“I’m so sick of 17, where’s my f***ing teenage dream?”, screamed the 43-year-old and the 11-year-old in unison, transfixed by the angsty, Doc Martin-clad vision on the stage. All around, teenagers, mams and two Americans who’d travelled to Dublin especially for the show screamed along too. It was the 11-year-old’s first-ever gig, but easily my 200th.
So many of us have live music journeys that began at the Point Depot, or the Point Theatre or maybe in the later, branded years of The 02 and now the 3Arena (which is fun to say as “Threena” but not nearly as fun as its sibling in sponsorship, Thr’lympia). It was a thrill to accompany a tween and her seven-year-old sister on their rite of passage at Olivia Rodrigo recently. My own first was almost three decades earlier, at The Cranberries debut at the Point Theatre in June 1995. My Dad dropped off my friend Niamh and me – both 14 – told us not to talk to anyone who looked mad, and off we went into the giant cavern that was The Point in those days.
I don’t remember much of the gig, apart from marvelling at Dolores O’Riordan, who was just 10 years our senior. Her outfit, her pixie cut, her guitar playing, her fronting a band full of lads. She was iconic. Olivia Rodrigo’s band is all-female, as are her dancers. It felt important for my little concert pals to see that. For us, in 1995, seeing Dolores front and centre was just as empowering.
Rodrigo grew up listening to her parents’ music collection – No Doubt, Green Day, Pearl Jam and Morrissette, and their influence is obvious
There’s a popular cynical social media trend of commenting “not an iPhone in sight, just living in the moment” under pictures and videos of concert audiences and a sea of phones as far as the eye can see. As if the sanctimonious doses posting the comments wouldn’t break down within two hours of being separated from their devices. Teenagers consume their culture via screens. They watch concerts zoomed in on their phones. They “go live” on TikTok to share with fans around the world. We live in a world now where it’s almost impossible to bank without a smartphone. You’re going to see phones at gigs. Suck it up.
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The sea of phones at Olivia Rodrigo was almost beautiful, amplifying the colour and the lights. At one stage during the show the fruits of a fan project – pre-planned and disseminated online – meant that the seated balcony area of the 3Arena was lit up like a tricolour as the audience held green paper in front of their phone torches or lit their screens up green. I adored every single teenager in the room in that moment, all the while thanking my lucky stars that I grew up in a time before social media and camera phones.
I can document growing up by looking back at concerts I attended in the Point. I was there for the Blur and Oasis eras, for Ash and David Gray and REM and Chemical Brothers. I went with my friend Laura to S Club 7 and 5ive, and secured a single ticket to see Paul Simon sing Graceland from start to finish. I wasn’t at the tragic Smashing Pumpkins concert in 1996 where 17-year-old Bernadette O’Brien was crushed to death, but I do remember how shortly afterwards pits and segregated sections were introduced at large concerts to avoid similar incidents. In those days being up the front was paramount. For Olivia Rodrigo I was hell-bent on a seat.
She told the crowd before one song “I wrote this when I was so f***ing afraid of growing up, but growing up is f***ing awesome”. I elbowed the tween, hoping she was taking it in (the message, not the language). Rodrigo may be a former Disney star with a career in showbiz from an early age, but her self-penned breakup songs and independence anthems remind me a lot of Alanis Morrissette, another of my teenage idols. Rodrigo grew up listening to her parents’ music collection – No Doubt, Green Day, Pearl Jam and Morrissette, and their influence is obvious.
Her dancers were accomplished but somewhat low-fi, and only appeared for around half of the set. Rodrigo accompanied herself on piano for her breakout hit Driver’s Licence and sat on the floor with her guitarist for an acoustic set backed by thousands of crystal-clear angelic voices. It felt like the perfect night for my young friends too as their lifelong anecdote about their first concert. Afterwards, they wanted to scoop up pieces of confetti from the floor as mementos. I think I still have an ancient piece of glitter from a Blur concert in 1996. Some things never change.