There’s much to be said about the exorbitant costs associated with modern concertgoing. The cost of ticket fees, parking and expensive merch all add up quickly, and that’s ignoring the triple-digit elephant in the venue: steadily inflating ticket prices. And yet, there’s one under-discussed casualty of modern concertgoing that suffers almost as much as your wallet: your camera roll.
I don’t go into every concert with the intention of spending a precious gigabyte of storage on grainy videos of my favorite artists performing at 10 pixels tall with my own awful singing drowning out the music. And yet, every time I stand in a stadium seat being overwhelmed by flashing lights and booming music, it creates an itch that seemingly only my shutter finger can scratch.
Thankfully, Phoebe Bridgers’ Lost Tour, which came to Grand Casino Arena in St. Paul on Thursday, provided a phoneless concertgoing experience dictated by something even more meaningful than the whims of my Instagram dump: her own artistic vulnerability. Safe to say, I was a fan.
If you aren’t aware, Bridgers’ tour, of which Minnesota is the third stop, has a strict no-phones policy; you’re given a magnetically sealed pouch in which to place your device at the entrance, and from there, it’s “so long, prison boy” until you walk back out the door.
Thousands of people stuck in one place without phones might sound like an interesting social scenario, or at the very least an extremely skippable “Black Mirror” episode, but in reality the environment was simply more toned-down.
A person in front of me sat doing a crossword. Two more engaged in that time-honored time-waster, finger chopsticks. Between opener Alex G and Bridgers, there were multiple rounds of what I can only describe as an extremely enthusiastic but inarguably botched “wave” around the stadium.
Fortunately, there were designated areas to briefly unlock the pouch dotted around the arena for emergency use, which my friend and I used to double-check our seats.
Most audience members were given paper slips to write their ticket info on before locking their phones, but we accidentally skirted that step and consequently had to stand in the small, cordoned-off zone of shame to undergo the otherwise painless unlocking process.
Most importantly, though, the phone-free mandate made for a delightful show, albeit for varying reasons.
Superficially, it was nice to sit in our seats without worrying about accidentally winding up in a thousand spontaneous photo shoots. Cutting out distracting light from screens also helped sell the atmosphere of Bridgers’ smoky, flashy production.
It was similarly nice to soak in quote unquote big songs without the collective pressure to capture the moment. It turns out that if “Kyoto” plays in Grand Casino and no one is there to record it, it does still make a sound.
This was exemplified best at the end of the show, when bright white lights illuminated the audience’s waving arms (phone-flashlight free, mind you) as Bridgers performed “Scott Street,” in which she literally urged the audience members waving goodbye, “don’t be a stranger.” On the nose, but sweet.
But the best argument for the phone-jail hassle is the same as the ethos behind “Lost Weekend,” Bridgers’ third studio album and grand return to the public eye after a multi-year hiatus.
“Lost Weekend” is undoubtedly Bridgers’ finest work as a songwriter to date: a warmly remorseful work about the loss of her father and the uncertain transitory period she underwent after calling off her relationship with Paul Mescal. It’s a less conventional sad-girl record than her first two albums, but it offers a vulnerable glimpse of an artist in transition. I wouldn’t want my trashy iPhone camera recording that, either.
This extra dimension of artistic openness was more than worth the price of admission. From the ultra-emotional rendition of “Still Standing” — which Bridgers prefaced with a message about her father and a thank-you for the phone-free environment — to the wide smile on Bridgers’ face as she belted the beat drop on “Bobby” about new partner Bo Burnham, there was no doubt that she had created an environment in which to express herself freely.
The exciting lighting and stage design — including a rising and falling dome with a screen projected inside and a secondary stage in the middle of the floor — were also best experienced in person.
The disco ball-like light hanging over the secondary stage also produced some lighting effects so incredible that even an IMAX camera wouldn’t have done them justice, much less my phone.
So, was it inconvenient to lock up my phone? Sure. But have I also seen worse concert gimmicks executed for far less meaningful music? You bet.
Bridgers summed up the ideal mindset for her phone-less performance best during “As Above,” with glitter-like lights twinkling above: “You won’t have to believe in magic … Leave it to me, and I’ll make it happen.”
Kevin Lynch can be reached at lync1832@stthomas.edu.
