The Art of Going to Concerts Alone
Artigo extraído daqui. Um pouco longo, é verdade. Mas vejam pelo lado bom, não fui eu que escrevi. Já andava para escrever sobre as idas aos concertos sozinho, mas não tenho tido oportunidade. Os últimos concertos que tenho ido, tenho tido sempre companhia. Mas pelos vistos, alguém lembrou-se disso. O que poupa-me muito trabalho, visto identificar-me com muitas das conclusões a que ele chegou. Ora leiam...
«The Art of Going to Concerts Alone»
09.22.2004
by nicolemc99
"The great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."
– Walt Whitman, Self Reliance
Going to movies and restaurants alone are two skills I like to think I've mastered. Movies are the easiest; they're dark, no one's supposed to talk, and everyone in the room is focused on the movie and not on the fact you are sitting next to two empty seats. Eating alone in a restaurant takes a little more practice; the other diners can see that you're by yourself, but you can avoid pity and retain your dignity by bringing along a book to read. That way you look studious and intellectual, rather than just pathetic and lonely. But going to a concert alone has proven to be a much more challenging affair; you don't get a seat to slouch in and you can't bring a book to hide behind. From the moment you're waiting in line to get in to the time you walk out after the lights go up, your singleness is conspicuously on display to all the couples and groups of friends hanging around in the club, drinking and chatting while you sit and stare off into space, praying the lights will go down so the next band can start and the focus can be off of your sad, lonely self.
I've been thinking a lot about this since moving recently to Chicago from the lovely but small college town of Madison, WI. By moving to a much larger city that's an essential stop on any great tour, the number of available shows I can attend each week has gone up astronomically, while the number of friends I have to go to these shows with has drastically decreased. When I ask my new acquaintances if they want to see Sea Ray and they think I'm inviting them to the Chicago Aquarium, I know I'm on my own here. Thus, I've taken it upon myself to face my fears and attend these must-see concerts all by my lonesome, even if they take place on a *gasp* sacred Friday or Saturday night. Consider it a sociological experiment: the Effect of Going to Concerts Alone on the Psyche, Comfort Level, and Overall Wellbeing of a Tiny Mix Tapes Writer.
The experience of attending a show alone begins from the moment you land yourself in line waiting to get into the club. Personally, it's at this point that I generally find myself looking around with a false sense of purpose, as if it would make people around me think I might actually be waiting for someone to join me. Then I realize what I'm really looking for is other people who appear to be there by themselves as well. Knowing I'm not the only one validates my situation as not totally abnormal. Unfortunately, this search usually ends up with a lot of false alarms; people in line who really are waiting for friends to join them, as opposed to just faking it like me. A second option would have been to actually try to strike up a conversation with the people ahead of or behind me, which would most likely be an awkward affair met with polite nods and an eventual turn of the back ("I'm going to stand over here now" as Reverend Lovejoy's daughter would say). Unless you're tremendously personable and charming, I'd advise against trying to make new friends in line. It only calls attention to the fact that you're unaccompanied, and if you're that desperate for someone to talk to before even entering the venue, going to shows alone might not be for you. Try soliciting people off of Craig's List instead.
Upon entering the club, the solitary concertgoer is faced with two questions: 1) should I get a beer? And 2) where should I stand? The question of whether or not to get a beer comes with pros and cons:
Pros:
- You have something to hold in your hand and preoccupy you while you patiently wait for the bands to get onstage. Staring at your beverage beats staring at the wall.
- You'll blend in better with the crowd, especially if you're drinking PBR.
- After a few drinks, you'll pretty much forget anyone else is in the room anyway; it's your own personal concert performed just for you in your drunken haze.
Cons:
- Even though technically you're surrounded by dozens or even hundreds of people, you're still in actuality drinking alone. That's kind of sad.
Once you've decided to accept your potential alcoholic tendencies and get your beer, it's time to determine where on the floor to stand. At my first solo show, I tried out several positions trying to get comfortable somewhere by myself. I tried sitting in a corner against the wall, which only enhanced my feeling of loserdom; I leaned against a pole with my arms crossed, which made me look like an asshole; I headed toward the back of the venue to avoid being noticed altogether. Finally, however, I settled on standing right up front. With everything I put myself through just to see this show, I think I deserved the best seat in the house, and I realized that it's much easier to maneuver just one person around the crowd in order to get the best positioning. The benefits suddenly begin to materialize- score one for the single girl!
Up until this point, chances are that in the back of your mind is the hope that you'll actually meet someone at the show. Maybe an attractive member of the opposite sex would trip and fall and spill their beer on you in some romantic movie sort of meeting; after cleaning yourself off in mock anger, the two of you will fall madly in love and never have to go to a concert by yourself again. Or on a somewhat more plausible scale, you might hope to find other fans in your same situation to hang out with. Seeing others on their own is reassuring, and you feel like you have a special bond with them. You could make eye contact, give them a head nod, anything to give them some indication that you seem to have something in common. Then a conversation would strike up, you'd become fast friends and plan to join up at the next show. But as I've quickly discovered in the process, part of the whole experience of going to a concert alone is to be in your own little world the entire night, a world that gets its own live soundtrack from a band you've obviously gone to extra lengths to see. Meeting someone new would only distract from that experience. Unlike shows in the past, this show is not a social event for you, but your own personal musical encounter that no one else you know gets to have. As the band you came to see starts up, you realize -- what better way to truly envelop yourself in a band's music than to do it without the distraction of friends making a running commentary on each song? You don't have to explain it or defend it to anyone else ("it's 'experimental' -- well, maybe you'll like the next song"). And when the show's finally over and everyone sticks around to finish their drinks and talk about the show, you can sneak out on your own without having to argue the finer points of the lead singer's guitar skills or whether or not they played the proper set list. You can think about the show on your own terms and decide for yourself how you think it went. The benefits of going alone have gone far beyond simply a good place to stand, and you leave with a sense of pride at being able to accomplish something many others are too scared to do themselves. And I guarantee you'll do it again. After all, all great experiments must be repeated.
«The Art of Going to Concerts Alone»
09.22.2004
by nicolemc99
"The great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."
– Walt Whitman, Self Reliance
Going to movies and restaurants alone are two skills I like to think I've mastered. Movies are the easiest; they're dark, no one's supposed to talk, and everyone in the room is focused on the movie and not on the fact you are sitting next to two empty seats. Eating alone in a restaurant takes a little more practice; the other diners can see that you're by yourself, but you can avoid pity and retain your dignity by bringing along a book to read. That way you look studious and intellectual, rather than just pathetic and lonely. But going to a concert alone has proven to be a much more challenging affair; you don't get a seat to slouch in and you can't bring a book to hide behind. From the moment you're waiting in line to get in to the time you walk out after the lights go up, your singleness is conspicuously on display to all the couples and groups of friends hanging around in the club, drinking and chatting while you sit and stare off into space, praying the lights will go down so the next band can start and the focus can be off of your sad, lonely self.
I've been thinking a lot about this since moving recently to Chicago from the lovely but small college town of Madison, WI. By moving to a much larger city that's an essential stop on any great tour, the number of available shows I can attend each week has gone up astronomically, while the number of friends I have to go to these shows with has drastically decreased. When I ask my new acquaintances if they want to see Sea Ray and they think I'm inviting them to the Chicago Aquarium, I know I'm on my own here. Thus, I've taken it upon myself to face my fears and attend these must-see concerts all by my lonesome, even if they take place on a *gasp* sacred Friday or Saturday night. Consider it a sociological experiment: the Effect of Going to Concerts Alone on the Psyche, Comfort Level, and Overall Wellbeing of a Tiny Mix Tapes Writer.
The experience of attending a show alone begins from the moment you land yourself in line waiting to get into the club. Personally, it's at this point that I generally find myself looking around with a false sense of purpose, as if it would make people around me think I might actually be waiting for someone to join me. Then I realize what I'm really looking for is other people who appear to be there by themselves as well. Knowing I'm not the only one validates my situation as not totally abnormal. Unfortunately, this search usually ends up with a lot of false alarms; people in line who really are waiting for friends to join them, as opposed to just faking it like me. A second option would have been to actually try to strike up a conversation with the people ahead of or behind me, which would most likely be an awkward affair met with polite nods and an eventual turn of the back ("I'm going to stand over here now" as Reverend Lovejoy's daughter would say). Unless you're tremendously personable and charming, I'd advise against trying to make new friends in line. It only calls attention to the fact that you're unaccompanied, and if you're that desperate for someone to talk to before even entering the venue, going to shows alone might not be for you. Try soliciting people off of Craig's List instead.
Upon entering the club, the solitary concertgoer is faced with two questions: 1) should I get a beer? And 2) where should I stand? The question of whether or not to get a beer comes with pros and cons:
Pros:
- You have something to hold in your hand and preoccupy you while you patiently wait for the bands to get onstage. Staring at your beverage beats staring at the wall.
- You'll blend in better with the crowd, especially if you're drinking PBR.
- After a few drinks, you'll pretty much forget anyone else is in the room anyway; it's your own personal concert performed just for you in your drunken haze.
Cons:
- Even though technically you're surrounded by dozens or even hundreds of people, you're still in actuality drinking alone. That's kind of sad.
Once you've decided to accept your potential alcoholic tendencies and get your beer, it's time to determine where on the floor to stand. At my first solo show, I tried out several positions trying to get comfortable somewhere by myself. I tried sitting in a corner against the wall, which only enhanced my feeling of loserdom; I leaned against a pole with my arms crossed, which made me look like an asshole; I headed toward the back of the venue to avoid being noticed altogether. Finally, however, I settled on standing right up front. With everything I put myself through just to see this show, I think I deserved the best seat in the house, and I realized that it's much easier to maneuver just one person around the crowd in order to get the best positioning. The benefits suddenly begin to materialize- score one for the single girl!
Up until this point, chances are that in the back of your mind is the hope that you'll actually meet someone at the show. Maybe an attractive member of the opposite sex would trip and fall and spill their beer on you in some romantic movie sort of meeting; after cleaning yourself off in mock anger, the two of you will fall madly in love and never have to go to a concert by yourself again. Or on a somewhat more plausible scale, you might hope to find other fans in your same situation to hang out with. Seeing others on their own is reassuring, and you feel like you have a special bond with them. You could make eye contact, give them a head nod, anything to give them some indication that you seem to have something in common. Then a conversation would strike up, you'd become fast friends and plan to join up at the next show. But as I've quickly discovered in the process, part of the whole experience of going to a concert alone is to be in your own little world the entire night, a world that gets its own live soundtrack from a band you've obviously gone to extra lengths to see. Meeting someone new would only distract from that experience. Unlike shows in the past, this show is not a social event for you, but your own personal musical encounter that no one else you know gets to have. As the band you came to see starts up, you realize -- what better way to truly envelop yourself in a band's music than to do it without the distraction of friends making a running commentary on each song? You don't have to explain it or defend it to anyone else ("it's 'experimental' -- well, maybe you'll like the next song"). And when the show's finally over and everyone sticks around to finish their drinks and talk about the show, you can sneak out on your own without having to argue the finer points of the lead singer's guitar skills or whether or not they played the proper set list. You can think about the show on your own terms and decide for yourself how you think it went. The benefits of going alone have gone far beyond simply a good place to stand, and you leave with a sense of pride at being able to accomplish something many others are too scared to do themselves. And I guarantee you'll do it again. After all, all great experiments must be repeated.
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