This spring, Phoebe Bridgers has been making her way across the U.S. on a string of “secret” shows. Locations are revealed just days in advance, tickets cost as little as a dollar and are purchased through a randomized lottery, and cell phones and other recording devices are prohibited. Bridgers’ final pop-up show at Madison Square Garden came with the announcement of a more formal tour that will take place in the fall, with support from Alex G on its North American leg and former Black Country, New Road frontman Isaac Wood in Europe. And, like the pop-up shows, every stop on the Lost Tour will be phone-free.
If this latest, Bridgers-inspired wave of “phones at concerts” discourse has made one thing clear, it’s that we haven’t come very far since Mitski bemoaned audiences who “film entire songs or whole sets.” Both artists have received backlash to what are, in reality, pretty reasonable requests. I’m no Luddite myself. I’m about as screen-addled as your average zillennial. I’ve been known to grab a thirty-second clip of my favorite song at most concerts I attend. I write about music and internet culture for a living—sometimes in my notes app while I’m at a show. All that said: You don’t need to have your phone at concerts. You just don’t.
Some fans have raised concerns about accessibility—what if your phone doubles as a monitoring device for conditions like diabetes or epilepsy? An official statement from Bridgers’ team confirms that there will be medical exemptions made in accordance with ADA compliance, allowing disabled concertgoers to access their phones for non-recording purposes. Not being able to film a concert isn’t a disability rights violation, and claiming otherwise patronizes disabled concertgoers while minimizing the legitimate accessibility barriers that are ongoing in the live music industry—not to mention those faced by disabled performers and crew members. Contrary to what some fans might want you to believe, being an adult iPad baby is not a disability.
Other fans have claimed that not allowing recordings is “classist,” that by restricting videos they’re limiting the access of fans who can’t afford concert tickets. And sure, classism is undoubtedly at play in the live music economy. It’s classist that multimillion dollar companies like Ticketmaster and LiveNation have free rein to jack up prices while bots buy up tickets for resale. It’s classist that most musicians struggle to make a living off touring and record sales while streaming corporations bleed them dry. It’s not classist that one artist has decided to stop you from filming her concerts so you can post clips to your billionaire-owned social platform of choice.
I’ve watched enough bootlegs and illegal rips that I could never be a hardline anti-piracy guy, but this big and beautiful internet we’ve got has no shortage of professionally-filmed live performances from Ms. Bridgers, and I’m sure that more will come from this pop-up show tour (and the one in the fall). Maybe you won’t get them the very next day, and maybe there won’t be one from every show, but they’ll look better than a grainy iPhone video filmed with shaky hands from the nosebleeds—and some delayed gratification might do you good.
When I go to a concert, I’m well aware that the artist onstage is at work. This is their job, and it’s a hard one. They’re exhausted from hopping between time zones and going days, even months without seeing their loved ones. Odds are they’re either losing money or barely breaking even by playing shows at all. Most of us aren’t physically, psychologically, or emotionally built for life on tour, and the people that choose that life choose it because they’ve decided that the grueling hours, logistical hassles, and financial precarity are worth it in order to spend an hour or two each night doing the thing they love for an audience of people who paid to see them do it. If they don’t want to spend that time staring out at a sea of cellphones, and they’ve decided the best solution is a phone-free concert, more power to them.
I was at Bridgers’ MSG show, and had my phone not been locked away in a Yondr pouch, a couple clips from her set would have probably ended up on my Instagram. But I didn’t feel like I was missing anything by being unable to film her performance. While waiting for her to take the stage, I talked to my sister and eavesdropped on the people sitting nearby. I had a book in my purse that I probably would have read had I been attending the show alone. When the stadium filled with lighters during “Graceland Too,” I marveled at how much cooler it looked than it would have with phone flashlights. New York’s largest, flashiest live performance venue somehow felt intimate.
I’m not saying I’ll never use my phone at a concert again, or that all shows should be phone-free, but I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time—something I mostly associate with live theatre or ballet or opera or certain film screenings: that our collective focus was all on the same thing, that we were sharing an experience in a way that probably would’ve felt fractured had we been watching through our phone screens. At times I found myself cringing or rolling my eyes at my fellow concertgoers when they shouted during quiet moments instead of accepting the silence or when they kept doing the wave before Bridgers came out. Just because I think something is corny or annoying doesn’t mean it’s an infringement on my rights. By opting into a communal experience, you run the risk of being annoyed or inconvenienced a little. I’m not gonna demand a refund on a concert ticket if someone taller than me decides to stand in front of me the whole time. I chose this. You chose this. No one is making you buy the ticket.
When you buy a concert ticket, what are you paying for: a live music experience or a film permit? The price of admission entitles you to a performance from the musician you came to see in an environment with sufficient security and accessibility. Your ticket doesn’t entitle you to film a concert any more than my ticket entitles me to a show where fans aren’t yelling during quiet moments, holding their phones up for the entire show, or engaging in any other behaviors that I feel personally irritated or inconvenienced by. I don’t like that stuff, but I put up with it because a concert is a public space. No one is owed an experience perfectly tailored to their preferences just because they paid to get in. If you’re looking to enjoy live music in a thoroughly controlled environment where every single one of your desires is catered to, might I suggest watching one of Phoebe Bridgers’ many live performances on YouTube from the comfort and privacy of your own home? You wanted to watch it through a screen anyway.
Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn. Her work has appeared in Pitchfork, Stereogum, The Alternative, ANTICS, Marvin, Swim Into The Sound, and her “mostly about music” newsletter, Our Band Could Be Your Wife.
Listen to Phoebe Bridgers’ Daytrotter Session here.
