I’m about to travel to Paris to see Céline Dion, and it’s got me thinking about how far we’ll go for music.
Sometimes it’s a late train home. Sometimes it’s a motorway service station at midnight. And sometimes it’s a passport, a packed bag and a weekend in another country.
The concert is the reason you book. But by the time you come home, the memory has become much bigger than those few hours.
A ticket becomes a trip
Travelling for live music gives a trip a particular kind of anticipation.
There’s the moment you get the tickets. The messages to the person you’re going with. The travel plans, the hotel search and the inevitable question: how easy will it be to get back afterwards?
Then there’s the playlist you put on while getting ready, because apparently you need to revise songs you’ve known for twenty years.
Before the artist has even stepped on stage, the experience has already begun.
For my Paris trip, I’m looking forward to seeing Céline, of course. But I’m also looking forward to exploring somewhere with a friend, finding places to eat and having a weekend built around something we’re excited about.
Music has given us a reason to go.
The places between the songs
When we remember a concert trip, we rarely remember only the setlist.
We remember the café we found before the show. The person on the train wearing the same tour T-shirt. The conversation with strangers who understood exactly why we’d travelled so far.
Sometimes we remember getting lost. Or getting soaked. Or paying an unreasonable amount for a drink and deciding that, on this particular occasion, we were going to let it go.
Those details become attached to the music.
A song you’ve listened to at home hundreds of times can acquire a new association after one live performance. Suddenly, it brings back a particular city, a particular person and the feeling of being there together.
Following your soundtrack
“Music tourism” sounds quite formal for something many of us do instinctively.
We follow a favourite artist to another city. We plan a weekend around a festival. We visit a record shop while we’re away, hoping to find something we wouldn’t come across at home.
For some people, music is the main purpose of the journey. For others, it gives a familiar destination a completely different meaning.
You might have visited a city before, but returning for a concert changes the way you experience it. There’s somewhere you need to be, a crowd you feel part of and a shared sense of anticipation.
For one evening, thousands of separate journeys arrive in the same room.
What we bring home
The souvenirs aren’t always the obvious ones.
There might be a ticket, a T-shirt or a record. But there’s also the photograph taken before the lights went down. The running joke that made no sense to anyone else. The song that will now always remind you of that weekend.
It’s worth capturing a few of those details while they’re fresh.
Who did you go with? What happened before the show? Which song were you waiting for? Was there a moment that caught you completely off guard?
You don’t need to write a polished review. A few notes are enough to preserve the parts a setlist can’t tell you.
That connection between music and memory is at the heart of CODA. The things we keep can help us find our way back to an experience long after we’ve unpacked.
I haven’t made my Paris memories yet. But I’m looking forward to discovering which song ends up carrying them.
What’s the furthest you’ve travelled for music — and what do you remember most about the trip?
Music. Memories. Moments.