Concert etiquette has become a hot topic in the aftermath of the pandemic. When live music finally returned, it brought a wave of concertgoers who either forgot how to act appropriately or never learned in the first place.
This story is available exclusively to Business Insider subscribers. Become an Insider and start reading now. Have an account? Log in.Unfortunately, those in the latter group also came of age alongside the rise of TikTok, which has encouraged main character syndrome to a troubling degree. Individualism has hit a new peak and Karen-ism has infected Gen-Z; many young fans insist they can act however they want at a concert because they paid for the ticket.
While that may be technically true, it's spiritually wrong.
Live music is, by design, a shared experience. Whether you're in the crowd at Mercury Lounge or Madison Square Garden, the whole point is to gather with people who love what you love. If the point wasn't to gather, to share in mass rapture, you would just stay home and listen to music alone.
When you go to a gig, you have something in common with every other person in that venue. That's the beauty of it. Those are your people. And I would argue, contrary to the popular self-care phrase that has become bastardized beyond recognition, you do owe them something: respect, support, or just basic human decency.
And yet, etiquette has suffered such neglect that artists are on the brink of war with their own fans. Cardi B retaliated when a fan threw a drink at her. Last year, Steve Lacy smashed a fan's camera and stormed off stage. Miley Cyrus said she doesn't want to go on tour anymore. "There's no connection. There's no safety," she explained.
It's time for a reset. Based on my own history as an avid concertgoer, from Warped Tour to the Eras Tour, I've compiled a list of six key guidelines for keeping shows fun and safe.
This rule should go without saying, but unfortunately, some inconsiderate fools need reminding. Just ask Bebe Rexha, who needed stitches after a man hurled his phone at her face, or Harry Styles, who was pelted with countless objects over the course of Love On Tour.
To be fair, Styles is a special case, since his performance style is one that encourages participation. He's known for wearing the silly accessories that fans toss in his direction.
But there's a big difference between a feather boa and a tiny missile that can (and has) hit him in the eye.
There is a proper way to engage with your favorite artist, and anyone with a modicum of common sense can see when this line is crossed. A concertgoer should never throw anything at the stage that's heavy or potentially dangerous.
In fact, the safest bet is to never throw anything at all, Love On Tour be damned. Most artists don't like it. Even an object that seems innocuous, like flowers or a teddy bear, can startle someone who's focused on singing, dancing, or playing an instrument. Kelsea Ballerini, who was recently hit in the face by a flying bracelet, told fans that it didn't hurt physically, but it did trigger "layers of fears way deeper than what is shown." Tyler, the Creator told fans to stop in no uncertain terms: "Why do you think I want your shit? Then if I slip and break my foot? Stop throwing that fucking shit up here."
Getting on stage in front of hundreds or thousands of people is an act of bravery and vulnerability. Performers deserve to feel safe and respected.
Any exceptions to this rule should be made only at the behest of the performers themselves. For example, feel free to throw your bras at Reneé Rapp.
To be clear, I'm not advocating for tempered enjoyment. Singing along is an essential part of the concert experience, and in the right moments, screaming along is actually preferred (think: "He looks up grinning like a devil" during Taylor Swift's "Cruel Summer").
But everyone has an inner noise monitor, right? You can feel it when your singing voice becomes a squawk. You can tell when you're howling louder than everyone else during a quiet piano ballad. You know when you're drowning out the actual singer that everyone came to hear.
For some people, that seems to be the point; they want to be noticed, to be heard, to be the center of attention. It's like driving on the highway. Everyone is in a hurry, but there's always one guy who pounds the gas pedal and swerves around everyone else. Don't be like that. Adjust your speed to match the flow of traffic.
This one might be controversial, but there's only one concert quirk I hate more than someone shrieking in my ear: getting stuck in a crowd behind someone who doesn't care. I would take shrieks over apathy any day.
It's fine, even great, to go to a concert without being familiar with the artist's work. That's one of my favorite ways to discover talent, to become a fan of someone new. But at those shows, I'm not going to push my way through the crowd to get close to the stage, where dedicated fans have likely been waiting for hours. I'm going to find a vantage point where I can quietly head-bob in peace.
The audience's vibe can make or break a concert experience. To go see your favorite artist and end up surrounded by people who stand stock-still, who refuse to dance or engage with the music — or worse, who chit-chat all the way through Phoebe Bridgers singing "Moon Song" — is genuinely devastating.
Part of me feels that we should ban signs altogether, but in extremely rare cases, they're worth a shot. I recently saw Maggie Rogers perform in New York, and just before she left the stage, a fan on the floor raised a sign that read, "I'm getting top surgery on Monday. Back in my body."
When Rogers returned for the encore, she pointed to the sign and began to sing "Back in My Body," which isn't a permanent fixture on her setlist. It was an incredibly special moment, drenched in the kind of communal love and support that a concert should inspire.
But as I said, that's an extremely rare case. Most signs are useless at best and disruptive at worst. (This also applies to flags and giant foam fingers at sporting events.)
Unless you're in the first few rows in the pit, don't bother bringing one. The artist won't see it, and even if they do, they won't care enough to read it.
If you are close to the stage and you do bring a sign, don't hold it up in the middle of a song. Save it for the talking breaks in between — and even then, do so sparingly.
The chance that your sign gets acknowledged is slim, and it's rude to block the view of all the poor souls behind you. However much you want Post Malone to draw your next tattoo, your viral video is not the point of the concert. It's everyone else's experience as much as yours.
Don't get me wrong: I loved seeing the creative costumes at Harryween and Swifties' purple ballgowns at MetLife Stadium. Dressing up can be a fun way to celebrate the artist's work, express your creativity, and feel connected to a community of fans. If that's your thing, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
But if that's not your thing, please don't fret. At the end of the day, the concert isn't about the clothing you wear, and if it causes any stress, it's not worth it — particularly if you feel the urge to order a cheap dress from Shein that you'll never wear again. For my money, it's better to be comfy and sustainable.
TikTok has convinced everyone that it's cool and normal to record videos of people who are just living their lives, and then share them online for millions of strangers to make fun of. It is not.
I find this to be especially egregious at a concert, which is supposed to be a sacred space — to dance and cry and feel your feelings. Live music is meant to be emotional and freeing. There's no room for self-consciousness or the fear of being filmed for content. Cut it out.
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