Now, about the price. You aren’t just buying a ticket; you are funding a spiritual awakening and a small Renaissance festival. A standard standing ticket can easily cost as much as a week’s groceries. But you won’t be eating that week anyway; your soul will be fed.
Resale prices, of course, are a work of fiction. I saw a resale ticket for a London date go for £450. That’s not a concert ticket; that’s a down payment on a used car. A very small, sad car, but still. The band hates this. Florence herself has urged fans not to buy from scalpers. She might as well ask a starved wolf to ignore a raw steak.
Florence + The Machine | Scotiabank Arena
But here’s a surprising fact: because of this insane demand, Florence’s team has started doing paperless tickets and ID checks. You might have to show your passport to get in. Congratulations, you now need paperwork to see a woman in a floral dress belt her lungs out. It’s bureaucracy, but with tambourines.
What You Actually Get
Okay, humor me. You did get the ticket. You sacrificed your savings account and your dignity. But what awaits you is pure, unhinged magic. Florence doesn’t just sing; she levitates. She runs through the crowd like a barefoot banshee with a 10-foot train on her dress.
Expect her to stop singing and just giggle at the audience. Or she’ll climb a speaker stack and then look down like she’s surprised she’s up there. One time she hugged a fan so hard I thought the fan would become part of the band. You can’t put a price on that. Well, you can, and it’s $200 minimum.
And the lighting? It’s aggressive. It’s like being inside a Celtic thunderstorm designed by a disco ball. You will leave the venue with your ears ringing and your emotional range expanded by at least 400%. You will also probably have some glitter stuck to you for three days. That is the official concert souvenir.
Florence And The Machine Concert
