It's a single sheet of paper, framed in tape, rips, folds and stains, that can instantly bring back specific memories that you may have otherwise forgotten. For many, it's a vinyl collection, a drawer full of concert tees, or a wall plastered in band posters, but for me, it's the setlist. It’s the ultimate show-goers ephemera.
There's just something, though, about having a tangible artifact to preserve the music you love. Obviously, live music is all about the experience and community, and not about any material object or show-offy prize. Through trial and error, you learn the ways to become one of the lucky people to get handed a setlist after the show (I’ve found it’s all about making eye contact and being assertive, but not pushy). You wait patiently for them to start clearing the stage, because you’ve been around long enough that trying to obnoxiously yell for their attention is not going to work in your favor.Īnd then, the moment you’ve been waiting for.the roadie is ready to hand out the most prized possession for any show-goer, the ultimate token of a concert experience, the supreme music nerd souvenir.THE SET LIST!įor most, there’s probably no rhyme or reason to it for me, trying to snag a setlist has become an essential part of the show-going experience. A few moments pass, and the roadies comes out. You squeeze your way up to the barricade, standing there with the ten or fifteen other people left waiting.
You visually map out a way to push through the people leaving the crowd to find your way up front.
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