Taking My Daughters to Their First Teen Concert Meant the World To Me

I watched history repeat itself as my daughters mirrored my own young love with live music events

“Mum, I know what I want for my birthday!”

My sixteen-year-old daughter came bursting into my bedroom. It was only August and her birthday wasn’t until December so I was a little taken aback that she was already planning her birthday present.

“Cavetown is touring in December and he’s playing in Bristol the Saturday before my birthday. Can we go? Pleeeease!” she pleaded with me.

“Who?” was my response. I had never heard of this band or musician, or whatever it was, as far as I could remember.

“Have I not shown you his videos on YouTube?” she said. “He’s sooooo good! He writes all these amazing songs and plays guitar and ukulele. And he’s amazing live!”

She showed me a video or two. It looked good; teen-inspired bedroom indie stuff that sounded nice at the time but didn’t leave a lasting impression from a few minutes’ worth of YouTube video. The main point was that she was enthusiastic.

No, enthusiastic is the wrong word…

She was positively bouncing off the walls to be given the opportunity to see him play live for her birthday treat. And no mother can refuse that. Especially one who, herself, at the tender age of sixteen-going-on-seventeen, was going to live gigs most weekends by that point.

Of course, at that age I lived a twenty-minute bus ride from the centre of Oxford, and just over an hour from London. I had a great deal of independence and access to many live music events. But bringing my children up in a small town halfway between Devon’s two cities with atrocious public transport services, she didn’t have the same opportunities as I’d had. And so it was my duty, if nothing else, to not deny her one small request.

Bristol, it turned out, was sold out on the main ticket sales websites. The touts had bought up the tickets and were reselling them at three times the original price. It felt prohibitive. So I looked at the other cities he would be touring to see if any still had tickets available, and were close enough for us to reach.

Bingo! Southampton did, and was — supposedly — only an hour more to reach by car than Bristol. It would be a Sunday night and so we could take our time driving up on the day of the concert, but would have to bomb it back in the morning to avoid being too late for school. Ah, what’s one morning?

The over-excited sixteen-year-old was under instruction to ask her younger sister if she would like to come. Then thirteen-going-on-fourteen, my younger daughter was more than excited to go, although she had yet to be educated on Cavetown’s music. I checked accommodation in the area and found a reasonably-priced triple room in a Bed & Breakfast in central Southampton, and so tickets were bought and plans were laid for the first day of December, 2019.

Taking our time to drive up was a joke. As was the two-and-a-half hours that Apple Maps had predicted for the drive.

Birthday girl had rehearsals for her school’s Christmas play that she couldn’t miss on that Sunday, and getting away was delayed. More than three hours after setting out, we finally pulled into our B&B with just enough time to freshen up and go and grab something to eat before heading to the Southampton Engine Rooms.

On the tickets, it stated very clearly that under-17s had to be accompanied by an adult. When we arrived at the venue, it was very clear just how many of the audience were under seventeen, judging by the number of parents present.

A long queue later, we made it in and found a cluster of the older generation propping up the bar, letting their kids go and do their own thing in the crowd already screaming with excitement at the support act — a solo female singer with a stunningly beautiful voice. I bought drinks for the three of us and then, not willing to let me be left out of their excitement, my two girls pulled me into the crowd with them. And there I was, wedged between towering young girls and boys, smooching same-sex couples, and swooning trans-folk. Being an outward supporter of the LGBTQ+ community, the guy known as Cavetown — Robin Skinner—was popular among its members. And there was something wonderful about being among this collection of people who, there in that moment, felt utterly at ease in their own skin, in a place where they could be accepted for who they were.

(A year or two later, Robin came out as being a trans male, having begun his transition before his first appearance on YouTube playing the ukulele and cover songs on the guitar at only thirteen or fourteen — a fact he didn’t conceal but had never outwardly spoken about.)

I have to confess, I didn’t really do my homework prior to arriving at the concert, and hadn’t spent any more time watching Caveman (or whatever his name was). Cavetown…sorry! I hadn’t familiarised myself with his music and couldn’t remember the style at all, nor what he looked like.

And yet, the build-up of the excitement between the ending of the support act and the arrival of Cavetown onstage was infectious. I was thrown right back to my own teen days of going to concerts of musicians I adored, and couldn’t help feel the excitement rising in me.

Finally, he arrived.

In all honesty, I didn’t expect what I saw — a small guy, apparently 21 years old yet with a face that looked no more than about 15, soft-spoken, almost timidly hiding under a hood, and thanking his audience with a humility that is rare in a performer as obviously loved as this guy was. But his gentle manner, along with lyrics of songs that reflected a sense of inclusivity and the kinds of trials teenagers go through, spoke to me. It was also mirrored in his audience, and explained why there was such a great sense of acceptance, no matter your identity, how you dressed, who you loved, or anything at all. It felt very beautiful, in a Gen Z-merged-with-free-love kind of a way.

And it wasn’t surprising that he was loved that much. His humility and softness only endeared people more, but his evident natural talent as a musician and songwriter stood out. I realised I was seeing an exceptional young person here. And, even though I hadn’t bothered to listen to his music at all prior to arriving at the concert, by the end, I was totally in love with it and a fully-fledged fan. I didn’t care that I knew none of the lyrics that everyone else seemed to know and sang along with at the tops of their voices — just hearing that was a delight.

His songs were a blend of gentle rhythms and humorously eccentric lyrics, with elements of rock. It was filled with light-hearted creative fun blended with the painful reflections of the human condition in the eyes of a young person facing the challenges of navigating the social world, changing hormones, and a search for identity and independence. Relatable not only to those Gen Zs who are deep in the throes of these emotional rollercoasters but to us Gen Xs too, who may never have really dealt with those confusing feelings properly as younger things.

His song, Lemon Boy, is a perfect example of his playful manner of exploration of being different and not fitting in with the norm. I’d love to quote the entire song here but the first two verses give you an idea:

There once was a bittersweet man and they called him, “Lemon Boy” He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair like a weed And like weeds do he only came and grew back again So, I figured this time I might as well let him be

Lemon Boy and me started to get along together I helped him plant his seeds And we’d mow the lawn in bad weather It’s actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him So, I got myself a citrus friend.

Here is a video of him performing another of his much-loved songs, I believe, earlier this year — more than three years since we saw him —and in front of a much bigger crowd than we were among in Southampton, but it gives you a sense of the energy I experienced that night:

Back in our B&B that night, we were all still high from the experience. None of us could sleep for hours, and yet we woke up early to a wintry-looking morning, and were breakfasted and in the car by 8am, facing icy roads to get out of Southampton and along the south coast back to Devon.

That high lasted all month and more.

The following weekend, my daughter — the then nearly-seventeen-year-old — pulled out her ukulele and announced she was going to teach me how to play one of Cavetown’s songs — Hug All Ur Friends. I tried…ukulele chords don’t seem to fit my fingers well, but I did a pretty good job of learning the lyrics.

That may have been the best December I remember in recent years. How better to begin the winter season than with an experience such as taking my daughters to their very first teen concert? (I had dragged them to the odd festival and live music event when they were small, but those don’t count.)

But even now, after having accompanied my kids to a few other concerts, I realise that it wasn’t merely the experience of live music — it was the artist himself. Cavetown really has a unique talent, and a very special presence. The combination of that sense of bonding in a concert setting with my growing girls, and witnessing a truly brilliant performance and talent, left me with a very sweet memory to carry for a long time to come.

Yes, I’m still a fan, but since my girls are a little older now, and a lot more independent, they don’t need me to escort them to concerts anymore. Though I’d jump at the chance should they invite me along to see Cavetown again.

For now, I’ll leave you with a few words of advice from the man himself:

Life’s too short to worry about the things that we got wrong.

So hug all your friends, let them know you’re not letting go. (I won’t let go.)