If you saw concerts in the 1970s or early 1980s, you remember it: general-admission seats, camping out overnight, the rush when the doors opened. You didn’t walk to your spot – you ran.
It was part of the experience and part of the risk.
Today, that world is mostly gone. Modern concerts – especially at the arena and stadium level – are remarkably controlled environments. Assigned seating for the most part, barricades, security lanes, and trained personnel. You know where you’re going, where you’ll sit (or stand), and what to expect.
That shift didn’t happen overnight. It was learned. Events like the Altamont Free Concert, the Isle of Wight Festival in 1970, and The Who concert in 1979 that saw 11 people trampled to death, made it clear that large, unmanaged crowds could turn dangerous. What had once been chaotic but mostly harmless – fans rushing the stage, bodies packed together – had crossed into something else entirely.
The industry responded by raising stages, introducing barriers, and deploying large numbers of professional security personnel to monitor and manage crowd flows.
At the same time, the shows themselves got bigger. By the time of the Rolling Stones’ 1981 Tour, stages had expanded dramatically. Ramps, extended platforms, massive speaker arrays. And with the arrival of reliable wireless technology, performers were no longer tethered to a microphone stand or an amp.
A frontman like Mick Jagger could cover the entire stage – one moment at the center, the next at the far edge of a ramp, engaging a completely different section of the audience. From an audience perspective, it was incredible. From a band perspective, it changed everything.
In earlier years, musicians stayed close together, not just by choice, but by necessity. Cables limited movement. Stages were smaller. That physical proximity created a kind of musical intimacy that included eye contact, subtle cues, and shared timing.
As stages grew and performers spread out, that intimacy shifted. The band was still playing together but across space, often relying more on monitors and structure than on physical closeness.
By the late 1980s, especially with tours like Steel Wheels, the transformation was complete. Concerts became productions, and lighting rigs were synchronized. Better and better video screens magnified every movement while sound systems delivered clarity to the back row of a stadium. Security ensured that what happened in the front row remained under control.
Even the audience changed. The free-for-all general admission crowd gave way to a more structured, diverse audience: couples, casual fans, corporate attendees. The experience became something you planned and attended, rather than something you plunged into.
It’s easy to look back and say something was lost. And in some ways, it was. That sense of edge – the feeling that anything could happen – has largely disappeared. The risk has been engineered out of the system.
But something was gained, too. Safety. Consistency. The ability for thousands of people to experience the same show without incident.
The modern concert is, in many ways, a noteworthy achievement. But for those who remember the earlier days, there’s always that lingering thought: It used to feel a little more alive. Not because it was better in every way – but because it wasn’t entirely under control. And sometimes, that lack of control was exactly what made it unforgettable.
johnberkovich.com 