Essay: Concert fans I can’t be the only one so annoyed by this

John Oliver put on a show at Bass Concert Hall back in August.  Being fans of his HBO show, my wife and I were excited to see the performance and hear what current takes the comedian who has us slapping our knees in laughter every Sunday would share. The audience was respectful, well-mannered, and courteous to one another. 

Not too far into the set of the evenings opening act, Brooks Wheelan, we noticed something in our section.  As one of his bits, incorporating something regarding the chain store Big Lots, prompted solid laughter from the crowd, a person sitting behind us found it important to engage others in their party with an anecdote describing one of their relative’s time working at Big Lots.

The story continued for a short time before the distraction was no longer humming about our ears, and those of all nearby, from the show they paid to see.

We left the show reeling over the evening’s performances. We couldn’t help but to bring up the couple behind us; the ones who found it necessary to speak loudly over the paid performer to share their anecdote.  

Over the course of the following months, we encountered numerous party fouls personified at various venues, with no genre immune to offending attendees.

The Moody Center hosted Sting a few weeks later. As the  legendary singer quietly shared a nostalgia-laden tale to a quiet audience, the three-pack behind us engaged in banter about their workday.  This was especially annoying due to the fact that the two at ends repeatedly leaned forward — behind our ears — raising their voices to ensure none of the three missed out on any of their inner-circle banter.  If you think Sting breaking into quiet acoustic song stopped them, you are wrong.

It was time to act; my lovely wife turned to give them a look.

“She’s mad at us.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “We’re here to see and listen to Sting; it’s what we all paid for.”

“Haven’t you ever been to a concert before?” the one closest to the aisle snarkily asked.

“Yep, and this one is really good. Check it out!”

Just days after, we were back at Moody Center for Pearl Jam.  Our seats were the first two from the aisle. The show was off to an unbelievable start..truly spectacular.  Not long after the legendary band took stage for what would be the final show of their 2023 tour, three middle-aged women in cowboy boots — without one “excuse me” — pushed us forward to get to their seats (they had numbers three, four, and five.)  It was obvious they were intoxicated, so…no biggie.

Wrong.

Before we knew it, we were being pushed into the aisle.  The one in seat three was dancing in front of seat two, pushing my better half and myself into the aisle. 

My wife said to the seat-three-line-stepper, “Excuse me, can you move down to your seats?  You are pushing us into the aisle.”

“You can still dance in the aisles,” the lady replied.

We were taken aback – shocked.  There we were; the only ones standing in…blocking the aisle, while these three entitled dragon people danced in front of five seats…our seats. 

At several points, seat three responded to my reminders of her encroachment by asking, “can’t you see that everyone else here is up, dancing and having a good time?”

“Yes, and they’re doing so in front of their own seats.” 

Then she said it; “Haven’t you ever been to a concert before?”

It’s everywhere. There’s person in front of you,  jumping up and down with their recording device bouncing all over. 

We’ve all dealt with the pleasure of the one with the big-ass hat, holding a big-ass sign,  assuming their gimmick headwear will somehow impress, rather than annoy the hell out everyone around them. 

Our eyes have all leered toward the loud laugher twenty feet away — noticing the dirty looks they’re getting from   patrons who just want to enjoy the show.

There’s that group of old friends, who decided that the best way to catch up on life is by sharing 30 years of stories in the middle of a packed concert crowd.

I love being part of an energetic, involved audience.  It just seems that folks not respecting the space of others at live shows is an increasingly-common issue. 

Don’t even get me started with people talking during movies. Even at the Alamo Drafthouse, there’s now almost always a group nearby that forgets the “Quiet Zone” warning preceding the feature as soon as the flick starts.  Perhaps they just don’t care about others —  that these societal guidelines do not apply to them. 

Or maybe I’m just grumpy.

Editor’s note: Read one of our most popular reviews of year, Mr. Hillsman’s less grumpy piece on Pearl Jam

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