Last September, I moved from Greenpoint to Bushwick on a Friday, and by Saturday, I was already back in my old neighbourhood, headbanging to Geese at The Lot in broad daylight. The Brooklyn natives had announced a free pop-up show with the release of their third album, Getting Killed, and watching from side “stage,” the main attraction easily became the faces of fans lining the barricade. They came hungry.
After the show, I texted my group chat: “Their show is gonna be so fun!!!!”
We already had plans to see them at Brooklyn Paramount, a 3000-capacity venue, in two months. But I could never miss the pop-up.
Our Geese tickets for November were under $50, but resale prices were over 10x face value. Concerts are becoming increasingly expensive, and it’s not just third-party sites to blame. In 2014, I went to Van’s Warped Tour for $30. Now, a 2-day ticket for the same festival costs a concertgoer $170. Who could blame fans for clinging to the pop-up, a cheap or free alternative, when the industry has betrayed fans so egregiously?
In November, tickets for Olivia Dean’s performance at Madison Square Garden were mistakenly priced at $753.75. After outrage from Dean and her fans, Ticketmaster claimed it was a typo; face value was supposed to be $53.75, and they refunded the difference to all fans who purchased tickets.
But the reality stands: Some fans were willing to pay the $750.
So if cost isn’t the only answer, what else is fueling these coveted pop-ups?
As kids, my dad used to take my sister and me to Tower Records, where we’d wander around the store aimlessly, putting on oversized headphones and listening to whatever tester record was on the turntable. I received iTunes gift cards as birthday presents, was taught by my older cousin how to use LimeWire, and let myself get lost on Tumblr and SoundCloud. In high school, I worked at a vintage record store. Music discovery always had a middleman: a recommendation from a friend, an extra step of hitting “buy” or pirating an album (sorry!), or a physical medium to listen through. It required time and effort, and held a level of excitement and spontaneity. Now, streaming services do the work for you. There’s no longer silence at the end of an album; Spotify will autoplay recommended tracks. Can’t perfect your heartbreak playlist? AI will do it for you! Is the exclusive pop-up show a needed contrast to music’s overaccessibility?
TikTok and the push for short-form video content have rapidly transformed the music industry since 2020; artists have spoken out about the push from labels to generate viral moments before releasing new music. But that same virality is diluting the experience of curating personal taste, and the pop-up show allows fans to roleplay closeness to an artist in an increasingly distant digital landscape.
Social media gives an illusion of constant, immediate connection, but Americans are feeling lonelier than ever. Former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared America’s loneliness epidemic a public health crisis in the spring of 2023. The Health and Human Services’ report found that prior to the Covid-19 pandemic, social networks were already growing smaller, and levels of social participation had declined. The pandemic merely accelerated these already concerning rates.
Virality is diluting the experience of curating personal taste; the pop-up show allows fans to role-play closeness to an artist in an increasingly distant, digital landscape.
Young people are desperate for community — which isn’t inherently dangerous. But in the music scene, it often spirals into parasocial relationships with artists. Even fandom has manufactured hierarchies — either you’re on the barricade with the true fans, or in the back with the normies. It’s not cool to be a casual listener.
Flexing clips from pop-up shows on social media establishes your place in the “in” group that TikTok onlookers aren’t a part of. It’s a digital commodification not unlike the 2010s vinyl resurgence. When streaming platforms grew in popularity, owning an album became a symbol of individuality and cultural cachet. Now, vinyl’s everywhere. Even Taylor Swift sells a bajillion variants of whatever album she releases in a given year, serving as a reminder that even art can’t escape late-stage capitalism. For some collectors, it’s no longer about the music or the medium; it’s about proving your devotion to an artist, no matter how much it breaks the bank or how little use each vinyl will get.
With vinyl losing its status, posting from pop-up shows has become a status symbol. It’s a badge of exclusivity, tangible proof that you like an artist on a deeper level than the average fan. Seeing an artist outside of a traditional setting is much more intimate than just streaming a song — anyone could do that. Artists become real people outside of arenas and in the streets. It’s like seeing your therapist in the grocery store.
It’s also difficult to gauge whether the artists’ participation in pop-ups stems from a desire to feel close to fans, or to manufacture a viral moment around a release. Tour traditions (Role Model’s “Sally,” for example) have been successful in drawing attention to emerging stars, while also providing a fun experience for fans to engage in.
But the pop-up is popular for a reason; with artists like Lorde and Tyler the Creator, it’s a chance for fans to see their favorites in an intimate setting and to connect with their music without the gimmicks of a large-scale performance. Turnstile’s free show in Baltimore reinforced my belief in the power of live music. I watched every video that crossed my FYP, seething with jealousy but also awe.
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Now Geese is popular, and Getting Killed is being called “coworker music.” But I get to say I was there. Even better than saying it, I really was there. An empty lot in Brooklyn filled by an ache for live music. Knowing you’re witnessing the precipice of a band’s breakthrough. There’s nothing else like it.