Free things and concerts are two of my favorite things in life, so when offered a ticket to see Glass Animals at The Fillmore I immediately accepted. I didn’t take the ticket anticipating a life–altering experience, but unwittingly that's what I got. Monday rolled around and everybody I know had enough midterms and papers that they couldn’t spare a night to go to a (free) concert. So in the name of journalism, at 7:30pm I opened Uber, clicked “1 seat” and went on my way: excited, nervous, and determined to have fun by myself, goddamnit.
Listen: I am afflicted by the same self–consciousness and desire for normalcy that plagues many, if not most, college students. We are constantly surrounded by our peers, acutely aware of the many watchful gazes upon us AT ALL TIMES. Like, besides seeing every human you’ve ever met on Locust Walk every day, you can’t even get your Sunday morning Saxby's fix without being stuck behind your cute crush from class and that one kid you never talked to from your freshman year hall.
The fear I’ve always had of going alone to a show is being so paralyzed by self–consciousness that I’m unable to enjoy the experience. I recognize the beauty of going alone when I realize— I don’t care what any single person here thinks about me! I'm accountable to nobody, free to have fun exclusively on my own terms. I’ve gone to concerts before with friends and felt too awkward to dance, too pressured to talk between sets, too cautious in elbowing my way to the front, too sensitive to their level of amusement. Alone, I dance, I sing along, I cheer. I’m liberated from the harsh constraints of insecurities and proceed to just, well, enjoy myself.
Glass Animals really knows how to put on a show: bassist Edmund Irwin–Singer fills the venue with a pulsing energy, drummer Joe Seaward sustains the intensity and dynamism created by lead singer Dave Bayley, and Drew MacFarlane carries the songs on guitar. Bayley invigoratingly jumps around the stage during the show, lending vitality to songs that are mellow when blasting through laptop speakers. Lights flash, production fog mingles in the rafters with vapors emanating from the audience.
Yes, there's a certain crowd that goes to a Glass Animals show, and that crowd is bearded, couple-y, and so into this concert. Despite my lack of a facial homage to James A. Garfield and distinct lack of partner, I, too, am very into this show.
Who gives a crap that Bearded Man No. 7 is judging my awkward bobbing? Dude, your facial hair is grazing the exact same LL Bean flannel that every single other guy here is wearing. As it turns out, I don’t really care what you think about standing out in a crowd. Go back to your man–with–hands–on–girlfriend’s–crotch pose (because that’s how couples are supposed to stand at concerts I guess?). And to the girl on my immediate right: I know you’re trying to figure out what my deal is. I see your side eye, and I raise you a confident, self-assured sense of purpose. Leave me to my five entire square feet of solitude in peace. I’m having a moment, here.
A word of precaution: if you go to a show by yourself you may end up having a sub–par time through no fault of your own simply because the show is a poor one. You’ll be stuck alone in a despairing spiral of self–pity and awkwardness, telling yourself over and over this was a mistake. If this happens to you during the opener, stick it out and wait for the main act! Main Act is why you came, keep reminding yourself of this. If not, hey, you still boldly chose to go by yourself, so pat yourself on the back. Tell everyone you had a great time anyway. They'll never know the difference.
If you’ve been waiting for permission, here it is. Go ahead and buy that ticket to see your favorite band, or gallery opening, speaker or movie— whatever you’re into. Go for the sake of reveling in the thing you admire the most and for no other reason. Learn about who you are when you experience things alone, fully and immersively.
Maybe I’ll see you there.
