23 May 2005
Do:
Get there early and queue for hours if you feel that the world will end if you're not right at the front.
Do Not:
Force your way through the crowd by elbowing people in the face.
Specifically, do not assume that I haven't noticed you doing this to the two girls standing behind me and that because the 6' tall guy standing next to me has refused to stand aside to let you get in front that that means I'm an easier target.
I'm not.
I'm 5'4" and I'm in this particular spot because I like being down the front and I can see from here. You are at least 6" taller than I am. Therefore, the odds of letting you stand in front of me are actually nil.
Shoving your arm between me and the aforementioned 6' tall guy and attempting to lever us apart by forcefully elbowing me in the left breast will not help. You will get shouted at. When that doesn't work, I will try to gain your attention by tapping your elbow in a manner that indicates you should remove it from it's current position immediately. When that doesn't work, and at the point where your elbow is causing me intense pain, I will punch, scratch, dig my nails in and use every scrap of leverage I have to twist my body and forcefully remove your elbow from my person.
You will not glare at me in a way that indicates that you think I'm over-reacting. Nor will you give full action to the thought of elbowing me in the face, a look which clearly passed over your face and which was betrayed by the forceful movement of your elbow towards my cheekbone, only stopped by the fact that my hands were still on your elbow at the time.
Also, I don't have the memory of a hyperactive goldfish, so waiting 20 minutes and then tapping me on the shoulder and asking if you can get in front of me will ensure you get an incredulous "No. Fuck off. I mean it." in response.
Arguing with the big Glaswegian behind you when he charmingly and very chivalrously (although entirely unnecessarily) takes you to task for your further crass attempts to get to the front probably isn't the smartest move either. He's a lot bigger than you, and less likely to be as physically restrained as I've been so far.
Do:
Shower. Use soap too. It won't make your skin fall off. Promise.
It's a gig. You're down the front. It's going to get sweaty. Everyone knows this.
Sweat from people who have showered recently smells ok.
Sweat from people who haven't, really doesn't.
I know it's hard to believe, but it's really true.
Do Not:
Shower with Brut/Old Spice/Lynx/Whatever cheap supermarket deodorant stuff your mother has bought you.
It's not big, clever or good for the environment.
Moderation is the key. If I can smell you at a sweaty gig when you're three rows back and to the left, you've used too. much. goddamned. smelly stuff.
Do:
Enjoy yourself. Sing. Dance. Mosh. Pump your fist in the air and make the universal "rock" gesture by extended your index and pinky fingers in the air. This is what creates a good atmosphere.
Do Not:
Get so carried away that you cause physical harm to those around you. This includes:
- getting temporarily blinded by your scraggly long hair
- having my nose almost broken by your flailing head
- getting concussion from being kicked in the head because you just had to crowd surf one more time
- fearing that the bones in the top of my foot are broken because you jumped back so hard
Equally, do not stand, at the front, with your arms crossed/fingers in your ears/a grumpy "I don't want to be here" expression on your face glaring and/or tutting at everyone enjoying themselves around you. This is known as a buzz kill. If you don't want to be there, have enough spine to intimate this fact to your partner, before he/she buys the tickets.
Do:
Enjoy a meal with friends before the gig. Socialising is, of course, important, and since it's an occasion, why not make a proper night of it.
Do Not:
Eat something so hot and spicy that it whooshes through your digestive system in record time and hammers at the door of your sphincter, screaming to be let out just in time for the main act arriving on stage.
There is no such thing as a sneaky fart at a gig.
Murphy's law dictates that it will be long, loud (although the sound will be drowned out, ensuring that those around you don't get this important warning), probably acid-tinged and burning and although every cell in your body is urging you to rid yourself of this poison, do not give in to this urge, because it will smell.
Oh lordy will it smell.
It will reek to high heaven.
It will create a fug around you so intensely noxious putrid that even the slightest whiff causes people to retch and gag, and as a result of the hot air created when lots of bodies are in an enclosed space, it will hang around.
For ages.
So just don't. I don't care if it gives you stomach-ache. For the love of your fellow humans, just hold it in.
Amusing.
Also describes every gig I ever went to. I don't think it ever changes. Which is why as I get older I find I'm at the front less. Too much hard work. And I think all the knobheads start to wind me up more.
I nearly peed myself laughing. You kill me! hehehe.
I'm sorry have I missed something?
I thought these people were actually hired to ensure every gig had the authentic "great gig, ruined by a dick" feeling at the end. Certainly would explain it :)
The mental image conjured up by the thought of an ill-advised curry fulfilling its ultimate destiny is going to stuck in my head all day now.
i really feel you on this one!!
http://www.vortex.net.nz/2005/05/22/public-address-live-at-the-writers-festival/
Good gig, then?
Thanks for this. You've reminded me to secure a vantage point near the back for Doves on Saturday. Although, as it starts at 11.30am (as part of Carling Live 24), there may not be as much of a problem.
Thanks for this. You've just reminded me of that apocryphal night in June 2001 - stuck in the midst of some sweaty gig crowd in the back of a Camden pub, watching some anonymous indie band who have since (quite rightly) disappeared into oblivion - when I decided that 'gigs' weren't really my thing anymore, and that if I did go and see concerts they would be in nice, restrained middle-class environments such as the Royal Festival Hall. Oh yes.
See, the thing is, I love gigs. I love the energy of them. I actively make an effort to get down the front (and have got to within the first three rows of people) at every gig but one I've been to.
I actively seek it out.
But not for the stinky farting knobends who elbow me in the tits.
For this: http://www.pixeldiva.co.uk/reaching-for-the-lights.html
Whatever is the world of stereotypes coming to. Sweaty smelly arsed rockers at a Europe gig. By which I'm refering to everyone else apart from you, of course . . .
" Also, I don't have the memory of a hyperactive goldfish"
Much as I like the image, are you actually using it for truthful purposes?
*Applause*
And thanks for making me laugh out loud while in the office.
Still, hope the gig was worth it.
I've been there so many times...
I always think they should arrange gig crowds in height order like they did for school photo's.
I completely agree with everything you've said, but would like to add: don't wear a small pointy rucksack to a gig - it will only harm the person behind you; and also don't go shirtless - being pressed against someone's sweat sodden T-shirt is a bit unpleasant, being stuck to someone's sweat-coated back is absolutely foul.
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