You remember me? The girl behind you? The one wearing the awful manktop and very little makeup? The one coated in other people’s sweat and singing along to all the songs?
Yeah, that’s me.
You seemed…nice. At least, not mean. You seemed like you were a decent person who had probably paid her money to see this. I presumed from your tshirt that you were a fan of Mariana’s Trench. If you would have sang along, or jumped, or clapped, or waved your arms, or danced, or bobbed your head, or looked up from your camera, maybe I would have known for sure.
But…you didn’t. You were second row in one of the best concerts I’ve been to in a long while and you were glued to the little device recording the show in front of you. You did not need zoom. You were right there. And I was right behind you. I had a great view. I got to see when the guitarist leapt off the boost table, when the drummer talked about getting food poisoning, when the lead singer hit every note perfectly on the acoustic encore…it was all great. I don’t know if you really saw it. You switched constantly between recording or taking pictures of each individual, but I doubt you really heard any of the concert. It’s hard to multitask like that.
You see, a lot of girls (and some guys) I know bring their cameras/phones to concerts. They want to document every second of this awesome night they’re going to have. I understand. And if you want to take pictures, all power to you. But there is a line to be drawn between taking pictures and turning this awesome night into a multimedia event. You lose a lot of your concert experience when you try and take pictures. Every now and again is fine, but when the entire show is just you trying to get the perfect shot, you ruin it for yourself and the people that are trying to actually watch.
And when the lead singer of any band stage dives while belting their hit single, you put the electronics away.
So I’m not sorry that I blocked your shots for the entire closing song. I’m not sorry that I knocked your camera out of your hand when I lunged forward to catch Josh Ramsay and he leapt into the crowd. I’m a little bit sorry that I didn’t help you find it. I’m really sorry than you did. I am very sorry that you missed out on the last part of the set because you were busy being angry and me and others around us for bumping you. I’m extremely sorry that you probably don’t understand any of this, and won’t until many years down the line when you realize that the best concert experiences are those that go undocumented.
You missed a great show, Girl In Front Of Me. I only wish you knew.
Labels: marianas trench, music