2013 was the year of the Glasshole — the year that technology made one of its most violent entries into our personal lives at bars, restaurants, workplaces, and homes. Public backlash stemmed from concerns about Glass’ clandestine camera, and about fears of being documented publicly without consent. But really, Glass isn’t much different from the cameras we already use. It’s just the most obvious manifestation of our obsession with documentation, the most logical scapegoat for a much larger trend: we’re addicted to recording our lives, and shunning Glass isn’t going to change that.

At a concert for The National a month or so ago, I could barely see the stage over the expanse of glowing smartphone screens. Some screens were Snapchatting, some were Instagramming, and some were just taking photos using the stock camera app. Some of them — the Super AMOLED ones, perhaps — were brighter than others, but all of them were distracting. I hated these people. I hated that they weren’t paying attention. “Put down the phone,” I thought.

A few nights ago I went to another show, this time a much smaller affair for a much smaller band. A few photogs buzzed around the front of the stage snapping photos with DSLRs, but at this show there were otherwise no glowing screens to be found. It made for an almost awkward silence. Keeping your phone in your pants was evidently the cool thing to do at this concert. It meant something. Was the recording fetish over? Then I felt the itch.