One UK based study believes that increasing the number of concerts you see increases your time on this earth. Sure, but what about my ears?
One of the most important parts of the concert experience is gazing through over the expanse of sweat, friction and alternate states and wondering if you were too old to be there in the first place.
However, one new study believes that regular concert attendance can make one live forever. That, or tack on nine years the finite time we’re doled out by the cosmos. Which is a great name for a band.
The general gist of the study is that live music increases all the contents of our mental stew. Feelings of self-worth, closeness to others, mental stimulation et cetera. According to the study, there’s a “positive correlation between regularity of gig attendance and well-being…additional scholarly research directly links high levels of wellbeing with a lifespan increase of nine years.”
These “sensations of well-being” (another great band name) were measured using psychometric testing and heart-rate tests. The study claims that experiencing a gig for just twenty minutes can result in a 21% increase in feelings of well-being. Which is exactly the kind of thing you hear when the psychedelics are trotted out. The study recommends that one concert every two weeks will score one’s “happiness, contentment, productivity and self-esteem at the highest level.”
Allow me to momentarily contort my face in suspicion. One of the forces behind the aforementioned study was O2, the goliath ticketing, entertainment and music people, which steps it slightly toward being a conflict of interest. With that being said, an earlier study from Deakin University in 2010 ostensibly said the same thing.
So. Should we consider the findings confirmed? Maybe. But probably we shouldn’t think too much about it, square. Although, on a personal note, it’s a yeah, ok from me, as we do tend to cling onto those golden festival moments, and especially when our world is grey and organised, we reach to those memories kept under amber and MDMA and still feel like they meant something.
I mean how else can I define that moment I can’t let go of, searching for the continued meaning of 21,000 people singing DJ Otzi’s Hey Baby over a dusty hill under the blanket of darkness and interpersonal light?
Oh, Good times.