but fair play on the Mum for volunteering to come, then it hits me. She has spotted me at the back and is making a bee line for the seating. I realise I am in the old people’s section, and it consists of just me and someone’s mum. I desert the comfort of the sofa with this revelation and move towards the uncharted territory of the main floor. I position myself far enough away from people so they don’t think I’m trying to muscle in on their group, but close enough to not seem like a straggler. The veneer of professionalism I have bestowed on myself as a “journalist” has disappeared at this point. The first band has come on and I am blown away by their sheer incompetence and lack of talent. Good god they were shit. At this point I decide that as I am out of money I will leave after the band I want to see plays (they are the second support act), I also realise that this means I can no long claim to be reviewing the show as I won’t be seeing over half of it. Part of me is glad though, because I doubt I have enough swear words in my vocabulary to do this band justice. I estimate a staggering 70% of their lyrics consist of “Woah” and their last song is called “Party til we die”, I shake my head in disgust when they announce this. The 12 kids at the front go crazy, as only 14 year olds can.
Then the band I want to see come on, and I forget all about that stuff. I get near the front and I sing along, I lift my hands in the air when I want to, and tap along so much I get cramp. And it all seems worth it, because I love this band, and I love live music even more. Maybe I should stop worrying about this shit, but god knows the next time I go to a gig on my own I’ll do it all over again.
Why didn’t you text me?
I went to see Say Anything on my own. It was horrible. They were supporting HelloGoodbye and I listened to one of HG’s songs and left. But… Max Bemis did say “excuse me” to me, as he walked past me. I creamed.
I would also like to add my name to the list of people you didn’t text.
Nice post though. I lol’d once or twice.
Heh, enjoyable reading. I had a similar experience at a GameCity night, recently, except I totally enjoyed the content after the tense-waiting-amongst-strangers.
…but most of the strangers probably would’ve talked to me if I hadn’t been so attached to my phone. Awful social awkwardness apparently isn’t an advantage – who knew?