Hey everyone! What’s more exciting than going to see one of your favourite bands at one of your favourite venues?
Oh that’s right – going to see one of your favourite bands at one of your favourite venues without paying a single sodding penny for it.
It’s true, once in a blue moon London does take a short siesta from enthusiastically sucking all the cash out of your bank account (here’s to going into the bank the day before pay day to withdraw £3.84 in order to buy lunch amirite?) to throw some good old freebies your way. It’s rare but when it happens us Londoners (i.e. miserable peasants) get pretty excited.
So when MOD won 2 tickets to go and see the 1975 at Camden Roundhouse I was pretty excited but obviously remembered my manners and did not force him to give me the second ticket at all.
There’s nothing I don’t love about going to a gig apart from the sentence ‘I’m going to a gig’ because I’m acutely aware that I am not cool enough to pull that off but equally if I say ‘I’m off to see a concert’ I may as well pull on the tena ladies and call it a day. Seeing as I’m 27 soon and therefore nearly dead I’m having…you know…like… a minor freak out about my age.*
*brandishing dubious coloured hair in front of a bewildered half asleep MOD
ME: ”IS THIS GRAAAAAYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?!?!”
MOD: “I…what…what time is it?”
ME: LOOOK AT IT YOU BLIND BASTARD
MOD: I don’t know…maybe? (grave mistake)
MOD: (sighing) I’ll get up then shall I
There’s not much I don’t love about going to a gig. I love the anticipation, I love the atmosphere, I love the fact that you are positively encouraged to have ten billion drinks on a Monday evening and no one looks at their watch and says infuriating phrases like ‘ooh it is a school night though’ or ‘half nine’s my cut off I’m afraid.’
You get the picture. It’s great. I loves it.
However, as we crowded into the main auditorium (why can I so easily make this sound like some sort of lecture?!) I remembered one extremely crucial thing that I had, up until now, forgotten.
There are a tremendous amount of dicks at gigs.
From vaguely irritating to the so grating awful that MOD had to grip my head and whisper ‘steady steady’ in my ear as if I was a wild horse on the verge of bolting, this gig was a veritable sea of knobs.
A tea party of twats.
Following my calm and mature observation of the humans at this gig (aka hissing WHY IS EVERYONE SUCH A FUCKTARD) at MOD I have come up with the following handy hints on how not to be a dire turd of a human being at a gig.
- Curb your Enthusiasm
Ok before you start pointing the killjoy finger, just let me explain. I love it when people are excited to see a band/show/poetry recital (hey I don’t know what you’re into ok) however there is a limit. That limit includes but is not limited to:
1)Pushing your ginormous breasts into my back to try and ‘see the stage more’. We are all standing on the same level pal. You could climb inside my skin and still be no closer to the stage than you are now. So please kindly refrain from trying to ensure every single inch of your body is pressed into the back of mine. Trying to pretend that the lead singer is singing only to me whilst I stand in a beautiful dress in a crowd of my ex boyfriends whilst they all weep bitter tears of misery whilst choking out ‘I should have never let her go’ is infinitely harder when I can feel your breath on the back of my neck. Not cool.2)Screaming in such a violent high pitched manner that would prompt both Carrie Bradshaw and every annoying cheerleader from any horror film ever to tell you to calm down. There are many ways I’d like to leave this gig (ideally in the tourbus/hand in hand with the lead singer whilst paps photograph us and I hide my face and whinge about my personal life being infringed whilst secretly being THRILLED) and on a stretcher with a perforated ear drum is not one of them
3)Boshing into me with the force of an angry god and then looking at me when I turn around to give you the glare of death as if I’m the twat for not being ecstatic to be boshed around by you. No, YOU are the twat king, make no mistakes here.
- The (un)official photographer
Omg I am SO GLAD you’re here. When I bought tickets to this gig (ok fine scabbed them for free off MOD) it was actually just because I was unable to get any tickets to watch the entire thing off your giant ipad. Imagine my surprise and delight when you turned up infront of me with a fucking cinema screen of a device. Oh happppyyyy daaaaaaaayyyys
Said NO ONE EVER.
Don’t film the whole bloody concert on your phone/ipad/huge laptop (I’m not even kidding). Seriously why would you do this. It’s horrendously distracting and also kind of weird.
Think about it, when are you ever going to re-watch that video? Probably never. When have you ever been sitting at home and thought to yourself “I know what would really take this evening up a notch…watching that blurry, muffled footage I took of the 1975. What larks that will be.”
So what do you do when some horrendous human brings an entire film studio and sets it up in front of you. Well… you could politely ask them to take it down and explain how they are compromising your enjoyment of the show. Or you could opt for my preferred method of attack which is a little game I like to play called ‘Who can breathe the loudest near the speakers’. Enjoy re-watching what essentially sounds like a hurricane in a metal corridor. Passive aggression forever!!
- The drink thrower
Literally the lowest form of pond scum.
I can’t believe I have to put this into words but here it is. No one, and I mean no one, wants to take a shower in the remnants of your half-drunk beer at best and your urine at worst.
No one cares how far you can throw your cup. You are not competing in the ‘Humungous twat’ Olympics (if you were you’d win it). So just put it on the floor like a normal human being.
- Be interested
Let me start by saying, I quite understand that being at a gig you don’t want to be at is heinous. You don’t know the words, you can’t find the beat, you strongly suspect that the liquid that just landed on your head is probably piss.
But here’s the thing. However much you don’t want to be here, there is some poor sod who would give their right arse cheek to be standing where you are standing. Someone who, like, I don’t know cried actual tears whilst refreshing the page of seetickets whilst feverishly humming ‘that’s what I go to school for’ under her breath. (NO ONE SAID IT HAD TO BE A COOL GIG!!!!)
Don’t take a spot that someone else would die for so you can stand infront of me scanning through every single calendar invite on your iphone from now to February 2017. (This actually happened at the 1975, I’m not kidding). It’s just irritating to be honest.
If you don’t want to go and see a band, here’s an idea…say no! Tell them you’ve got pressing things to do like putting on your pyjamas and catching up on Bake off. Learn how to not give a fuck and only go to the things you want to go to.
- The smug snoggers
Here comes the standard disclaimer: I do not hate couples. I do not hate love. My heart is not made out of coal and I have, of course, kissed someone in public before.
This is not my problem with couples at gigs. My problems doesn’t even start with the odd kiss here and there.
My problem is with the teen disco, slobbery, I can see both of your tongues at once snogging that should be bloody banned from anywhere apart from the privacy of your own homes. Seriously its unbelievably gross and no one wants to see it. You might think you look like Kate Moss and Pete Dohertey wantonly having it off in the midst of an adoring crowd. In reality you are probably sweaty, smelly and smearing your makeup off onto the face of your beloved quicker than you can say ‘oh hey Kerry Katona stumbling out of a club’.
If you really must attach yourself to the face of your boyfriend for the duration of your favourite bands album there’s a simple solution to not making every single other person in the auditorium hate you. Are you ready?
Step 1: Before the gig, as you’re about to leave the house simply don’t. Shut the door and lock it.
Step 2: Grab your boyfriend and go to your room
Step 3: Put on the bands album on Spotify. Or a CD if you’re feeling retro.
Step 4: Snog your bloody eyes out. Go for it until your jaw aches. Knock yourself out.
Come on people – we know you’re all in love and stuff but spare a thought for some of us who have been brought to a gig by a tinder date and then left on our own behind you whilst he goes off to ‘try and get a mosh pit started’. At a Frank Turner gig. Yes really.*
* for those who don’t know, FT is mainly acoustic nice folky music. Tis my jam. Tis not the place for a moshpit since it is frequented usually by people who use the words ‘tis’ and ‘frequented’ when referring to gigs.
- The incredibly drunk people
Oh my god guys. Did you go and have loads of raaaahhhhhlllllyyyyyyy fun draaanks before the show?!
It seems to be the law at gigs that if you are heinously drunk you must also be dressed outrageously, covered in some sort of glitter, have lost any sense of volume control and be on the constant verge of falling over or vomiting.
MOD and I encountered a set of these…what’s the scientific term for them…oh that’s right ‘absolute bellends’ at the 1975.
Think I’m being too harsh. Here are their offences in no particular order. Repeatedly pushing past us to go to the toilet and come back again/go find their friend and come back again/forget when they left and come back again, smelt horrendous, screeched things like ‘this shit is siiiiiiicccccccckkkkkk’ at each other relentlessly, had some sort of penalty shootout using bottles where the goal seemed to be the backs of my legs and arse and had no concept of personal space whatsoever.
I found glitter behind my ear. Enough said.
Don’t get me wrong – I like a drink. (YOU DON’T SAY I hear you cry). But I also accept that I am heinously annoying when I’ve had a few hundred. I ramble, I fall and most recently have developed a blasé attitude to peeing in public which resulted in MOD having to physically restrain me from relieving myself in the middle of a well lit garage forecourt.
Guys it’s SUCH fun dating me. Lucky old MOD eh.
More on that story of terribleness later.
So yeah don’t be a drunk twat and don’t be surprised when the people around you call you a ‘giant knobjockey’. You deserve it. Yes you do.
- The crowd surfer
Everyone hates you and you are not cool. The end.