I’m I-bought-concert-tickets-from-sketchy-resellers-through-the-classifieds-years old. In spite of my advanced age, I still love a good concert.
And so on Thursday, when Taylor Swift announced she’d be bringing her Eras Tour to Toronto for six shows in 2024, I joined the throngs of Canadians trying to figure out how to register for tickets.
I launched three attempts. The first time – success! I was in, the e-mail said. What was everyone fretting about? Easy-peasy, world.
Alas, it turns out, I had only managed to join her fan club. I was “in,” but only on getting e-mailed Taylor Swift news updates. Okay, Boomer! (Gen-Xer, actually, but you get the point.)
After my first false start, I recalled that someone I know had posted elaborate instructions on Facebook explaining the complicated process. I studied those notes like it was a driver’s manual and I was turning 16 tomorrow.
Then I went to the Ticketmaster website and got to the right place. I had to choose two of the six shows. I made my choices under duress.
The next day, when I signed into my online banking portal for my distressing biweekly bill-paying ritual, I was shocked by the landing page: I qualified for priority registration for Taylor Swift tickets! Thanks, RBC!
I registered again. Wait, was I even allowed to? Did I just disqualify myself?
I wasn’t alone in this. The Globe’s Stefanie Marotta wrote a great piece with tips to secure Eras tickets – after she herself had resorted to buying tickets to Ms. Swift’s show in Italy next summer.
At some point it occurred to me: What if I do, in fact, “win?” Do I even want to spend hundreds of dollars on concert tickets? In this economy? When my couch is on its last legs and the dishwasher is going to die any day now?
I don’t even live in Toronto, so I’d have to shell out for flights and incidentals. It’s not Italy, but still.
Of course, all of this angst was premature. I still had to be chosen to receive an access code that may or may not be texted to me that will permit me to try to buy tickets.
And why exactly was I doing this? My teenage son has expressed zero interest in attending. But I don’t want him to miss out on this Big Cultural Moment.
Things have changed since the 1980s, when my mother didn’t exactly pay attention as I went to some dude’s house to collect front-row-centre U2 tickets that may or may not have been fakes. (They were real!) Nor did my parents seem to mind when I spent hours in line for Billy Joel tickets at some record store. (I got two on the floor!)
Now, parents are registering for Taylor Swift tickets to help their kids, and begging others on social media (Facebook, natch) to help them not disappoint their daughters. Any leads, anyone? Help me not be the worst dad ever!
And I’m registering – for me? For my kid? Because I got caught up in the frenzy?
I came to Taylor Swift late in life. For years I liked her music casually. But during the pandemic, I found her. Her 2020 albums Folklore and Evermore became the soundtrack to those days. Imagine hearing her song “cardigan” along with tens of thousands of others, all of us singing along? When you are young, they assume you know nothing.
This is part of the confluence that has made the Eras Tour such a juggernaut. First of all, this career-spanning show is apparently one for the ages. But that back-to-life element has taken this to the next level. Remember when we wondered if we would ever see a live show again, as we sat alone in our homes, watching Tiger King?
The Eras Tour has transcended music. It crashed Ticketmaster early on, and launched congressional hearings; the U.S Justice Department is reportedly investigating its parent company, Live Nation Entertainment. Ms. Swift’s concerts are major events, with Tay-Gate parties outside arenas. Celebrities from Simu Liu to Reese Witherspoon to Flavor Flav have posted from her shows. The New York Times’ Ethicist column even devoted space to answering: How should four people divvy up the two tickets they got?
This is not simply pop culture history. This feels like history, period. So, armed with this argument and a bad case of FOMO, I am going for it. How could I possibly miss out?
But is it worth TBD dollars? My sagging couch wants to know.
This is all probably moot. An e-mail arrived late Tuesday informing me that I had only made the wait list. But if any tickets remain, they’ll let me know. “Hang tight,” Ticketmaster comfortingly assured me. And so, I wait. Maybe I’ll see you in Toronto in 2024. Wonder what the world will look like then.