The warm up act was a Canadian folk-song singer on an accordion. He was interesting, and I mean that in a positive manner. And his music vaguely resembled that of Kaizers’. But I won’t remember him for more than his ability to have the audience chant ‘fuck the police’ in unison with him. By the time he finished the audience was much smaller than anticipated. The concert had been sold out for months. Only in the last minutes before the main act entered the stage did the seat around me fill up. Three of the chairs to my right were still empty when Jan Ove (the lead singer) started the show. I tried to ignore this, but it bothered me.
I sat completely absorbed in the music, determined to not miss a second of the show. Three songs into it three girls, a few years younger than myself, walked towards the row I was sitting on. Each with a pint of alcopop in their hand. They giggled and talked as they had everyone on the left of their seats stand up and let them pass. In front of me sat a girl with what appeared to be her brother and their parents. She was on Facebook on her phone. Talking to her mother and showing her her friends’ photos. Then there was something going on behind us. Then she was on snapchat, watching videos, showing them to her brother while laughing and talking. I tried to focus on the concert, but evidently what happened around me annoyed me. But, there were no empty chairs and the floor was packed.
A song ended. We stood up. Not all of us obviously. Some only looked around themselves, at those of us who risen to our feet to cheer, then they turned back to their friends. One of the better known songs with beat that encourages dancing left some of us standing. Clapping, dancing, singing along. A man a few rows down asked some girls to sit down. I stood my ground. After that song I cheered louder, I clapped harder. After another song came another hit. More people stood up. More people sang. More people danced. All of them clapped.
Those of us standing up, dancing, clapping, singing increased for every song played. Behind me was a young boy likely to have been born in the beginning of the last decade. He was sitting, his parents next to him, on the very edge of his seat. His bright voice broke through the common voice of the crowd. He knew the lyrics to every song. The man who had earlier asked two girls to sit down was now standing himself. Next to him was a boy in his late teens. The teenager was clapping. He had absolutely no sense of rhythm. But he clapped, he smiled, he sang and he danced.
Two thirds into the show not a single seat in my vicinity was folded out (down?) Everybody was on their feet. Some still looked uncomfortable, but they smiled, they clapped, they sang along and their feet tapped the beat. Nobody used their phones unless to film or take pictures. It seemed many came to the concert only accompanying someone else who really wanted to go. By the end of the show it seemed nobody wanted to leave.
Delightful chatter 