Please, Dear God, Just Have Concert Etiquette
By Ellie Somers
There are certain things that are presumed to be so universally understood that they never require saying aloud. Noah Kahan imploring his audience to use the bathroom as opposed to relieving themselves on the pit floor of one of his shows should, by all accounts, belong to that category. Yet… here we are.
The singer’s plea: “if you have to poop at a show please dear God just go to the bathroom” was prompted by footage circulating online of a fan allegedly choosing not to leave their place in the crowd to use the restroom rather than miss part of the performance. [1] The incident was grotesque enough to become another fleeting piece of internet theatre, which will inevitably sink into the already gargantuan pile of controversy and be forgotten. Nevertheless, the reality which lurks beneath is that, for whatever reason, some have concluded that missing three minutes of a concert is somehow worse than every available alternative.
The reason why (which truthfully still eludes me) is likely less to do with Noah Kahan himself and more to do with the way we have come to experience live music. It’s no great revelation that we belong to an era where every moment seems to land with the expectation of being captured and repurposed so that it can be remembered by everyone besides ourselves. The live music of yesteryear asked very little of its audience beyond their presence, and that experience existed largely within the confines of the night itself. Now, thanks to advancements in our beloved technology, fans can study the setlist months in advance, memorise chants and choreography, analyse clips from previous shows and speculate every potential surprise. I, myself, am not immune to such novelties.
There is something strange about trying to remember an experience while it is still happening, and although it is a habit that most of us surely recognise, we rarely try to unpack it. Concert etiquette is usually discussed through the lens of being a matter of manners. Don’t block someone’s view, don’t talk through songs, don’t push your way to the front. More recently, don’t throw objects at the person on stage. [2] While these are all valid points (some more than others), the issue runs much deeper than basic politeness.
Oftentimes, as is the case with many modern-day concerns, an antagonistic approach towards the more technologically literate of us is what gains the most traction. Realistically, the internet, however culpable, did not manufacture inconsiderate audiences, nor is this a case of one generation behaving worse than another. Parasocial behaviour has been observed long before we carried little cellular bricks in our back pockets. From Beatlemania to Brat Summer, music has always inspired a level of devotion that can border on obsession.
That desire appears in small ways: the person shouting a comment during a quiet song because they want the artist to respond, carefully designed signs held in the direct eyeline of thousands of heads in the hopes of being noticed, a fan throwing something onto the stage because another person did it and ended up in a viral video. Artists themselves have become more accessible than ever, too. The relationship between musician and audience has moved beyond the traditional boundaries of performance. Fans see behind-the-scenes footage, daily updates and glimpses into artists’ lives. The distance that once existed between performer and spectator has become much smaller.
For many, that closeness is one of the most rewarding parts of modern fandom. It fosters communities and makes people feel a part of something larger than themselves. That being said, there is a difficult line between feeling connected and feeling entitled. The artist may share glimpses of their life with an audience, but the concert itself is still a shared experience. The person standing beside you has also saved money for the ticket, travelled to the venue and waited months for this particular night, with the expectation that you, as any other fully functioning adult, left any and all bodily fluids behind. Their experience matters just as much as yours.
Nowadays, a concert is one of the increasingly rare spaces where thousands of strangers get together to care about the same thing at the same time without parley. It relies on a kind of temporary understanding that although everyone has arrived for their own reasons, nobody is there alone. The extremity of Noah Kahan’s message was humorous, yet the reason the story lingered is that it contributed to a much wider pattern, and acknowledged the pressure many feel to make every experience extraordinary.
Many concertgoers have become so wrapped up in making sure they never miss a moment, for fear it might be ‘the’ moment, that they have forgotten how to simply be in one. Believe it or not, not every gig needs to give way to something unbelievable. Instead, appreciate the luxury that, for a few hours, nothing needs to matter beyond the fact that you are there. And please, dear God, just go to the bathroom.
References
[1] Catlin, Caleb. Noah Kahan Begs His Fans Not To Do This Insanely Gross Thing at His Concerts: ‘Please Dear God Just Go to the Bathroom’. Vice, June 28th, 2026. https://www.vice.com/en/article/noah-kahan-begs-his-fans-not-to-do-this-insanely-gross-thing-at-his-concerts-please-dear-god-just-go-to-the-bathroom/
[2] St. Martin, Emily. Concert projectiles leave Oli Sykes with a ‘mild concussion’ and Eric Clapton skipping an encore. Los Angeles Times, May 14th, 2026. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2026-05-14/oli-sykes-eric-clapton-hit-by-projectiles-on-stage
