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When you go to a music show, there are certain expectations from both performer and audience. The performer needs to hit the mark, start reasonably on time (punk shows excluded from this requirement of course), give a plausible rendition of the hits, and in general, entertain. Audiences have certain obligations as well, but those generally fall under the “don’t be a dick to your fellow concertgoers” umbrella. American crowds in general have a tough time with this requirement, glaring as it is.

Non-Americans, broadly speaking, are not dicks to their fellow concert goers. I’ve found that folks from foreign lands tend to maintain a sense of propriety we Yanks seem to have lost many decades ago. Americans have difficulty with even nominal standards of decorum expected in a public place; minimal fisticuffs, keeping tops on. Rank and file newcomers, by and large, reserve the public nudity for the schwimmbad, and don’t publicly brawl (Australians and Brits excluded of course).

They have also not allowed less intrusive American public sphere mores to rub off. They all have an electronic device, but are not quite at American levels of passive use. So I was sadly disconcerted (see what I did there) last night to see so many of my fellow concert goers ignore an incendiary performance for the lure of the illuminated screen.

The performer in question was Ustad Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, a master of Qawwali devotional music. Originating at the nexus of multiple faiths, Qawwali was traditionally performed before Sufi temples in South Asia. Ostensibly, Qawwali lyrics call worshippers to union with god, though in truth, they can be quite earthy, even bawdy. Performances can be hours long, and the droning, rhythmic cadences are meant both as a form of entertainment and religious observance.

And what a performance it was. The term vocal pyrotechnics would be a starting point to describe Ali Khan’s craft as an artist. He’s a high-energy performer clearly in religious ecstasy as much as entertainment mode. The show was over three hours (now that’s a lotta Qawwali!) and an endurance match for the musicians, especially the tabla player.

Which brings me to the audience. So, I’m probably the only non-South Asian in the house, and it was capacity. Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs from the DMV area converged on the MGM National Harbor casino for a sold-out show. It was a better draw than Cher, even with the (much) more expensive ticket price. And it was a deservedly sold out venue. Ali Khan is a brilliant interpreter of the form, and is from royal Qawwali linage. His uncle, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, from my Wikipedia level research, one of the greatest voices ever put to tape. (I had coincidentally heard Nusrat on the Natural Born Killers soundtrack and didn’t know it until last night. His nephew sounds a lot like him.)

So imagine, if you will, gentle reader, my utter dismay at the number of concert goers dicking around not paying attention. Many, and I mean many, showed up late and were not seated by the time the show started. In all fairness, Ali Khan and his ensemble started close to 15 minutes late, so maybe it’s a South Asian thing, what do I know. People were chattering and cracking up behind me. In the row in front of me, one woman was lazily scrolling through the internet and texting on her phone, ignorant of the transcendence on stage. A guy next to her advertised his boredom by scrolling through Facebook. From my perch in the balcony the dark expanse below was pierced by blue-white rectangles. Assholes one and all. Most were actually either filming or taking pictures, but not attending to the action in front of them. Not making that connection. Not getting lost in the  moment. That’s what gets me more than the distraction to my own enjoyment of the music. It’s that they were ignoring a true rarity in life, a rarity more precious than gold or jewels: a live performance by human master of the arts. Assholes.

There’s three levels of decorum they’re breaking here.

1. Ali Khan is a musical genius, and there’s a good chance you’ll never see him perform again. He looks to be in his mid-40s and enjoying the fruits of his success has necessitated him shopping at the big and tall shalwar kameez outlet. His uncle died at 49. It’s probable that heart disease runs as deep as brilliance in his bloodline.
2. This is devotional music. It’s not a mere light entertainment form. It’s meant to remove you from your workaday world and lift you up just one notch closer to the divine, above the fray of chit-chatter and plug in devices.
3. It’s just plain rude when the people behind you are near blinded by your iPhone’s brightness turned up all the way.

This isn’t John Mayer or Imagine Dragons onstage. It’s not a disposable bit of pop ephemera. The musician sitting (yes, he sings from a seated position) before you has devoted his life to his family’s musical legacy and bringing a slice of heaven to the audience. The least you can do is turn off, tune in, and drop out of the mundane for a couple of hours. It’ll do the soul some good.

I’m not saying you should sit in silent rapture at the spectacle. This is a music form that demands not silence, but a level of audience participation. There’s almost a call and response aspect to the performer-spectator dynamic. Shouts to the musicians feed their energy, and they give back to the audience in an amped up crescendo of clapping, wailing and finger flying on the drums. Seriously, that tabla player puts Mickey Hart to shame for sheer endurance and spirit.

Maybe I should n’t be so harsh though. It did take a while, but the audience eventually did get into a good Qawwali mood and began to replace battery powered “connection” for a human one. By ones and twos at first, folks rose up and started dancing. There was hesitation at first for such a public display. They would dance a bit, then sit down, often guided back to their seats by the probably bewildered security. Soon individuals became clusters and clusters grew to crowds in the balcony and on the floor in front of the stage.

Non-dancing audience members would cry out to the musicians whoops of approval and what may have been the Urdu equivalent of “Freebird!”. The musicians responded by amping up the intensity. Faster, louder, ecstatic, frenzied. By the end, there were more than a few of us who broke through to the other side for a minute and life was renewed for another day. Transcending earthy boundaries is open to us all, even the non-believers amongst us. It’s just a lot easier to get to when you’re not staring at a 4″X6″ portal to the internet void. Asshole concert goers of all genres need to keep that in mind.

Seriously, check out Qawwali music is all its forms. Even for those of us who don’t understand the words, the purity of feeling and human expression can help us all break on through to the other side.