Going to concerts is one thing, surviving is another one

  • Concerts with free entry, festivals, expensive tickets, I’ve done them all. Always with the same goal: find a good spot and dance. I am going to rewrite this: DANCE. Not filming, taking pictures, selfies, to be honest, just dancing.

    I was never embarrassed to express my not-so-beautiful voice. Recently, we’ve been to Electric Brixton, all packed with enthusiasm: first time A-Skillz and another monumental concert of Dub FX. And everything I learnt about the public came back in a flash. The same rules apply, even far away from home. International bounding, I guess.


    The Wanderer: You need to stop walking around, this is not a park and you don’t need to look for your friend three times during the same song. If you are lucky enough to get a front row spot, keep it. Do not wander around and then come back, arguing that you were sitting right near the scene. We don’t care.

    I-am-not-drunk-yet: You can’t possibly need those drinks so bad, that you have to go back and forth to the bar, disturbing everyone or even worse, pushing them. Your drinks, your money. But, man…

    Tall-I-don’t-care: I am 1.60, in my good days. Every single time, theatre, concerts, launching parties, there is that dude, at least 1.80, who will stop right in front of me and start dancing like he’s been there all night long. It’s not your fault, I know. But I’ve been there for the last 2 hours, and you just came. and you’re drunk. And rude. Use your height, you have the same view one metre away. I don’t. And I definitely don’t want to have this view all night long.

    I-own-the-dance-floor: I don’t mind a bit of pushing or involuntary touches when dancing. You’re having fun, I am having fun. But it’s impossible for you not to notice that you’ve been pushing me around for the last half an hour, and even if I moved further away, you decided to use the newly-discovered-people-free space and your breathing for me again. I ain’t here to be your personal physical support. If your drunk and you can’t do it, get out.

    Clackers-Chatters: We’re girls. We like to chat a lot. Especially when I can actually hear my own voice. The entire evening, two females kept on chatting, either stopping right in front of us, so I can’t actually dance, because I could hit you, or near us, pushing us constantly, even if not dancing. Maybe you haven’t seen her in a while, maybe your boyfriend gave you a free pass for tonight, I couldn’t care less. Move on the side, go to the bar and spit your lungs out while trying to explain her why is this an amazing concert, instead of actually enjoying it.

    I-am-sexy-even-if-you-don’t-know-it: Stop hitting on me. Or any other obviously not interested females. Not every girl you see with a loose top or a sexy blouse is here to be your centre of the universe, your purpose for the evening or to be inappropriately touched by you, the drunk male, who just got his third drink and perhaps and extra shot of vodka. I dress for myself and I am not the only one.

    Next time, double check your category.

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