What has happened to live concert audiences? Over the past couple of years I have experienced some of the worst human behavior from fellow concert goers – and in the 80s I saw AC/DC three times! I have come to the conclusion that I would rather be in the middle of Altamont than sit in a concert venue to see The Killers. 

In 1969, Altamont was a free concert that took place at the Altamont Speedway in Tracy, California. The Rolling Stones headlined. The motorcycle gang, Hells Angels was hired for security and 300,000 people attended. Three people died. And it was still more civil than the Psychedelic Furs concert I saw in Phoenix. 

I’ve been going to concerts since I was 13 years old. I grew up in Detroit and that city has always been a major stop for rock groups. Being in the audience of a sold out rock show in the Motor City is unlike any experience you will have in any other town. The crowd is always pumped and knows how to give it up for the bands. So many times I’ve heard musicians say how much they love a Detroit audience. Whether you’re standing up on the main floor, dancing in the pavilion or clapping along in the nosebleed section, you will feel a strong connection to those around you. It’s an amazing feeling seeing a band you love LIVE and feeling that everyone around you is having the same experience. Now, I’m not saying that I’ve never encountered assholes in the audience. That just comes along with being drunk, high and rowdy. Speaking of assholes, apologies to the the girl I smacked in the head at a 1974 Alice Cooper concert. But really, she shouldn’t have tried to stand in front of me! 

Live concerts today are a whole new experience. Everyone has to be on their phones to record the show, livestream on Facebook, or just annoyingly talk to their friends to tell then how amazing the show is that they’re not paying any attention to. Not to mention, there’s way too much liquor being sold. What I have noticed, particularly here in Phoenix, is that no one can sit still. There is always a steady stream of people scooting in and out of the rows, walking up and down the aisles and in and out of the stage area. There would be less movement if the show were held at the Phoenix airport! And if the constant parade of people isn’t annoying enough, let’s discuss the never ceasing, extremely loud conversations.

A few months ago we went to see the alternative group, The National. A great band that appeals to a more mature audience that loves good music and really, really depressing lyrics. In other words, a concert where you want to just sit down, listen to the band and feel bad about life. Just before the show started a group of six sat down in the row behind us. Throughout the entire first set these annoying drunks couldn’t shut up! One guy went on forever about how he had decided to put in his own brick paver patio. “I got a wheelbarrow….,”  “Home Depot…”, “Needed slag…,” “Had to remeasure the steps four times….”  The constant drone of his loud voice made me miss some of the more depressing lyrics of the night. Finally, Tim turned around and asked them to please be quiet. Wrong move. From then on they talked louder, screamed, whistled, kept asking us if they were too loud, and just generally proceeded to ruin our night. We finally escaped to an empty row, with an awesome view of the band. What are these magical seats? No one in front of us? No one behind us? Room to stretch our legs? An unobstructed view of the stage? We finally realized that those magical seats were in the handicap section. We loved it! 

So, when I saw that one of my favorite bands, Vampire Weekend, was coming to Phoenix,  I went online and purchased seats in the handicap section. I had to confirm that I was in some way disabled and I also needed a companion seat for my caregiver. Done. Now, all I needed to do was show up with a cane and maybe a neck brace for an added effect. Tim was totally against this, but the tickets were already purchased and he had no choice. The night of the concert I showed up at the theater wearing a knee brace and using a cane I borrowed from a friend who recently had knee surgery. I developed an impressive limp and kept a constant look of pain on my face. Tim refused to walk with me. When we got inside the first person we noticed was a young guy on crutches with a cast on his foot and a bandaged wrist. “He’s doing a better job than you,” Tim said. I ignored the comment. 

When we got to our seats the entire row was filled, and no one appeared to be disabled. There were no wheelchairs, no crutches, no oxygen tanks, and no caregivers. Apparently, I was the only one respectful enough to at least fake a disability! What the hell? Some of my friends thought this was very dishonest of me and unfair to people who actually need those seats. “What if a person in a wheelchair shows up and there aren’t any seats left for him?” asked one friend. I thought about this for a second and then replied that I would push his chair out into the aisle and then tell him to “Be quiet. I’m trying to enjoy the show.”