In today’s world of parenting, a fascinating trend has emerged: new parents are bringing their little ones along to concerts featuring the bands they loved before having children. This family concert phenomenon reflects a broader cultural shift where parents refuse to miss out on live music simply because they can’t find a babysitter. This is akin to restaurants offering “Family Tables” and cinemas hosting Baby Nights. To truly enjoy these outings, one must adopt a kind of hopeful mindset—much like fans of hardcore punk in the ’70s—thinking, “If I just close my eyes and wish hard enough, maybe I can forget about the diaper changes between sets.”
When I shared this trend with my friend Lisa, a woman in her sixties from Ireland with adult children, she remarked, “Oh dear. Another forced bonding experience we could do without.”
On the contrary, I wholeheartedly support parents claiming their right to a night out, making concerts seem like a mysterious and special event for their kids. Much like the milestones of legal drinking and obtaining a driver’s license, attending a concert could become one of those markers that parents point to and say, “You’re not quite there yet, but if you eat those vegetables and study for your exams, someday you will be.”
There’s a lot to be said for a gentle approach to music exposure, where parents play the tunes they enjoy at home and let the children soak it in naturally. I’d be rich if I had a dollar for every musician who has said something like, “My parents always had Johnny Cash on when I was growing up, which might explain my slow and steady songwriting.” Good music is like nutritious food; you provide access, but ultimately, it’s up to your child to engage.
In fact, if you clamp your musical preferences too tightly around your child, they may rebel against it. The risk grows if your tastes are particularly refined. During the teenage years, when kids are striving to establish their independence, a child who has been inundated with Tom Petty and classic hip-hop might just run headlong into the waiting arms of pop sensations like Ke$ha.
When our eldest daughter, Emma, was in 5th grade, she asked to join me for a Crowded House concert at the historic Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco. I agreed, partly because I had heard her humming songs from their album “Together Alone” while studying, and partly so she would have a memorable answer for the inevitable question, “What was the first concert you ever attended?”
Let’s be honest, I also hoped that having a small companion might catch the attention of the band. As new parents, we sometimes have to think creatively about how to reclaim our past lives.
On an unusually warm spring evening, we crossed the Bay Bridge from Oakland to stand in line for the general admission show. Emma, at barely 4’10”, was apprehensive about being overwhelmed by the crowd. Having attended many of their shows myself, I reassured her that the average Crowded House fan is 49 years old, wearing Dansko clogs and likely a supporter of Greenpeace.
As we waited, we struck up conversations with fellow fans. A couple of 5th-grade teachers near us were thrilled to see one of their students in the crowd and invited Emma to the front row for a better view.
Once Emma took her spot, a security guard approached and asked, “Would she like to sit down for the show?” He then fetched a folding chair and set it up right between the crowd and the stage. As the lights dimmed and Crowded House took the stage, Emma donned her bright purple earplugs and settled into her prime seat just a few feet from the action.
As the concert progressed and the air filled with excitement, the same security guard reached onto the stage and handed Emma a water bottle from the band’s guitarist, Mark Hart. Despite being in the middle of a complex riff, Mark took a moment to wink at her, making the experience even more special.
As the show neared its end, the security guard urged us to stay put, disappearing into the crowd only to return with a rolled-up concert poster that he pressed into Emma’s hands. “We’re not supposed to give these out!” he shouted over the music.
As we finally made our exit, reluctantly slipping out during an encore (it was a school night after all), we were stopped by an older gentleman with a laminated pass. “Here you go, kid,” he said, handing Emma a backstage pass. “Just for you to keep!”
This is one of the risks of sharing your musical passions too closely with your child—their dreams might just come true.
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In conclusion, the experience of attending concerts as a family is not just a fun outing but also a rite of passage that can foster a love for music in children while creating cherished memories.