At Kelela’s show in Manchester last month, I stood among many before the main event, rapt with anticipation. She’s basically a mystical being at this point. No new music for years at a time, then emerging, with poise and grace, with electronic R&B jams from the ether. And that’s how she enters tonight. As the ambient drone of ‘Washed Away’ audibly fills the room, a striking presence strides across from stage right, resplendent in glitter. It’s a hypnotic introduction. Yet, after an entranced few seconds, I’m waved back into the room by the dozens of phone screens that fill my field of vision. Scores of smaller images of the events unfolding directly in front of us. And a prominent urge makes its way from the back of my mind to the front. Should I do the same? As Eminem once said: capture it, or let it slip?
Obviously big Marshall wasn’t talking about smartphone photography in 2002. But the words also serve to capture something that has been increasingly on my mind in recent years. I thought it used to be so simple. If you went to a gig, and proceeded to record a substantial portion of it on your phone instead of watching it with your eyes: you were an idiot. Case closed. You were playing it back later instead of watching it in the moment, and worse, you were obscuring the view of other people. It was selfish.
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About 10 years ago, once smartphones had become ubiquitous, there was a trend where bands started to openly discourage this behaviour. Savages told people to “silence your phones” on entry to their shows. Yeah Yeah Yeahs similarly told you to “put that shit away” out of respect for fellow audience members and the band. Zooey Deschanel’s She & Him project asked their audience to “enjoy the show they have put together in 3D”. These moves generally were met with praise, and as far as I was concerned, rightly so. You wouldn’t wap your phone out to record a film. We managed to go to gigs for years without having to record the experience. Why do we have to record just because we can now? Put your phone away and enjoy yourself.
But over time, my hardline views cracked a little. A couple of years after this crackdown trend, I went to see Father John Misty at Nottingham’s Rock City. I loved it. I really loved it. I loved the I Love You, Honeybear album, and he sounded as good on stage as on record. But I also remember fighting the urge to whip my phone out and capture some of it. I was fighting my ‘enjoy the moment’ principles. So I left my phone in my pocket. Later though, when recounting how great the show was, I felt a tinge of regret. Maybe a little video would have helped to capture the magic?
This is neither the time nor the place to go into the science behind memory, but let’s just agree that it’s unreliable right? Your mind will capture a few choice moments or abstract images. The ones that stimulated emotion and caught your imagination. Then over time, memories fade. I have to be reminded of things that happened earlier this year, never mind years ago. And pictures and videos help as prompts. They become a visual aid to assist with memory – or even fill in the gaps entirely.
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In February 2016, a few months after the Misty gig, I saw Jamie xx at London’s Alexandra Palace. As kaleidoscopic colours shone spectacularly from the stage, I thought: why not? I snapped once, twice, seven times. Moments captured for a lifetime.
Except, in writing this article, this is the first time since that I’ve ever dug those photos out. Most of them are a mass of shadowy heads in front of a vague, illuminated figure in the distance. And from memory, the gig was actually a bit disappointing. We capture so much now, that it’s almost an administrative chore to trawl through the past. We capture everything, the good, the bad and the indifferent. The floodgates were opened at Ally Pally, and I was soon capturing dimly lit moments at seemingly every venue. On the backward scroll through time, there are gigs I can’t even identify. But they sit there, on the eternal server, taking up space.
I’ve seen people enter the main hall of a venue and instantly start recording. Letting their devices absorb the moment before they even have themselves. Who is that for? Is it to gain validation from others from the kudos that you went there? Putting that external feedback above your own seems unhealthy to me.
Then again, what if you’re spreading the word about an unknown artist? That’s good right? Or if your vision is impaired by the massive guy in front? Seems… fair? What if your purpose is worthwhile? When Bob Dylan became the latest big name to ban phones last year, I saw thinkpieces from either side of the debate. I don’t know who’s right anymore.
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As Kelela powered through ‘Washed Away’, my phone stayed in my pocket. But 30 minutes later, during a quieter moment, I thought I’d capture it.
As I write these words, I’m revisiting the image for the first time.
Words by Tom Burrows
Picky Bastards 