The Sold-Out Stadium Show In Your Bedroom?
An exploration into how concert films have changed what it means to be an audience
On a Tuesday evening, as I was (unsuccessfully) trying to drudge through my seminar reading, I found an apt distraction in the heavily anticipated Netflix special Olivia Rodrigo: GUTS World Tour (2024). Lying in the comfort of my bed, I had access to the 104-minute, high-production arena tour film from one of the most popular artists of the year, all for the low cost of a Netflix subscription at £4.99 a month. No fighting to win the Ticketmaster war, no queuing on the day for hours for the barricade, and no having to fork out an obscene amount to travel via the British railway network and stay at a nearby – likely overpriced – hotel. The best seat in the house was actually in my house.
This Netflix special isn’t unique, however, as scrolling down ever-so-slightly reveals that other global artists such as Ariana Grande and Beyoncé have similarly formatted specials. Nor is this media new; the first concert film is thought to have premiered in 1944, titled Adventure in Music, a recorded selection of local artists playing in a concert hall advertised in the local Iowan paper. Others of notoriety include Summer of Soul (2021) detailing the 1969
Harlem Cultural Festival, Stop Making Sense (1984) from the Talking Heads, and The Last Waltz (1978) of The Band’s last show, featuring a stacked cast with the likes of Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and Ringo Starr.
However, the prevalence of social media within current pop culture has transformed the fundamental nature of the concert film experience. With the constant capturing and posting of live music on our socials, self-taped concerts are in perpetual circulation within the public domain. They break up a full-length concert into attention-grabbing pieces transmitted in such rapid succession that by the end of the week I found that I’ve watched the entirety of Sabrina Carpenter’s Short n’ Sweet Tour via a disjointed clip show. Most concert films at least simulate an ‘event’, with cinematic releases requiring you to go to a venue at a designated time to watch the show alongside other fans in its entirety. Despite this, as concert films are increasingly being broadcast on streaming services, the concept of the concert as a singular ‘event’ has diminished. Viewers can now watch performances anytime and anywhere, wielding a pseudo-godlike control to pause, skip, or fast-forward, almost undermining the artist’s intention of delivering an uninterrupted and immersive experience.
Furthermore, both social media and official concert films are having to cater to the growing impatience of fans who demand to have footage of these events immediately. Olivia Rodrigo’s special was released only a week after her tour came to a close, and Taylor Swift’s 2023 film was put to cinematic release before the Eras Tour had even reached Europe. Meanwhile, an expectation has now arisen that, on the night of a concert that you failed to get tickets for, an attendee will have posted a front-row video of your favourite song for you to instantly simulate the experience of being at the concert, despite not being able to attend. This relationship between concerts and social media has become so cemented that artists are now using this newfound connection to curate their performances - a notable example is the “Mute Challenge.” First created on Beyoncé’s Renaissance Tour, the “Mute Challenge” involves audience members falling completely silent as the music stops at a certain part of a song. This is premised on the expectation that enough people will record, share, and learn from social media about when and how to participate in the choreography of this show.
So, what can we make of this transformation? As concerts become increasingly documented for profit, the sanctity of a collective, communal, and unique experience risks being eroded. Those rare moments – securing tickets to see your favourite artist, witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime surprise performance, or the thrill of an unexpected guest – are diminished when overshadowed by the knowledge that the entire experience will be available online from every conceivable angle almost immediately. Does this shift reduce the magic of being fully present, turning the concert into just another piece of consumable content?
Our ever-increasing demand for instant accessibility won't necessarily translate into concerts that are exclusively online; music fans will always want to see their favourite artists in the flesh. But, as is already happening, fans and artists alike will increasingly assume that the audience is wider than the one in the room - one that stretches to bedrooms, watch parties, and phone screens across continents. With this expectation, we could see an increase in shows which include a substantial amount of audience choreography – far more than a single fragment of a show like the “Mute Challenge”. This has been an expectation for years within the K-Pop community in the form of synchronised “fan chants”, specific
chants created for each song by a group’s fan base or agency for the audience to learn before the show.
Therefore, the simultaneous breakdown and blending of the previously distinct environments of in-person concerts and online audiences could, as a result, fundamentally alter artist-audience relationships. This shift has the potential to create a new subconscious expectation amongst audiences – one derived from the instant accessibility to artists’ performances online – which insists that artists should be as available, responsive, and ready to entertain in person as they are on our screens. This dynamic may foster an insatiable demand for an artist’s time, entertainment, and reciprocity within the parasocial relationship. In response, we might see a rise in artist-audience meet-and-greet opportunities designed to satisfy these expectations. Once again, the K-Pop industry has set a precedent with ‘fan calls’ – video chats hosted by agencies where dedicated fans can interact directly with their idols. Similarly, there could be a rise in unrealistic demands for artists to take on more performances and produce more albums, to the point where art for art’s sake becomes secondary to the endless monetary-focused cycle of production, release, and tour.
Overall, however, these changes won’t be absolute. The majority of fans are respectful in what they ask of an artist and know that there is an impossible amount of distance between themselves and the celebrity for the latter to recognise their individual existence. Nor are concert films the sole catalyst for all these changes; plenty of other relatively new technologies and online platforms have altered the music industry landscape to foster an environment for this possible future.
However, what has changed is that concert films have reinvented what it means to be an audience member. Something once so sacredly bound to an in-person experience surrounded by a community of equally enthusiastic attendees has been transformed into one that can be watched at any time, any place, with anyone. This transformation is irreversible and constantly mutating, rapidly reshaping artist-audience relationships with increasing intensity. Throughout all this change, concerts will, however, remain what they have been for decades: an opportunity to see artists play your favourite songs alongside other fans who mutually acknowledge how special being a part of that concert truly is.
By Tallulah Di Tomaso
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