Tonight I fumbled my way through a crowd of bouncing Brooklyn hipsters and music geeks to see what turned out to be an excellent show.  I was in there on a press pass, so I was somewhat confused by the following interaction:

Zach Condon says some nonsensical tuning-in-between-songs band banter.
Tall, sinister man standing next to me: “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Me: “Yeah I know.”  I lift up my camera to take a picture.
Tall, sinister man standing next to me: (seeming irritated) “I SAID it doesn’t make sense.” Covers my lens with his hands.

Turns out Tall Sinister man was a security guard whose unhappy job was to (quite unambiguously) move through the crowd and stop people from taking pictures of the concert.  I’m not sure what “it doesn’t make any sense” was supposed to mean, but I felt bad for the poor man as I saw a forest of glowing cell phone cameras snapping away throughout the crowd.

We were all pretty packed together, and after a few minutes of unsuccessfully stifling contraband photo-taking, Tall Sinister Man was beginning to look flustered.  He leaned over to me and said, somewhat desperately, “I can’t get out.”  So I helped him out of the crowd and that was the last I saw of him.

Meanwhile I glanced over my shoulder and saw the Press section.  “So that’s where I was supposed to sit.”  I saw camera’s snapping photos and hipster girls flipping through notebooks jotting down thoughts about the show… way up high in a cramped nosebleed balcony… the kind of place you think would be great seating until you actually go to a concert and sit there.

Though my picture taking ability was limited where I stood, I was glad to just bounce with hundreds of other non-press people, let the cinematic and sweeping music of Beirut wash over me (joined later in the evening by an entire orchestra), and be one in a crowd of many.

Did manage to take take a few pictures though.  Don’t tell Tall Sinister Man.