Summer, Solo Concerts, and Solitude: The Perfect Threesome

I love my solitude. Anyone who knows me well can attest to that. It also means that I end up neglecting keeping in touch with my friends over summer. This then means that when I get back, people are asking me how my “holiday in India” was. Which is funny, considering I've never visited, and that my summers are more often than not uneventfully long months, stretching time out beyond its known boundaries. But even when you don’t have anything to say, people talk. Even when there is silence, it is always filled with whatever people think should replace it. 

And it's the same with music. Many artists tend to make music that begins as an articulation of their state of mind—peaceful or pandemonium. But it’s also the perfect outlet for more than introspective expression. Like dancing alone during a study break after an episode of academic burnout, only for the flame of this is due tomorrow what am I doing to be rekindled. Or for drowning out the noise of a loud home in which the rising crescendo of constant conversation where you can barely hear yourself think.

For me, one of those artists is PVRIS. Pronounced ‘Paris,’ the project is a technicolour blend of genres, from iridescent, dreamy electropop to guitar-shredding, chaotic alt-rock. Spearheaded by multi-talented frontwoman Lynn Gunn, whose slightly awkward, soft-spoken demeanour contrasts amusingly with her electrifying stage presence, is what got me hooked in the first place. That, as well as the lyrics which spoke on a spectrum of themes, which PVRIS swings between effortlessly. From romantic devotion and religious guilt in their debut album White Noise, to reconciling with creative burnout and self-healing on the latest album Evergreen. Her music got me through the pandemic and the first few tumultuous years of uni—I knew I had to see her live.

The first person I wanted to go with was my sister, who is my partner in crime in absolutely everything but good timing. Our winter breaks did not align, so we gave it a miss. The second time PVRIS toured, I got tickets for myself and a friend who I’d converted with some choice songs, but other plans clashed. So in May, I decided to get tickets just for myself at a show in London. Aside from being left alone with someone I hardly knew at a small gig, I’d never gone to a concert by myself, but I wasn’t nervous. Instead, I was wondering if I’d enjoy going solo and how safe I’d be. But after remembering how much fun I spontaneously had at the gig, with music and a crowd I wasn’t entirely familiar with, I realised that I was excited about going. 

While I love my downtime, new experiences are always invigorating. I queued three hours before doors opened, as staking out a place near to the front is the priority for short people. Then a girl my height in a silk green dress walked past, who I discovered was an Oxford postgrad outside of her cocoon of thesis research to enjoy some live music. Then I learned about her family, her love of ancient religious symbolism, her ex, and other chapters of her life that I didn’t ask for but was intrigued by nonetheless. Her enthralling lore managed to pass the time. We exchanged socials at the entrance before plotting to make a beeline for the stage, where a few people had already congregated. The girl got caught in another conversation and I zoned out, eyes scaling the vaulted ceiling illuminated by soft red lighting. 

Though I was in a crowd, I slipped into my head, but not in a lonely way. It felt like I was part of a hive of people, the majority of which were clad in black leather and melodramatic eye makeup, all of them buzzing in anticipation. The excitement was at once collective and personal. Then the buzzing turned into cheering, amped up by an opening act that I had never heard of, but the girl next to me who just graduated in nursing mentioned how she was obsessed with the lead singer. For me, the opener was a blur of blonde hair, provocative pink and purple clothing, and charisma emanating from the performers, until Lynn finally appeared.

Not to be dramatic, but the air crystallised. It was a vivid clarity that came with seeing someone I’ve admired for so long in the flesh. But concerts quite literally put your idols on a pedestal, and it’s a weird but exhilarating thing to witness alone since you have no one next to you to shout oh my god look she’s here. You’re dumbstruck alone, surrounded by very new friends drifting on the tide of the audience as they jostle and dance to the setlist. It was fun to show my sister the shaky footage I captured and have her corroborate on how hot she was after, though.

One moment, I was immersed in dreamy, trippy songs like Hallucinations and Oil & Water. The mystical sound of harps serving as a sharp contrast to the dissonant, provocative singles like Burn The Witch and Gimme a Minute. I didn’t have to introduce each song to anyone or check in with people to see if they were enjoying themselves. I had not lost my voice, my head wasn't pounding, nor was I overwhelmed by the crowd. I enjoyed every moment and it quickly became the highlight of my summer. 

I asked my friend Hunter about his experience, who said something similar: “I think being alone at a concert is possibly the best way to connect with the music. When I’m alone, I’m not worrying about someone else having a good time, I’m not worrying if the person and I queued for too long and if they’re feeling okay, I’m not worried if they like the opener, I’m not worried if anyone else is going to have an anxiety attack due to being surrounded by others. It’s almost a magical experience how carefree I can be. For almost two hours I’m listening to songs I love in a room full of others, shoulder to shoulder, and the world melts into nothingness.”

I believe everyone should experience going to any kind of live music event by themselves at least once in their lives, especially if it’s an artist you’ve got on your bucket list. Even if it is someone whose music you are new to, it’s a fun way to spend some quality time with yourself. You’re more present, immersed, and aware of how the music itself feels to you. Going by yourself can never go wrong.