After being continually blinded at Marlon Williams, Alex Casey makes a plea.
When I was up in Auckland for the recent media awards, I humiliated myself at the bar afterwards by not knowing how to turn the torch on my phone off. In my defence it was a new phone and it was long after midnight, but the image of everyone screaming like ET in the cornfield, blinded by the harsh unwelcome light, is forever seared into my memory. Thankfully my Gen Z colleague gently took the phone off me, did some speedy swiping, and I vowed to brush up on how to actually use my phone when I returned home the next day.
But on Friday night at the Marlon Williams concert in Ōtautahi’s town hall, I found myself lost in ET’s cornfield of horrors once more – this time on the receiving end of endless unwanted flash photography. When Williams joined opening act KOMMI onstage in a tracksuit for a spirited and spooky rap number, I was busy seeing stars in my peripherals as everyone flashed for their lives. When he later returned to sing ‘E Mawehe Ana Au’ acapella, his single spotlight clearly wasn’t enough for those whose phone cameras again popped off like the paparazzi.
I understand that, just like me confused that night in a Ponsonby bar, not everyone understands the scary inner workings of their phone. My own father takes a huge amount of pride in every notification he receives provoking a sound and light extravaganza rivalled only by the Fountains of Bellagio, but even he would tell you that in-phone flash photography at a dark concert is going to a) look unbelievably terrible and b) distract everyone around you. There’s a reason why so many venues explicitly state no flash photography in their FAQs.
In this climate, we must also consider the cost of a blinding flash. We spent $253.60 on two tickets. The concert lasted around two hours excluding the interval, so let’s say the performance cost $2.11 a minute, or 0.035 cents a second. After a brief experiment in a darkened wardrobe, the average iPhone flash takes around 2.7 seconds to complete its sparkling symphony – that’s 0.091 cents per flash. Therefore, being subjected to even a conservative estimate of 10 flashes, is equivalent to the cost of three dried apricots, or a granny smith apple, or a tin of tomatoes.
If you don’t know how to turn the flash off on your phone, there’s a really easy way to remember how to do it that doesn’t even require Google or your AI therapist. Millennials: look for the symbol found on Harry Potter’s forehead. Gen X: look for the symbol found between the AC and the DC. Boomers: look for the symbol found on the nearest public defibrillator. Press that symbol so the background becomes transparent, much like the ghosts lingering around you who do not want to be caught by flash photography. Congrats, you have turned off your flash.
And while I’m here, here’s some other housekeeping you can do to ease the experience of those around you at a concert. Turn your screen brightness down as low as it can go and make sure your photo app is easily accessible – I cannot believe how many times I watched a frenzied woman swipe through Trade Me, Airbnb et al to take 900 blurry snaps of Marlon. Rather than stick your phone up in the air and snap with reckless abandon, keep your phone closer to you and embrace the tilt – you’ll be steadier and can actually see what you are taking photos of.
I know I sound like a Larry David wannabe here, but it’s also just about respect. Making the decision to venture out anywhere these days comes at an enormous mental, physical, emotional and financial cost, and the very least we can do is be polite to each other until we can all go home to post our terrible blurry photos and videos all over Instagram and then never look at any of them ever again. Until we all find ourselves somehow at yet another Coldplay concert, let’s all just try and keep the flashes to a minimum.
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