By Ava Marinelli, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Last weekend, I went to see Matt Nathanson and Joshua Radin perform at the House of Blues. I am a huge fan of these two artists, so I was very eager to attend a concert with other people who share my love. However, I quickly noticed most of the people around me were taking in the three-hour show through the screens of their phones. Everyone was snapping pictures, recording songs, sending selfies to their friends, tweeting about the performance, and checking Facebook. There didn’t seem to be a single moment where everyone was together in the present. And it made me sad. It was like everyone was experiencing their own concert, aided by their technology and social media, rather than experiencing the collective concert that included everyone in the venue.
I’m not going to say that I’m not guilty of some of the very things I found frustrating – I definitely took pictures and videos because I was in the second row and wanted to share the experience with my mom who was unable to attend the show. I tweeted a few good one-liners Matt Nathanson uttered. But the more I saw people engaging with their phones, the more I wanted to put mine away.
The same thing happened when I went to the Bruins game on Monday. Every time the jumbotron camera roamed the crowds, there were at least a few oblivious fans too focused on their phones to realize they were on the big screen. My friend and I laughed at these silly people, but then went back to tweeting about the bad calls the refs made.
We’ve moved so quickly to these technological communities, and I’m not saying that they’re bad. The fact that, with a touch on a screen, we can be instantly connected to billions of people around the world who share our passions is beyond amazing. These communities that we’ve built online allow those who might not have access to live events or to likeminded people to experience the things they love. We are able to link ourselves to vast amounts of people and places we might never otherwise be able to meet or experience. But I still have to wonder: can these virtual communities really replace the real life ones?
I don’t have an answer to this question. I don’t think anyone does. But I do know that the live communities, the ones I experience in person, are the ones that foster the strongest memories. In person, I’m able to feel the TD Garden reverberate with shouts of excitement and dismay. In person, I’m able to feel the crowd move in unison during a song at the House of Blues. But when people are tied to their technology, they miss a chance to be a part of the community they love. Sure, they’re adding their experience to the larger community via social media. But what about the community that is literally surrounding them at that very moment?
Given the fact that it’s so easy to snap pictures and record moments of our daily lives, I have to wonder how often we actually go back and relive these moments. Of all the concert videos I’ve recorded, I can only remember a handful of times that I’ve actually gone back and watched them. I occasionally flip through the photos on my phone. But when I think about how little time I spend reliving an experience through technology, the more I wish I experienced the event in the moment.
We’re bombarded with technology almost every moment of our lives, so it can be incredibly difficult to disconnect. With the amount of connectivity in our lives, it can equate to always being available. I fear that if I don’t check my Facebook or texts every few minutes, I may miss out on better plans. But when we take the time to disconnect, the little things we would otherwise miss become apparent. We see the adorable little boy sitting a few seats away jump around with a grin plastered on his face as he takes in his very first NHL game. We notice the way the lights and music create a fully immersive experience for the audience. And this doesn’t just apply to big events. Even when walking down the street, we miss so much when we’re glued to our phones. When we leave our phone in our bag or pocket, we notice the way Trinity Church is reflected in the John Hancock Tower. We notice the musicians playing instruments in the Public Gardens. We need to experience the here and now. Sure, there’s a here and now that exists in the palm of our hand. But we neglect our human community that way. The technology will still be there when you get home.
Image: HoustonPress.com
Ava is a freshman Writer, Literature, and Publishing major. She is a tea and coffee addict, cupcake lover, and all-around nerd. Feel free to ask her about her fandoms. Follow her on Twitter or Facebook.
Last weekend, I went to see Matt Nathanson and Joshua Radin perform at the House of Blues. I am a huge fan of these two artists, so I was very eager to attend a concert with other people who share my love. However, I quickly noticed most of the people around me were taking in the three-hour show through the screens of their phones. Everyone was snapping pictures, recording songs, sending selfies to their friends, tweeting about the performance, and checking Facebook. There didn’t seem to be a single moment where everyone was together in the present. And it made me sad. It was like everyone was experiencing their own concert, aided by their technology and social media, rather than experiencing the collective concert that included everyone in the venue.
I’m not going to say that I’m not guilty of some of the very things I found frustrating – I definitely took pictures and videos because I was in the second row and wanted to share the experience with my mom who was unable to attend the show. I tweeted a few good one-liners Matt Nathanson uttered. But the more I saw people engaging with their phones, the more I wanted to put mine away.
The same thing happened when I went to the Bruins game on Monday. Every time the jumbotron camera roamed the crowds, there were at least a few oblivious fans too focused on their phones to realize they were on the big screen. My friend and I laughed at these silly people, but then went back to tweeting about the bad calls the refs made.
We’ve moved so quickly to these technological communities, and I’m not saying that they’re bad. The fact that, with a touch on a screen, we can be instantly connected to billions of people around the world who share our passions is beyond amazing. These communities that we’ve built online allow those who might not have access to live events or to likeminded people to experience the things they love. We are able to link ourselves to vast amounts of people and places we might never otherwise be able to meet or experience. But I still have to wonder: can these virtual communities really replace the real life ones?
I don’t have an answer to this question. I don’t think anyone does. But I do know that the live communities, the ones I experience in person, are the ones that foster the strongest memories. In person, I’m able to feel the TD Garden reverberate with shouts of excitement and dismay. In person, I’m able to feel the crowd move in unison during a song at the House of Blues. But when people are tied to their technology, they miss a chance to be a part of the community they love. Sure, they’re adding their experience to the larger community via social media. But what about the community that is literally surrounding them at that very moment?
Given the fact that it’s so easy to snap pictures and record moments of our daily lives, I have to wonder how often we actually go back and relive these moments. Of all the concert videos I’ve recorded, I can only remember a handful of times that I’ve actually gone back and watched them. I occasionally flip through the photos on my phone. But when I think about how little time I spend reliving an experience through technology, the more I wish I experienced the event in the moment.
We’re bombarded with technology almost every moment of our lives, so it can be incredibly difficult to disconnect. With the amount of connectivity in our lives, it can equate to always being available. I fear that if I don’t check my Facebook or texts every few minutes, I may miss out on better plans. But when we take the time to disconnect, the little things we would otherwise miss become apparent. We see the adorable little boy sitting a few seats away jump around with a grin plastered on his face as he takes in his very first NHL game. We notice the way the lights and music create a fully immersive experience for the audience. And this doesn’t just apply to big events. Even when walking down the street, we miss so much when we’re glued to our phones. When we leave our phone in our bag or pocket, we notice the way Trinity Church is reflected in the John Hancock Tower. We notice the musicians playing instruments in the Public Gardens. We need to experience the here and now. Sure, there’s a here and now that exists in the palm of our hand. But we neglect our human community that way. The technology will still be there when you get home.
Image: HoustonPress.com
Ava is a freshman Writer, Literature, and Publishing major. She is a tea and coffee addict, cupcake lover, and all-around nerd. Feel free to ask her about her fandoms. Follow her on Twitter or Facebook.