Why we go to concerts
Last Friday, I had the privilege of using my Christmas present: tickets to see The Chemical Brothers. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but once there, the experience felt like stepping back into a classic late‑80s, early‑90s rave — only this time, the same generation was present, forty years later. The crowd was made up of fifty‑year‑old teenagers, dressed with more money than sense, sipping legally obtained alcohol (no comment on the weed), wearing the same attire as before. It was a bizarre scene, but somehow they didn’t look ridiculous. Smartphones were everywhere — the latest “smart” devices, which sometimes make me wonder if they’re designed for not‑so‑smart people. The night began with incredible local DJs: Love 00 , then Aerobica , and finally The Chemical Brothers. Halfway through their set, they teased Hey Boy, Hey Girl by dropping hooks into earlier tracks. Most people didn’t notice, but I did — and I was slowly becoming euphoric. By the time that pitch‑bent, filtered sweep — t...