Rants and Raves
Did You Pay to See This?
Written by: Ed Butler
Published: May 12th '08
Have you ever been to the opera? Or the theatre? How about the ballet? Even if you haven’t, chances are you’re aware of the etiquette of attending. Arrive on time, take your seat, enjoy the show. Simple. So why is there such a distinct lack of similar manners in the Melbourne live scene? Now this isn’t sour grapes. The wonderful thing about live rock as removed from the more refined entertainments is the anarchy, the beer, the sweat, the noise, the sticky carpet, the joie de vivre. Anything can happen, and often does. These things add a layer of charm and excitement to shows that already have the potential for spectacle and wonderment. Even a bad show still can be relied on for a moment or two, a song that rises above the muck and creates a moment, not to be soon forgotten, that makes the price of entry worthwhile, despite 13 other songs that don’t make the grade. Which raises the question, why, if people spend up to $50 to see a gig at a local pub, do they feel the need to ignore the band for much of the gig and engage in conversation with their cohorts? Everyone’s experienced this; enjoying a show, the band starts up a quieter song, building atmosphere and emotional intensity - maybe it’s one of your favourite songs - and some half-cut, bemulletted, socially retarded nerf-herder is busily engaged in voluminous conversation a metre to your right. The responsible thing to do would be to glass his overly moisturized face and lay into him until security realise what you’re doing and dispose of the body, but we live in polite times, some of us, and we either silently sit there stewing in our own boiling blood, or turn and gently request that they shut the fuck up. Which sometimes works until the end of the song, until the whole process repeats itself.
So, why? The easy answer is that they are a member of that introduced pest, the one-song fan. This vermin, once under control, has become increasingly prominent in pubs the world over, rocking up to shows that they’ve forked over serious coin to attend, only to pay scant attention to proceedings, until the one song they’ve heard on KLON (clone radio – thanks Josh Homme) comes up, at which point they sing along (only the chorus) with commendable vigour. Then, they resume their conversation. But this can’t be all. Some people may have poor attention spans. Or too much money, only going to gigs to get out of the house. And some people are just tools.
But this isn’t all. There are other people who have the capacity to ruin a show. Tall people. Yes, I know that it’s not their fault, they were born that way, and heaven forbid we discriminate against people who have a natural advantage in almost every physical endeavour this side of dressage. But while the tall person really should have the manners to simply stand back and appreciate their unfettered view of the action, they often consider it their right to stand square in the middle of the crowd, without the merest consideration for the needs of their more vertically challenged gig-mates. This, however, is perhaps a situation for venue managers to regulate, rather than tall folk, who, like fraudulent bankers, wouldn’t dream of imposing behaviours upon themselves lest their ability to profit from our misery be stifled, actually behave nicely. Why, oh why are live music venues built the way they are? It’s usually a band room – that is, a dedicated area in which people watch music. Here’s a tip – STAGGER THE FLOOR! Three gradations would probably do. The other, more controversial, option, although it is one I quite like, is to simply charge more per inch. Six foot five? Sure, you can come. Fifty bucks. After all, why not? They get a better view. Surely they should pay more for a better experience. But I digress slightly, because tall people, by and large, seem to be at least peripherally aware of the effect they have on the gig-going public, and seem to carry some hidden shame as a result. No, the real problem are more often of more average height. You know them. The ones who, after having spent the entire support slot at the bar, decide that, as the headliner takes to the stage, they are entitled to muscle their way as far towards the stage as possible. You know the situation. Standing, ready to watch a show, a nice clear view of the stage. The singer leans forward, utters his/her obligatory greeting, and then some dicknose with an afro stands four centimetres in front of your face, obscuring the entire stage as he and his mate stand on tip toes, searching for a closer spot in the crowd. There is little to be done here. That’s the point. There is no etiquette. No established, unwritten set of rules for gig-goers to tacitly adhere to. And that’s a damn shame. I feel for the short, the quiet, the introverted. Those who will not elbow people back. These people are scum, and don’t deserve their place at the show. Whether they talk, push in, or merely obscure your view by dint of their sheer physical size, they are a blight. And they must be stopped. And we’re going to stop them. Send your suggested rules for gig etiquette to ed@wirelessbollinger.com
