The idea of the concert originated hundreds of years ago, way before there was a medium to record music. The only way they could listen to music was to hear it being played live. Concert promoters delayed the development of recording devices for centuries in a conspiracy to protect their operations.
It was a racket that marketed music like a rare commodity and thwarted creative growth and set cultural evolution so far behind that it is still trying to catch up. Even though we can now listen to music anywhere, anytime with recorded media, contemporary impresarios continue to have a stranglehold on major musical events. In their unending quest to maximize profits and fleece fans promoters' ticket sales often exceed the capacity of the venues, but they pack 'em in anyway so they can make even more money selling them drinks.
Overcrowding is a serious yet common hazard with potentially disastrous consequences. Management thinks it's worth the gamble-after all, it's the insurance company's problem not theirs. Fans don't mind the overcrowding either, unless they get trampled to death by a stampeding mob, or get crushed to death under a collapsed balcony, or die of smoke inhalation and be burned alive in the event of a fire. These are just some of the risks that concert fans take every time they go. They stand in long lines for hours in the freezing cold rain and snow then the mob inside is so massive that they can't even see the stage. But it's not about the music it's all about the event-a frenzy fest of ceremonial pandemonium and mass hysteria with high-decibel distorted dissonance, audio agony, and sonic insanity all rolled into one.
The typical rock concert is like an industrial meat packing plant. Fans are herded into huge arenas like cattle going into the slaughterhouse, but at least the cows get to die. The cheering crowd is tightly packed together with flesh on flesh like a huge can of hot and sweaty sardines. The girls look like sluts and the guys look like ax murderers, but it doesn't matter because you'll probably die anyway -- and if you're real lucky you'll only get beaten and robbed.
Girls are relatively safe and will just get raped and a case of VD. All in all it's just a ship of fools, brain-dead head-bangers who paid dearly to get their eardrums assaulted by the deafening noise then lay down their lives with a dive into the mosh pit like sacrificial lambs. The only way to endure the torturous terror is to get super-stoned or downright drunk-or preferably both. Meanwhile security guards bash the heads of anyone who accidentally wanders too close to the stage, and the lead singer also bashes heads by throwing empty beer bottles into the audience. The band can only play until they get too drunk, or need another fix, but the screaming crazed fans demand an encore so the band fakes it lip-syncing to a recorded soundtrack until they pass out on stage.
After the show band members adjourn to their dressing room while groupies line up backstage to screw them--right before they head back out on the road. No matter how filthy dirty those degenerates are women just love rock stars. They don't care how sleazy or scummy, or even if he has a STD, they idolize the punks begging for sex like nymphomaniac hypnotized whores. The lead singer gets the lion's share of chicks while the rest of the band must settle for the leftovers. But they're not the only ones having fun because outside in the parking lot many teenage daughters are losing their virginity-a time honored concert tradition.