I used to go to a lot of concerts. Anytime there was a band or musician who I was vaguely interested in, I bought tickets to see them. I’ve been to music festivals, stadium tours, stages in the corner of a bar, and once even saw a show on an old AC transit bus as it drove around San Diego. The last two concerts I went to before the pandemic were Jenny Lewis and Vampire Weekend just a few days apart from each other in October 2019.
Of course, things have changed a lot since October 2019. Even has venues started opening up again, I was not eager to jump back into the concert game. In addition to the threat of germs in closed quarters, one of my biggest hesitations about picking up my concert game was not having a buddy to come with me. In 2020, I moved across the country and while I certainly have established a little community in my new home, the fact is that I’m just not surrounded by the same always-down-concert-going pals.
The first time I went to a concert alone, it was kind of by accident. I had bought two tickets to see Haim and convinced my boyfriend to come with me. But he was struck down with COVID just days before the show. I knew I wanted to see them live and instead of just selling both tickets, I decided to go by myself and brave the awkwardness of standing alone in the general admission section.
Honestly, this was way outside my comfort zone. I love having a buddy with me. Someone to chat with through the downtime. Someone to grab drinks with before and after the show. Someone to save your spot when you run to the bathroom or go to grab an overpriced beer.
Even now, after having gone to a fair number of events alone–musicals, movies, concerts–I’d still rather have a buddy with me. But what I’ve come to realize, and what ultimately motivates me, is that the awkwardness of standing around alone is certainly not worse than missing out on something I really wanted to experience just because I didn’t have someone to go with.
Besides, the truth is that I know no one is paying attention to me. Why should I feel awkward if no one is feeling awkward about me?
So, I had all this in mind when I saw that Margaret Glaspy was playing in DC a few weeks ago. I didn’t even think twice or try to find someone to join me. I just knew that I wanted to see her play and I bought a ticket for one.
When I was younger, I used to insist on getting to a venue right when doors open, often waiting in the line that wrapped outside the venue just a few minutes before opening time. This was in large part because I am so short and needed to stake my claim to a location where I could visibly see the stage.
Glaspy was playing at a smaller venue–an experience I’ve realized I enjoy much more than large stadium tours. So, I thought I’d arrive just around the start of the opener, and stave off the awkwardness of waiting around by myself. I was sure that I could find a spot with a decent enough view, wiggling my way through the crowd since I was only one person.
While grabbing a beer, I briefly made conversation with a woman at the bar, who kept running small glasses of water back and forth from the water cooler in the corner to a group of teens standing in the front row. Upon first meeting, she looked like any cool Gen X-er, with long half-grayed out hair, a nose ring, and tattoos. Perhaps in an attempt to apologize for cutting in and out of the crowd, she later explained that she had brought her kids to their first all-ages show, giving them space, while also continually checking in on them and providing refreshments as needed. I’m sure they will not appreciate this until they are much older.
Something about me, I will always give the opener the attention and respect they deserve. I simply just cannot ignore when live music is playing right in front of me.
The opener, Mieke, was a girl-fronted rock band that took me back to my teen and pre-teen years. I suppose some things never change, like the sound of girl angst set to electric guitar. Meike’s closing song Jesse has stuck with me still these many weeks later.
In between sets, I noticed an older gentleman behind me pull out his Kindle to read while waiting for the music to start again—something I’ve done in more formal venues, like an opera house, while waiting for a show to start. I think he may have been a teacher, because two younger teens approached him with reverence to say hello at the end of the show.
Then Glaspy took the stage. It’s hard to describe her presence. She is small, has a crisp long bob, and looks like someone who might sit in the cubicle next to you. But the second she opens her mouth, her vocals cut through the room. She instantly sets herself apart from the opener (who was excellent for the record). She is not fronting a garage rock band. She is a capital M musician. A singer. A performer.
Part of what has drawn me to Glaspy’s music is her vocals. They are rich, deep, with a gravely quality—a stark contrast from her delicate appearance. And when you see her live, you’re able to appreciate it all the more. She reaches for big notes, filling the space with little effort. She intertwines large vocal swells with softer, sometimes spoken melodies.
During a particularly heartfelt and quiet moment of the show that featured only Glaspy and her guitar, a rather loud mummer started to arise near the bar. This caused multiple concertgoers, including myself, to turn their heads to try to find who the culprit was behind the chatter. A guy behind me breathlessly muttered, shutthefuckup, as we all stared, trying to shame the group of talkers. Of course, they never once looked up or noticed the public shaming that was happening. I’m not sure they even noticed the concert that was taking place. I will never understand people who go to concerts, only to chat through them, a worrying trend I’ve noticed more and more as I’ve reentered the concert scene.
Glaspy was touring for her latest album Echo the Diamond, which came out last year. Prior to this show, I had not really listened to it that much. I knew it existed but kind of flew under the radar for me.
In honesty, I had fallen in love with her record Devotion, which came out in March of 2020—the worst time to release an album, as she pointed out. But Glaspy is one of those performers who gives you new appreciation for their work after seeing them live.
Since the show, I have revisited Echo the Diamond. A solid rock album in an age where rock is dwindling. You’ll be able to gain an appreciate Glaspy’s unique vocals throughout this record. And when you’re done, I hope you dive deeper and listen to Devotion as well.
I will continue to go to concerts by myself. But if anyone wants to join me in the future, just let me know!
I started going to shows alone years ago and honestly I love it. I can wander where I like, stand where I want, and I don't have that nagging feeling in the back of my head like "Is this person enjoying the show? Do they wish they were somewhere else?" I relish the opportunity to nurse a beer, make small talk at the bar, zone out and listen to whatever is playing over the PA in the venue. Sometimes, if I'm fortunate, chance may intervene and I'll run into someone I know from the local scene. But really it gives me a space to sink into the experience, that peculiar way that time feels suspended in the dark of the club.