alana davis vs. steve jobs

Sometimes I feel bad for my BF. I'm constantly dragging him out to some art show, cultural event or off-the-worn-path performance space — usually to catch a glimpse of some one or thing he knows nothing about. He's usually a trooper about our blind excursions, and he's definitely developed a more sophisticated appreciation of contemporary art and theater.
I've had less luck with live music.
Early on I took him to a Blondie concert, and he hated every second of it. Which is fine, I guess, except that I adore Blondie and got my feelings hurt a little by his utter rejection of the concert. You could say my heart of glass was cracked but not shattered.
I decided then not to take him to any more music shows, a promise that lasted, oh, a week. Our concert-going history since has been a mixed bag: He loved Madonna and seemed OK with Jem. But I'd best not bring up the Ringside/Weezer fiasco.
Last night, proving that fools never learn, I dragged him with me to the SummerStage concert featuring Alana Davis and Shelby Lynne. The BF, proving that he's no fool, brought along a book, a biography of Apple guru Steve Jobs, which he read dutifully. For the entire show.
So I was torn. I was happy to be there with the man I love, and pleased to see him bobbing his head along with the music.
But doesn't it defeat the thrill and spectacle of witnessing a performer live on stage if your attention is focused on Apple's late '80s hostile takeover?
What good is company if your companion just doesn't get it, and is unashamed of his preference for "songs without words, mostly electronic stuff."
On Monday, Lyle Lovett's playing SummerStage. To (mis)quote Lyle, I've already made up my mind: If I can get a ticket, I'm going by myself.