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Music

The Idiot's Guide to Basic Gig Etiquette

Or, How to Have Fun at a Show Without Being a Total Dick.
Ryan Bassil
London, GB

Earlier this week, Kitty Pryde took to the stage of Irving Plaza and was greeted by a throng of over-stimulated, vacuous teens chanting “SUCK HIS DICK, SUCK HIS DICK.” They were responding to Kitty Pryde's article for this very site, in which she defended Danny Brown after his sexual assault at a show last week. Regardless of "The Thing," I can't speak for everybody else, but when I greet females, the incantation of demanded fellatio is something that barely sits within the realm of Steve Stifler anecdotes, let alone first time introductions.

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How have we let it get to this point?

It was an introduction that shouldn’t have been served up by anyone, even if "anyone" means a crowd of misogynistic teens who probably went home to jerk off their sense of self-bravado off into Supreme-branded tube socks.

The incident wasn’t Danny Brown’s fault, and blame has generally been firmly pointed in the direction of the gig-goer. Sure, going to a show nowadays doesn’t mean attending the reefer smoke-filled shows of cultural importance that our parents led us to believe existed, and instead are more in line with blowing $27.50 on a ticket (plus booking fee!) and spending half an hour breathing in the stench of someone else’s armpit. But the rise in price and loss of comfort doesn’t mean we all have to act with the air of rudeness otherwise embraced by a Axe-soaked frat antagonist or a suburban rush hour-type who channels his pencil-pushing lifestyle into malignant ignorance for the masses.

Instead, we need a new set of rules: a unifying global boiler plate that concert-goers can use as a baseline for their tumultuous culture trips, helping them to be rational peopl and avoid being total fucking dickheads. Since this is the Internet, I’m young, and it’s my job to write about things, I’ve gone and created that template for y’all. Here it is.

Pre-Show

Unless you’re completely straight-edge, you’re going to want to lubricate your loins with a little bit of liquid courage prior to the show starting. However, If you’ve spent the past three years “growing up” at college, where the only perk is cheap alcohol, then the price of booze at gigs is enough to send you into a pre-graduation flirt with debt-ridden suicide. The real world is expensive, but the corporate-sponsored concert world is even more costly. Do yourself a favor and pick up a two-liter bottle of Strongbow from the bodega around the corner. Just because you’re old enough to attend gigs without your Dad doesn’t mean you’re above off-license 2-for-1 deals. Sure, you won’t be living the rock ’n’ roll dream of cradling four over-flowing pint glasses as you wormhole through crowds of disingenuous punters, but you’ll comfortably waltz into the venue with a wallet full of cash to spunk on post-gig comedown weed or a trip to Chipotle.

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If, however, you’re too stupid/proud/old to make a saving by boozing before the show in the playground around the corner from the venue, then the bar is probably where you’ll spend the support band's set. It’s a shame, though, because this place is a total fucking hassle. You’ll line up. You’ll wait for-fucking-ever. You’ll get sandwiched between two burly young gents. You’ll be too polite or too intimidated to moan at them for pushing in front. You’ll get progressively angry and start to develop a vendetta against the bartender, who seems intent on serving everyone in their COMMES DES FUCKDOWN beanies before you. Finally, you’ll spend two hours' wages on two brews. Painfully thinking about the dent that your alcohol thirst has left in next week’s gak budget, you’ll down them both with the intensity of someone who hates inflation. You’ll trawl back through the crowd, rushing to the bathroom to go for a piss. And you’ll repeat, spending half your night in a camaraderie carousel between the bar and the bathroom. Sounds like fun, right?

Unless you like spending half your night in the bathroom (and if you do, and you’re not doing it for the purpose of "girl talk," why?), then it’s probably not going to be any fun at all. Thankfully, if you’re attending a gig, then it’s likely that you’ll have brought a friend or two along for company. If so, good work, you’re not a terrible person! Some people, however, choose to bring their significant others to shows. I understand that sometimes there’s a need to break out of the continuum of Ben & Jerry's and Gossip Girl catch-up duvet dens, and sometimes that break can be found in the solace of a FIDLAR show, and that’s fine. Lather yourself in lager, forget that you hate each other and head over to Bowery Ballroom. But if you’re going to get annoyed when your girlfriend accidently gets smacked in the face while you try to forge a perimeter around her, then you should probably reconsider the logistics of a post-cheating-incident date-pology in the front row of a party-punk show.

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If accompanying your other half to their favorite show is a pre-requisite to them accepting your apology for “accidently” fingering a girl in the corner of a dive bar and is otherwise non-negotiable, then fine. But, please, remember PDA rules. Because, unlike George Michael’s fashion choices in the video for “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go,” PDA needs to be banned. If you’re George, then you could probably get away with sucking a girl’s face in the center of Webster Hall because you’re marinated in sex appeal, but George wouldn’t do that, because he likes men, and you shouldn’t do that, because you’re not George. The important thing to remember here is: If you’re not George, then you should be go-go-going at it at home.

During The Show

So, you’ve curbed your heavy weed intake and bailed on last night's office drinks in order to comfortably slot the first Brooklyn gig from a hyped new band from Baltimore into your calendar. You probably love them more than you love your unborn grandchildren. So, show it! I’m not saying that you need to punch a ticket taker in the face with your glowing hand of fandom, but for too long now, the patrons of New York’s venues have attended shows with the exhilaration of a bored office clerk lining up at the post office.

Before nu-metal came around and ruined everyone’s lives, someone decided that snow-plowing their body into someone else’s organs was a good way of showing appreciation for music. It happened for a couple of years until everyone shrugged, got bored, and decided never to go to Warped Tour again. Recently, though, Jay Z and Kanye West discovered that circle pits were a real thing and the “trend” of moshing has seen something of resurgence. I’m not suggesting that you need to delve into the depths of a mosh pit to have fun, however, I am saying that if you like something, don’t be afraid to show it by flailing your arms and hollering your lungs hoarse until the lead singer of whatever nondescript indie band you’re watching realizes that you’re totally dedicated to his cause and sleeps with you because of it. Just don't suck his dick on stage, because if the guitar-n-Urban-Outfitters world is anything like the rap game, it'll cause a flurry of easily reposted news stories that will provide a week's-worth of crop for content farmers who don't deserve to be running a farm on the Internet, because it's a place for thought, not copying and pasting mass produce. In short, keep it at home.

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If you’re trying to have fun with ten tall boys of PBR and a Doritos Locos Taco in your system, then it’s going to get a little hot and sweaty. You’re going to want to take your shirt off and thrust your pectoral mecca into the patronage of a Beady Eye concert while floating down to earth on a headspace soaked with “lager, lager, lager," but just like how taking your shirt off on the subway “because it’s really hot!!!” would be totally disgusting, the same goes for a gig. It’s important to have fun, but it’s also important not to force the person behind you to digest an evening’s worth of your sweat as they rest their forehead on the nook of your back.

While you’re at the show, busy having fun and not making out with your girlfriend or standing in line at the bar, you’re probably going to want to film a couple of shots of the band to watch on the train home. Old people always moan about this one, but old people didn’t have a social media presence to uphold. Instead, when they die, there will be nothing left but a gravestone and a funeral in a church that they didn’t believe in. They’re just jealous because when you finally hit the hay, your offspring will be able to relive Daddy’s tumultuous gigging lifestyle on the summer festival circuit through Instagram. So, go ahead and film everything like it deserves to be captured and stored on your phone for you to watch while you’re engaging in a post-show, pre-bed toilet session.

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Post-show

So, you’ve watched the best set of your life; you’ve saved all of your money by not drinking the overpriced beer sold inside, you’ve avoided engaging in PDA and still kept your relationship intact, you’ve had a lot of fun. What are you going to do now?

IDK! Whatever you want! You're at home now, so feel free to drag your sweat-encrusted ass up to the shower or soak yourself into the sofa until your ears stop ringing.

Follow Ryan on Twitter: @RyanBassil

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