Once the algorithm knows you like large-scale live music, it will serve you a staggering array of options in the greater New Haven area. Soon you may find yourself in another part of the world (e.g. Mohegan Sun Arena). And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile (in a long line snaking slowly around Xfinity Theatre). And you may find yourself in a beautiful house (that’s what concert producers call the seats). And you may actually ask yourself: Well, how did I get here?
Like that Talking Heads reference, it was a return to the 1980s last Tuesday at Bridgeport’s unironically named Hartford HealthCare Amphitheater, where a triple bill featured Toto, Christopher Cross and Men at Work. A fair number of the acts who stop by this space station of a venue were once played in heavy rotation inside station wagons. Still, as long as the sound quality and the energy are high, let’s not knock nostalgia listening. Have you ever sung “Rosanna” with 5,700 other people? As someone who once logged a lot of hours in the way-back of a Chevrolet Caprice Classic Wagon, I was game.
“The Amp” (the website’s favored nickname, and let’s use it so we don’t have to keep saying “Hartford” when we’re talking about Bridgeport) used to be the home field of the Bridgeport Bluefish before undergoing extensive renovation and opening as a concert venue in 2021 (first booking: REO Speedwagon and Styx). The biggest change from the ballpark days is its giant, futuristic canopy, which looks from the outside like a cross between a Seussian landscape and a meringue pie. This venue is really easy to get to: from New Haven, a 20 minutes on Metro North will get you almost to the front gate—fewer if you depart from the West Haven station, which has free parking on weekends. If you haven’t angered the gods of I-95 recently, it’s also not a bad drive, which opens up the possibility of a pre-show dinner at 29 Markle Ct. The black rice and crab arancini dish alone is worth a trip to Bridgeport. The restaurant also has a truck inside the amphitheater, serving fried chicken sandwiches and short rib poutine.
It is worth arriving early to The Amp so you can leisurely cruise the food concourse, where kiosks and food trucks sell everything from falafel to dumplings to s’mores. Last week, I tucked into a pulled pork sandwich from an outpost of Little Pub and a cup of strawberries and chocolate sauce from BE Chocolat, which also sold fresh waffles and ice cream. LemoNate’s does a brisk business in giant fresh-squeezed lemonade and limeade, muddled with custom add-ins of fruit and herbs, then (optionally) spiked with vodka, tequila, rum, or gin. A Two Roads beer garden gets pride of place, while wine is harder to come by, though very non-local Josh Cellars does have a cute bower of faux greenery tucked into the back of the food hall.
In the courtyard at the far end of the food concourse, friendly crowds ambled about or shared picnic tables, having stood in food and drink lines that never seemed too bad. The Christopher Cross crowd wore captain’s hats. (Last year, at a Billy Strings show, fans clipped custom clothespins onto each other’s brims in a practice that, they will tell you, in no way resembles the thing Swifties do with bracelets.)
Now for the main event. On a hundred-degree-heat-index day, the real stars here are the fans, and yes, that is a dad joke about the literal importance of industrial-size blades pushing air, some of it sea breeze off the Long Island Sound, through what is effectively a giant tent. They helped sustain my love for an outdoor concert that starts in the glare of late afternoon and gradually mellows into night. The Amp enhances this transition by lighting the canopy a succession of colors. The view is good pretty much anywhere you sit, though when buying tickets it’s worth checking how far from the aisle you are, unless you like the experience of scooching into airplane seats times 20. A bit of rain blew through during Men At Work’s set, leaving the three or four chairs at the far edge pretty wet, but the canopy kept the vast majority dry, and the staff ran in to towel off the seats. The place appears to hire lots of teachers on summer break and recent retirees, all of whom seemed pretty psyched for the fringe benefit of seeing a show, although they will intervene if your dancing blocks a means of egress.
In a venue that feels large but also intimate, the stage lights gild every upturned face. So we sang “Rosanna.” We blessed the rains down in Africa. From time to time, the Metro-North chugged across the background of smokestacks. Some in the crowd made unwatchable portrait-mode videos of Christopher Cross singing “Arthur’s Theme.” Almost all waved the little beacons on the backs of our phones like the lighters of yore.
And if a collective experience like this appeals, you’ve still got plenty of chances—for acts ranging from Indigo Girls to Judas Priest—to join in, before The Amp turns its volume knob to zero for winter.
Written by Sarah Harris Wallman. Image 1 photographed by Rachel Crocker. Images 2-4 photographed by Sarah Harris Wallman.
