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 — that distorted, droning sound at the very start of the track — hit, I was raving as if possessed. Everyone else was possessed too — by their phones, recording.

I wasn’t.

I realized I was truly living the moment. Oddly enough, I was grateful others were recording “for me,” because it freed me to experience the lasers, the energy, and the original artists without distraction. Hey Boy, Hey Girl — probably their best track, one that has never been bettered — unfolded before me, and I was there, fully present.

I don’t know why so many chose to record instead of live the moment. Maybe it’s because they had more money than sense. But I wasn’t there to use my phone; I was there to record the moment in my mind, heart, and soul.

The lesson? People are weird, different, and endlessly interesting. Fulfilment takes many forms: some record, some dance like they’re possessed, others watch quietly with arms crossed. One thing is certain — everyone had a good night, even if some had a better time than others.