Last week, I mentioned playing all-ages shows with my band in Palmerston North, Wellington, and Auckland and how I thought it was great that there was such a culture of inclusion in these cities.
I stick by my initial impression of these shows; that they're inclusive and promote a healthy and thriving music scene.
But I will say that I have had very little experience playing to teenagers, and had no idea that it would be so different from playing to adults.
Last Saturday, my band played at an all-ages festival in Auckland.
It was the last show on our tour and we were both completely and utterly exhausted.
When we arrived at the venue we felt old and ridiculous dressed all in black, and grimy from a week of travel and music.
Everyone else was bright and airy, and young and uninterested.
For anyone who hasn't tried to engage with teenagers before, I will say this: for every ounce of effort you put in, you will receive five ounces of uninterest back.
I can count on one hand the number of teenagers who independently (and pleasantly) engaged with me on Saturday.
We started playing to an empty room because everyone had gone outside, and when the teens finally returned they stood awkwardly far away from the stage and watched us, their body language rendering their disdain palpable.
And the harder we tried the worse it got.
I don't think they hated us.
I think they probably just didn't know what to do and were worried about looking uncool if they so much as looked even a little bit like they were enjoying the music.
This is not an indictment of teenagers and their attitude; in fact, even though my feelings were a little bit hurt, I was pretty impressed by how out of place I felt as a 22-year-old in a room full of teens.
I'm in love with teenage arrogance.
There is something quite delightful about how a teenager can decide that something just absolutely does not matter to them.
I wish that I had the audacity to show up to a gig and make it known that I didn't care about who was playing because the music was stupid and inaccessible.
I wish that I had the same unwavering certainty as teenagers in their first band who think in a couple of years they'll be signed to a major label and playing sold-out shows in America.
Of course, this arrogance is probably not based as much in real confidence as it is in vulnerability and chronic anxiety about how you are coming across to other people.
Being a teenager is singularly unpleasant in so many ways, and so much of the time you don't have space to work out what you do and don't like.
And, when you do have spaces, they're often curated by adults who don't know what you like either.
I completely understand why teenagers would cross their arms and scowl at my band; I would have had the exact same reaction when I was 16 or 17.
I loved watching these teens interact with each other's bands, forming their own tastes and opinions about live music and learning how to show appreciation for what they do like.
Adults making music that doesn't cater specifically to teenagers often end up looking like they're talking down to teenagers, and making fun of what they like.
For this reason I think it's fantastic when teens turn the tables and look down at you and your stupid grown-up music.
●Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
