A day before ex-boybander Harry Styles’ concert at Radio City Music Hall, an email from the venue found its way into my digital mailbox. Beginning with the usual greeting, the following message detailed that the music hall would open its store at 9:30AM and its doors at 11:00AM in hopes of selling a bulk of the phenomenon’s merchandise before the 8PM concert so that masses of fans wouldn’t clog up lobbies with lines during the show’s actual run (SPOILER: I fell for this email and dashed to Radio City at 5PM to cop a ‘Harry Styles Live at Radio City’ Tour Tee).
An email like this never before delivered itself to my digital person, even with my 40+ concert experiences.
Although a massive and dedicated One Direction and Harry Styles fan, the gravity and size of Styles’ show didn’t permeate until Radio City alerted me that buying merch from Styles would require me venturing into the venue hours before the doors officially opened.
The tour, supporting the singer’s first self titled album, has seen enormous support from Hollywood and fashion elites, with Stevie Nicks gracing the stage with Styles at one of his first shows, which resulted in a transcendent ‘Landslide’ duet and Alessandro Michele of Gucci designing all of Styles’ tour wear.
Apart from critical acclaim, the charming singer-songwriter’s debut solo effort has racked up a respectable amount of commercial success. His first solo album debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 Albums Chart. According to Nielsen, a data measurement conglomerate, Styles’ debut effort prompted the highest first week sales for a British male artist’s debut full-length album since the company began measuring such in 1991.
With such support, success, and buzz, both critical and commercial, the hype and air surrounding his first solo tour should come as no surprise.
Tour success isn’t foreign to Styles. The singer’s previous Who We Are tour, completed when he was still a member of One Direction, ranked second on Forbes’ list of highest grossing tours of 2015 for that year, beat out only by Taylor Swift’s momentous 1989 effort.
As an avid One Direction fan, their tours, and the unique energy surrounding them, aren’t foreign to me. In 2014 I attended three of the pop act’s Where We Are shows and during 2015, after Zayn Malik’s departure from the band, I attended one of the pop quartet’s On The Road Again shows. The aura which surrounded those shows astounded me, making me feel as if I participated in a movement, not a single concert in a sports arena in smelly New Jersey.
Harry Styles’ show at Radio City Music Hall on September 28th surpassed all of my One Direction concert experiences. (I went alone, because my One Direction partner, my sister, traveled across the Atlantic ocean and currently resides in London)
At 3:11 in the afternoon, looking like a snack wearing an off the shoulder top, mom jeans and red lipstick, I boarded a LIRR train to Penn Station. I quickly dashed to the venue, where I was greeted by hundreds of other women and men, teaming outside organizing themselves in loose lines.
Knowing NYC like the back of my hand, especially Midtown, a hellscape in itself, I dashed between crowds and approached a man donning the classic Radio City uniform on the side of the legendary structure. He quickly led me inside the venue, where workers were selling the much sought after H-Styles merch.
Feeling like I cracked the code, avoiding the long line cascading out of the Radio City shop and striking gold with a side entrance, I hopped on in there and secured myself a tour tee only after laying out $45. (Side note: someone has to stop the elevating prices of artists’ merch. Can their record labels subsidize it for us poor folk?)
After all this, my phone’s lock screen only read 5:30. Had I lost my mind? Coming this early to a show that only started at 8 just to secure a tee with Harry Styles’ likeness on it? Damn Shannon, this kinda existed as one of your new lows.
Instead of befriending any of the well dressed and excited girls teaming outside of the venue and spilling out onto 6th Avenue (thanks social anxiety), I escaped into the concourse below Rockefeller center, grabbed a coffee from the same Dunkin Donuts that I frequent during my work breaks (the workers recognize me RIP) and sat my ass down on a cold metal chair, whipped out a book and began reading some Ray Carver like the antisocial nerd I am.
But, I couldn’t read. I began unraveling, which, is a phenomenon popstars have on one psyches, especially when one’s about to see a popstar IN THE FLESH!!!!!!!!!
The usual fanatic thoughts bombarded my skull and read much like the following: Harry Styles is a real person and I’m about to be less that 20 feet away from him while he sings and bops and hopefully runs across stage with a pride flag like he usually does and good lord i’m so happy I’m seeing him with his short hair oh my god I have to text my sister she;s just as excited as I am and she’s not even going tonight Oh dear lord Shannon remember when you once slept on a sidewalk for three days to see One Direction on SNL? You’re pathetic but that’s okay BECAUSE YOU’RE ABOUT TO SEE HARRY!!!!!
At 6:50 I emerged from my underground oasis and made a beeline for the venue’s doors. I knew the ticket I bought positioned me in the pit section, located right in front of the stage, but when the fancy usher led me to my seat I lost my mind.
My seat was in the third row, roped off from the rest of the venue and protected by three specially fancy ushers. Broke lower middle class me sat, elated, in my glorified fold out chair.
Styles’ opener, MUNA, an electro-pop band comprised of three women, Naomi McPherson, Katie Gavin and Josette Maskin, took the stage at eight. Dressed like a witch coven that parlayed with pirates and mall goth girls from the 90s, MUNA DELIVERED. Familiar with their pop, I awkwardly moved my body in a way some would call dancing, and others would call sporadic jolts.
MUNA seemed an odd choice as Styles’ opener when first announced, however, the two musical acts’ political and social views align. Comprised of three queer women, the trio regularly pen songs praising the LGBTQ community and bashing domestic violence and sexual assault. During an interview with Sophomore about their album About U, McPherson, said “The whole album is just sort of like taking the personal as being innately political, because of who we are as people and how we identify.”
Styles regularly praises the LGBTQ community, making a point of accepting a pride flag, bi flag or trans flag, from the audience at each of his shows and parading around with it on stage.
Self aware, reps from MUNA’s label gave away “MUNA Might Have Spoken to Harry Styles” pins in Radio City’s lobby. Staying true to their roots, they also sell tees and sweatshirts adorned with the words, “Sad Soft Pop Songs For Sissies Angry Girls Emo Queers and Crybabies.” Touche, MUNA. Sign me up for at least three sweatshirts please.
After delivering a solid performance, praising Styles for his kindness and acceptance and bashing the current political and social atmosphere we got going on in our world right now, MUNA left the stage.
Now the wait began. The truly bizarre and unspoken thought that filters through every girl’s brain before a concert, “oh my god the lead singer/singer/insert name here is totally going to notice me” struck me hard. I sat in the third row, Styles WAS totally going to catch a glimpse of me. Good thing I put on highlighter while doing my makeup.
Lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated a large pink curtain, adorned with feminine florals. Styles’ silhouette appeared, his likeness hidden. Styles began crooning the slow tempo, “Ever Since New York,” momentarily withholding the drums, guitars, keys and bass. Only the singer’s voice echoed throughout the ornate venue.
The tempo increased, the curtain dropped, and the show began.
Clad in a red and black custom Gucci suit, Styles demanded attention, as did his team of backing musicians, all wearing formal attire. Behind him sat Sarah Jones on the drums and Claire Uchima on the keys. On his left and right stood Mitch Rowland on guitar, Adam Prendergast on bass and Alex Salibian on both the guitar and the keyboard. The band meshed well, all seemingly captivated by Styles inescapable charm.
Styles began the night tenderly singing his slower songs, and built up anticipation for his anthemic rock song “Kiwi” and his covers of his former band’s singles “What Makes You Beautiful” and “Story of My Life.”
I can’t tell you specifics, because attending a Harry Styles concert is like staring at the sun. It’s so bright, so beautiful, so warm, you easily become overwhelmed. What I can say is, Styles’ is insanely likable, funny and kind. These characteristics directly translate into his show.
Styles creates a space of acceptance, where one can be themselves. He’s always done so, but now being a solo artist, he’s taken this mission: kindness and acceptance, to a new level.
Not only does his live-voice and band sound exactly as they do on his debut album, they often sound better, with Styles improvising new riffs and note changes. Styles morphed the pop songs he previously produced with One Direction into rock songs, fully equipped with drums and two guitars.
Between songs, the singer engaged in witty banter with crowd members, relayed to the audience how much help Puerto Rico, recently struck by a hurricane, needs and made everyone feel at home with large smiles and genuine eyes.
Whilst singing Styles bopped, swayed and full-on pranced his way across stage. In his typical fashion he swung and sprayed water into the crowd, restarted “Kiwi” twice and sang it in full three times and accepted a pride flag from the crowd and ran with it across stage. The singer ran up the side of the venue, hopping from swanky balcony to swanky balcony.
I’ve been to over 40 concerts, but this show felt like no other, not even previous One Direction shows. Styles was meant to be on his own. His energy deserved it’s own show.
There’s a cult of personality surrounding the singer, and for good reason. Through his voice, his beliefs and his charm, Styles’ casts a spell on on-lookers, one he only intends on using for good. You can’t encounter Harry Styles without falling a bit in love with him.
As I though about this, about how I fell a little bit more in love with Styles and his view for the future of the world, the show wound down. “Sign of the Times” filled the venue, the act bowed, the venue’s lights returned, and I shuffled into the closest aisle, seeking an exit.
I wonder how much magic Styles possesses and if he knows how much good he’s doing. I wonder if he knows his shows feel like home for young women and the LGBTQ community, those constantly trampled on and flung around by society’s whiplash.
I hope he does.
On the way home, as I sat on the one train and than the LIRR grasping onto my $45 Harry Styles tour shirt, I slowly phased myself back into the real world; one currently devoid of kindness and acceptance, one where twenty-three year old men don’t praise femininity and openly accept pride.
The Rogue Runway 