Concerts should be a way for us to regularly and casually engage with the arts, not a once-a-year blowout where we hear the same songs we’ve been listening to all year. Seeing live music is an essential part of being a human. It’s important to gather in a room with other people, dance together, and experience something new. No two live shows are ever the same, so it’s like being a part of a living art piece. Plus, you’re surrounded by people with whom you have at least one thing in common with (you’re listening to the same music), so it’s an easy and natural place to make friends. And every once in a while, you’ll experience something so transcendent that it reminds you why we’re here on Earth. A good and intimate show makes us all feel more connected to humanity.
But it’s easy to feel FOMO for these big arena tours. They take over social media, flooding our feeds with clips of gigantic set pieces, expensive costume changes, high-quality choreography, and emotional fans brought to tears. We’re made to feel like we’re missing a once-in-a-lifetime moment because we’re not willing to shell out hundreds of our hard-earned dollars to sit in the nosebleeds. But the experience of these shows rarely lives up to their online image. You have to wade through a sea of people to get to your seat, which is far away from the stage, and you hear the voices of your concert neighbors much clearer than that of the singer onstage.
This isn’t to say that there isn’t artistic merit in these big tours, or that they aren’t meaningful if you love the music. However, do you know what’s just as good as spending $400 to see Charli XCX on the Brat Tour? Spending $20 to go to a Brat-themed DJ night at that local dance bar. You get to hear the music, dance to it, and experience its reverberations around other fans all while also contributing to your community. Isn’t that like 90% of the point?
I get it. I shelled out a pretty penny to see the Eras Tour. It felt like it was too big to miss, and it was fun to sing along to songs I know and love among thousands of other fans who also know and love those songs. But would my money ultimately have been better spent on, I don’t know, 10 other smaller shows, where I didn’t have to pay $20 for a Bud Light and strain to hear over the screams of children? Probably.
When you see a small show at a small venue, you’re doing a few things. You’re supporting artists who really need your support. It’s not easy to be an independent artist, and ticket sales can make or break them. You’re also supporting your community and venues that are often operating on thin margins. But more than that, you're investing in yourself as a well-rounded person. A person who engages with their community, is open to new experiences, and cares about art. The intimacy of a smaller show means a higher chance that it’s going to move you, even if you weren’t previously familiar with their work. You might even pick up some new favorites in the process.
Listening to new music expands our minds and keeps us flexible. What stops many from going to random, smaller shows is the unfamiliarity with the music. We don’t feel invested in the music or are worried that we won’t enjoy it. But seeing a band live can be the perfect first introduction. I was introduced to many of my favorite bands from seeing them live without any previous knowledge. You feel more of an intimate connection to an artist whom you’ve seen in person, and it can deepen your sense of fandom. Plus, what’s the worst that can happen? You see a band that kind of blows, and you go on with your night. The potential positives far outweigh the negatives.
In an ideal world, more concerts would be affordable. In my version of utopia, you could see Harry Styles and still have money left over to support your local scene every week if you wanted to. But while that remains out of reach, we can vote with our dollars and hope for a more equitable music scene.