Concerts of a Certain Age
Stream GLORY on Apple Music/Spotify.
There was a moment that broke my soul and it was towards the end of 2016.
Omg no not that! Sorry for the confusion — 2016 sure was wild though, now that I think about it… hm… I should reflect on that… later.
In December of 2016, bestie and I had tickets to the KIIS-FM Jingle Ball. If I am afforded a tangent right out of the gate, let’s talk about Jingle Balls as a concept: just a handful of performers ranging in popularity just… gather… in some big cities… around Christmastime… but the show has nothing to do with Christmas. Coachella but with reserved seats and air conditioning. Cool so ANYWAY my mother who is a certified Bruno Mars groupie gifted us tickets because Bruno was in the lineup and she loves to spend her free time preaching the good word. He was joined by a handful of others, including one Britney Jean Spears. And, as everyone recalls, Fall of 2016 was only made better by the fact that Britney Spears released an album— a GOOD album, maybe the best way to close out Obamacore culture— so anyone with natural instincts would read her name on the lineup and instantly label her the most important of the night.
And then we got to the aforementioned soul-breaking: Britney Spears was middle-of-the-set (unclear), and I snapped this photo of all of the wealthy Los Angeles children1 just sitting through Britney (“old shower liner with hard water stains” unclear). And reader: it was Britney’s BIRTHDAY.
This is the moment I Carrie Bradshaw couldn’t help but wonder: are my favorite pop stars not the main story anymore? This is the moment I knew I’d eventually write an internet publication that I said was about pop culture but was actually just a way to use pop culture as a vehicle to accept aging. See my archive for many instances of this.
I’m very fortunate to have been to many amazing concerts in my lifetime, including seeing Ms. Spears a handful of other times in various cities (Las Vegas twice, so what who cares?), but KIIS-FM Jingle Ball 2016 was different. This was the first time I sat with the fact that Britney Spears was not an A-List pop girlie2. But this was also the time I sat with the fact that, while movies, TV, other culture stay in the time they released, we grow up with our musicians. The musicians we all saw our parents enjoy from cool teenage eyes and thought “hmmmm old”; well it’s our turn to board the same boat and decide who we’re leaving in the nostalgia of their peak (Katy Perry?) and whom we’re following for the rest of their careers, despite the possible shame of being labeled old.
Where many people get bummed about 30, 40, then 50, etc… I think I’ve always lamented the day when I age out of the prime culture demographic (18-34 for those keeping track of advertising data). Writing this isn’t in celebration of any milestone (36 here, duh) so this isn’t breaking news, but unlike turning 16 and you can suddenly just drive, this was/is a gradual acceptance. And made even more gradual by the fact that I still love to keep up with current, zeitgeisty culture. I still stream some new stuff, and it’s often bad, but then once in a while it’s “Diet Pepsi” by Addison Rae (slutty pop slay). I still look for tickets for a young artist, but maybe without as much gusto. The last time I vaguely attempted to buy tickets to a *~cUrReNt aRTiSt~* was multiple attempts to Olivia Rodrigo, where the best I could find was single upper bowl tickets for $600. Girl don’t set this precedent for Chappell Roan’s first arena tour.
From this acceptance came the simple realization that everyone who’s at my favorite shows is not a kid anymore. Fancy that. And yet these musicians and shows still bring me the same happiness they did 15-20 years ago, just with maybe more tired feet and a groggy morning after, wearing poorly-designed concert merch to work.
There was the time I drove to Las Vegas and stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way to see the Backstreet Boys3. Next to our amazing seats, we met a pair of moms who became fans of the Backstreet Boys because they listened to their music while driving carpool in the late nineties. Moms are just like us! Truly a top three concert I’ve ever been to.
There was the time my music library became an Avril Lavigne rebirth zone due to her greatest hits tour. I wore a white tank but decided to forego the necktie. This is growth from the time I truly stanned Complicated in 2002 and as a bit, burned a whole CD with just 20 instances of the song Complicated. And yet, I had never seen her live until 2024.
There was the time I almost bought last minute tickets to Madonna’s Celebration Tour this year—I have never seen her live and wondered if this would be the last chance— but the main social media story out of the tour was how late she started. At this age, we appreciate an 8-10:30pm concert because what other cliché parameter of an aging millennial is there than “it’s a school night”.
And lastly, there was the time some of my favorite shows are where an artist I love(d) just as a nice intimate show with a symphony orchestra. If you’re unsure how old you are, see if your favorite artists are scheduling orchestra shows! It’ll give you a lot to discuss in therapy. This summer, that included Guster (yeah you remember them!) and imagine the thrill of these 35-to-45-year-old knees when the frontman acknowledged that it’s okay to sit through this show. Bless this mess.
As I write this, in my Backstreet Boys Las Vegas t-shirt that probably cost $70 but who truly remembers, I don’t have any concerts scheduled. Bleak or normal? So I guess I’ll need to continue existing on the thrill of nostalgia and memories, a favorite pastime of everyone over 30.
In processing all of this and avoiding the trap of living in nostalgia (“Nostalgia is mind’s trick” to quote Taylor, star to all ages, concert for those aged 4-74), I take solace in the fact that my favorites are not yet touring to regional non-Vegas casinos4.
By the way, the KIIS-FM Jingle Ball 2016 lineup that year was not scheduled in popularity order, and Bruno Mars was first. We missed him while trying to park. Sorry, Mom.
My favorite new piece of using pop culture as a vehicle to accept aging is a new podcast from NPR called Wild Card, a weekly series that gamifies the celebrity interview, asking randomized questions along the way (the guest picks from a series of cards).
Since discovering this earlier in the summer, it’s become something I genuinely look forward to on my Thursday commute, because as these questions are asked, I instinctively think of my own responses. The questions are sorted into a kind of past/present/future categories (memories, insights, and beliefs) and it goes by too fast every week (yes my podcasts are listened to at 1.5 speed).
There are so many starting points—I started from the top of the feed when I dove in four weeks late), but if you want a sampler, check out host Rachel Martin’s interviews with Bowen Yang, Taylor Tomlinson, Jenny Slate, and Ted Danson (all links).
Not sure if there’s any other explanation for why so many teens just looked bored during this show except for their parent works in radio.
Yes, this is setting aside all of the personal aspects of the entity that is “Britney Spears”. Buy The Woman in Me for more on that.
jk the wait was too long so we had to keep on the road. Also my mom was there and we saw Bruno Mars. Classic.
This is one of my favorites you’ve written!