Why Phones and Live Music Don't Mix

Reflections on a recent concert, Kobe, and Michelangelo's David

Recently, I went to a concert for one of my favorite musicians, and I was keenly aware of something. It’s not a new phenomenon, but by now it’s difficult not to notice.

When you go to a concert or live entertainment of almost any kind, you’re inevitably going to see more than a few people pull out their cellular devices in order to capture the moment for posterity.

I have nothing against this behavior per se, and I’ve taken part in it a few times myself. To say anything to the contrary would make me a hypocrite.

However, I do have a slight antipathy toward this behavior, the more and more I come in contact with it. Beyond the inconvenience for everyone else, it seems to say something deeper about our cultural disposition.

I am trying to collect my thoughts below, so please bear with me.

Language, Affordances, and Images

We can live deliriously unaware of others in our own private tech bubbles.

No one around you seems to exist, and there’s less consideration for the communal experience — so you’re blocking someone else, and as a result, you are only getting your individual slice of the moment.

We lose out on something when we put up these artificial barriers mediated by devices. The best concerts, live performances, films, whatever, they try and break into our lives, connect us, and cause us to be present for a moment.

And yet we often seem to negate some of this cultural work being done in the soil around us if we’re not attentive.

My mind goes to how language informs and even shapes our world.

Photos were turned into “selfies” incentivizing a kind of inherent narcissism where the camera, always meant to point outward at the world, now predominantly is focused inward at the individual.

I remember the artist and author Mako Fujimura talking about the subtle shift in language from “taking a picture” vs. “giving someone a photo” as a gift and a remembrance (I think it’s in Culture Care).

Such shifts might seem minor, even immaterial.

However, our language as well as the affordances of our technology come to shape how we interact with it and the world at large. This inward-facing mentality seems to have diffused through our entire culture in ways that are not always beneficial. Just as the dopamine rush of our devices seems to easily reel us in.

The second reason I’m wary of phones at concerts builds on the first and touches on something a bit more significant.

It is reflected by an image that stays with me.

Lebron James broke the scoring record held by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in February 2023, and it was a huge cultural moment. There’s a photo that made the rounds showing everyone and their mother with their phones out, ready to capture the moment.

Again, it’s like my concert except on steroids since this is a piece of history!

What stands out in the photo is one person within the sea of phones. Phil Knight sits courtside and watches the events play out in front of him. It’s unspectacular, but within the context around him, it feels noteworthy. He stands out.

Admittedly, this might be something generational, but it speaks to a broader theme I want to consider…

It’s one of the few flexes of my life, but I had the good fortune of watching Kobe score 81 points with my dad in Staples Center. And I mention this not to brag but to make a point. Back in 2006, I don’t remember people having their phones out.

We were engaged and watching greatness right in front of us. The chants of “MVP, MVP” still ring in my ears today, and it’s a memory I’ll always have.

I have a ticket, but I can’t show you the video evidence that I was there or the reel of my reaction when Kobe kept on making basket after basket after basket, but I know how it felt to be there with my dad, utterly incredulous. I’ll never forget it…

Going back to my recent concert experience, somehow the communal aspect is gone if you look to capture the moment for yourself (or your followers who weren’t there). These are only fragments.

Trust me, I tried to go to YouTube the next day, and people had posted videos. The sound quality’s not great, the camera’s not always in focus, you only get a very particular point of view; it misses so much.

We want to think we’ve captured that experience, but the truth is we can never have that same experience again. I’m not calling for doing away with all photos, videos, or what-have-you (although “phone-free” experiences do intrigue me).

Still, I would call us all to consider how we respond to the next concert we go to. Do we instinctively pull out our phone to capture the moment, or are we actually there, fully present and engaged, so the moment doesn’t pass us by?

Like my dad and I watching Kobe Bryant.

Like Phil Knight.

Smartphones and Art

Gloria Mark is a professor who does research at the University of California, Irvine, specifically on attention span.

In the following excerpt of a Substack article, she provides some helpful observations surrounding her visit to Florence and a viewing of Michelangelo’s famed David.

I have yet to see it — my concert was nothing compared to the cultural cachet of this beloved masterwork — and yet reading her musings ties into my experience with live music.

Mark says:

As I approached the statue down a long hallway, I had to wait in line to get a frontal view of David. The vast majority of tourists were taking selfies or photos of friends, treating the artwork not so much as a masterpiece but as a prop, a stage for their selfies. I observed that many tourists even used David’s nudity and pose as material for comedic photos.

This is reality in our modern world, where it feels like the point is an experience or a photo op for our own personal utility. I can get the thing or see the thing, and then it’s used up, and I can move on. As long as I have my photo.

Something about this doesn’t sit quite right.

Mark continues:

I stood observing for what might have been 45 minutes, though I lost track of time. The longer I looked, the more details emerged. I was struck by the size of David’s hands—impossibly large, yet graceful and expressive. His pose felt both relaxed and dynamic, embodying youth, innocence, and strength. The smooth Carrara marble to me seemed to transform into lifelike flesh, with muscles and veins.

I marveled at Michelangelo’s vision, at his ability to envision this youth hidden within the block of stone. How did he do it? There was no 3D digital imaging available. While it is believed that he may have first created a wax model, the feat remains incomprehensible.

Looking at David, I felt awe—a feeling that no photograph, no matter how artful, could capture. It was perfection. I did take photos—I wanted to preserve an external memory of the experience. But in the act of taking those photos the camera inserted itself between me and David, breaking the spell of my awe. It turned my encounter with art into a mediated experience.

I had an awesome time with my friend at the concert, and I look back on those experiences listening to music with pleasure.

When we bring the camera into the experience, it does seem like we are “breaking the spell.”

We turn the moment into a mediated experience, and it feels like a shadow of what it was and what it can be.

It’s something I will continue to think about until the next time I pull out my phone. Because I don’t just want to take something away from a concert or use Michelangelo’s David, I want to enjoy them.

I would like to think a change of posture might do us good — a posture where we revolve around and amplify art and beauty, not the other way around.

This feels like a communal gift worth giving and sharing with one another…

You can read more of Gloria Mark’s articles on her Substack, and I’m looking forward to reading her book Attention Span.

How smartphone photography has changed how we view art