Lizzy McAlpine’s “Angel” show: Why every concert should take away our phones

At most concerts I have gone to in the last decade, I have watched the show twice: once live, and once later, on shaky ten-second videos I took. At the concert I went to in August, you could only watch the show once. I can’t remember what the singer was wearing, or even what the set looked like, but it was the best show I’ve ever attended for this exact reason.  

When I bought tickets to see Lizzy McAlpine at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, I was excited for a number of reasons. First, the venue itself is a staple of New York — a piece of living history, launching careers for many indie artists, notably hosting a three-night run of Elliot Smith shows, which would be his last New York performances before his death later that year. When I heard the venue was closing at the end of 2026, I was determined to see a show there. 

Second, McAlpine was playing through her entire upcoming album, “Angel,” which would not be released until two weeks after the live show. It was an amazing opportunity to be one of the first people in the world to hear the album. 

Third, the show would be intimate. While the venue can hold up to 600 people, still notably small, the concert was capped, and I would guess there were only two hundred people present. While McAlpine may not have the fame of Taylor Swift, this is significantly smaller than the stadiums she’ll play once she tours “Angel,” which she later announced. These factors made me impulsively buy a ticket to see the show the night before I left for Middlebury. 

When I read the guidelines that came with my tickets, they said I couldn't record the show at all, and my phone would be locked in Yondr pouches (Yondr is a magnetic pouch company that helps to create phone-free environments, and was, of course, sponsoring the event). I barely paid attention to this, and it made sense: they didn’t want anyone to leak the album before it was officially released. It felt more like a precaution, or a logistical matter, than something that would actually affect my concert experience. But this rule was what changed my entire experience. 

With a late start date like Middlebury’s this year, you are unlikely to find a friend who can go to a mid-September concert with you — half of them were already taking their midterms. So my mom, a surprisingly large fan of McAlpine, offered to take the second ticket. As we headed into the Music Hall, we had no clue what to expect. We both locked up our phones as instructed and walked into the venue's small, floor-level area. We were ten minutes late, and McAlpine had already begun, playing “The Light in the Painting,” the album’s lead single and the first song. 

The first thing that struck me was how the concert's intimacy came less from its size and more from the lack of phones. I stood at the very back of the room, and I had a very clear view of McAlpine and her band. No arms were raised, no blue screens canceling out the warmth of the set lights. The lack of phones required proper engagement with the show. 

As McAlpine played through the album, a sense of community continued to build in the audience. The crowd was more engaged and attentive than any show I’d ever been to. As McAlpine explained the story and inspiration behind each song, the audience would laugh or cheer louder than at any show I’ve ever been to. She would talk to the audience and engage with us; no one could record it. There was a level of freedom allowed to McAlpine and the band to take creative risks and mess up lyrics without fear that it would be posted. 

As McAlpine played her thirteenth track, my mom and I were prepared for what would come next. McAlpine always dedicates her 13th track to her father, who passed away on March 13, 2020. She explained that this track, titled “The Crowd,” would be dedicated to him. She also said she probably would never play it live after this show because it was too hard for her to sing. The chorus states, “Everything I do / I do so I can make you proud / Everything I do / I make it big so you can hear the crowd.” It was one of the rawest and most vulnerable moments I have ever seen at a concert. The intensity behind this experience was heightened by the awareness that we were watching a song that would likely never be played again, and that you could not even find a video of it online. 

After McAlpine finished the album, she turned to her bandmate and collaborator, Mason Stoops, and said: “Should we do it?” The band all nodded and began to play “Spring into Summer,” McAlpine’s most popular song. Something happened next that I don’t think would ever happen if our phones were available. The crowd began to dance together, complete strangers swaying together and spinning each other around. The room was filled to the brim with joy. Every person sang every word to the song (after all, we could not sing along to any of the other songs). McAlpine sang the last lyric: “Summer is falling, it’s a distant dream / if I turn around you’re running back to me.” And it felt true to the moment. New York was feeling autumn approaching, and the end of summer lingered in the air. For me, this night meant saying goodbye to home and preparing to go back to Vermont. 

Before this night, I truly believed I could love a concert and still record most of it: that filming and watching weren't mutually exclusive. But afterwards, my belief changed entirely. It's a completely different experience, one I still can't fully describe. As more artists turn to this trend — Phoebe Bridgers holding phone-free concerts for her newest album —  I cannot imagine a more positive development for the world of live music.

As a twenty-year-old with an Instagram account, there is an intrinsic need to brag about seeing this show. But there is no proof, nothing I could show, and that was exactly the point. Not having my phone didn’t just make the concert better, but it shaped my memory afterward too. It was mine to enjoy completely.