Cajun Dance Party entertaining some of their underage fans. Photograph: Jacob Perimutter
For the past nine months, all-ages concerts have been a burgeoning phenomenon in gig-land as a new generation of kids, some as young as 11 and 12, have been freshly seduced by the allure of live music. Many all-ages gigs have actually been promoted by enterprising youngsters themselves, fed up with being turned away from licensed premises or simply (and understandably) wanting to nurture their own scene away from boring adults.
Consequently a new generation of London bands have been able to establish themselves without having to wait until their 18th birthday to be allowed to play in proper venues with decent PAs. The likes of Cajun Dance Party, Bombay Bicycle Club, Fear Of Flying and Pull In Emergency - all still at school - are frighteningly assured, boasting well-honed classic indie-pop sounds and contemplative, worldly lyrics that easily transcend the usual cliches about sixth-form poetry. It's unlikely that any of these bands would have reached the signable stage (Cajun Dance Party have just been picked up by XL) without the support of all-ages promoters such as Way Out West, All Age, Oops and Underage.
Bands with young fan bases, such as Klaxons and Enter Shikari, have also got wise to the benefits of all-ages shows, organising several additional matinee performances on their recent tours for fans who are under 18. Inevitably, these shows turned out to be far wilder than the ones staged for cynical oldies.
Any adult thinking about catching an all-ages show should probably grow up, get a life, and go and attend an event more suited to their advanced years, like bingo. And yet there's an obvious attraction to watching young bands vibing off an audience of their peers. Whenever Cajun Dance Party have played to an arms-folded adult crowd, waiting to be impressed, their performance has never quite matched the shows they've played in front a room full of excitable kids.
But what do you do when you find yourself languishing awkwardly at the back while something akin to the party scene from Skins unfolds in front of your eyes? It's difficult not to feel like a hopeless old fogey or a predatory sexual deviant, until you realise you're basically invisible, like the adults in Peanuts. The majority of the audience are far too caught up in getting their teenage kicks to care about the fascinated or gently disapproving stares of a grown-up. Sure, it makes you wish you were 16 again. Then again, you're also pretty glad you don't have to deal with spots, angst, crippling embarrassment and double maths the next day.
