Pourin' It All Out

I kinda feel like hitting an element of the previous post a little harder. My Blog, my wallpaper, so you get to live with it or decorate your own damn house.

Graham Parker's recent blog post says a bit more about here. Here's the money shot:

Every time I start looking at the hassles and expense I find myself saying, Enough, this is the last time. What keeps me at it is the buzz of the music and, most importantly, the crowd. "Crowd" is the operative word here.

Yes, yes, I know: gas prices are going through the roof again and your great candy asses would rather remain on their couches, but look at it this way: suppose I do come to the conclusion that I've finally had it with this band touring nonsense and decide that this really is the last one and I'm only going to play solo from now on. Then you will be pissed off that you missed me and the Latest Clowns. And that won't do. After all, they are the Latest Clowns, not just any clowns.

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So, how are you going to feel, sitting there freezing your asses off in your own homes with nowhere to go and no way to get there, guns cocked waiting for the fuel-starved zombies to come crashing through your windows after your vitamin and ammo stash, realizing that you could have caught the last band tour I ever did if you hadn't been such a bunch of lazy rotters? Hey, if I can get out there and still do it, so can you. And I'm the silly bastard that has to sing.

Atrios recently reported that the band Viva Voce is hanging it up after releasing one or two pretty well received discs, apparently because of the toll that being in a touring band exacts. Blue Oyster Cult even pays heed to this in their swag, much of which reads "BOC, on tour...Forever"

By any accounts, living as a touring musician is not for the faint of heart nor weak of will. Record companies throw musicians out there, desperate to repay the usury they call 'advances' and playing shithole joints night after night or opening to indifferent, bored, and hostile crowds who view them as just an obstacle before they get to their preferred band, the headliner. I've seen an opening act play for one person.

You ever watch MTV (back when they had videos?) or listen to a song on the radio? Got a favorite song? A song the reminds you of 'your' first date or first dance? Those musicians are probably out there, somewhere, tonight playing somewhere. And if they are not playing in a beer-soaked dive in East Krotchky, Nevada, it's because they had a record company willing to support them while they slogged it out in a shitty broken down van, mile after mile, per diem after per diem.

Troubadours have never been the most lavishly compensated of our artists, a notably impoverished bunch to begin with. Except for the few who become the King's favorites, at least for a few weeks. Maybe it's because they have the uncomfortable habit of telling us things we don't want to hear. Maybe it's because they develop into rascals and romantic rogues, always willing to drink your beer and steal your girl.

These days, record companies are even less likely to support a band that doesn't have This Week's Hit. So it becomes even more important to generate a couple of extra paying customers at the door, to sell that extra t-shirt.

You got a job that has a regular check? Got health care? How are your teeth, seen a dentist lately? Looking at new cars, or maybe a flat-screen TV? The guys and girls who play your local rock club don't. And they still keep showing up, playing their music, writing their songs, releasing music in the face of massive indifference and ugly circumstances.

If not for the will of these folks to keep on, you wouldn't have any of that music on your iPod, those XM radio stations would be mostly filled with corporate anthems, ads, and talk. Summerfest would be another regional farm Fair. Woodstock would have not existed, and we would all be indescribably and tragically poorer for all of it.

You know what your part of the deal is? What they want from you? They don't want your paycheck, your house, your car, or even your girlfriend (although they'll take her if you're an asshole). They want a few people to come and watch them work. For a couple of hours. You even get to drink beer while you do it. And maybe talk to them a bit after they finish, let them interact with some normal fuckin people for a change, rather than the sniveling array of weasels, vandals and thieves that make up the majority of the music "industry"

What? You say you can't afford it? Usually it costs less than a friggin CD. You buy those, don't you? If you buy them at a show, the money goes directly into the pocket of the artist. You say you have to get up for work tomorrow? Oh my achin back. After they are done playing, the artist has to pack up his equipment, load out, try to get the club owner to pay up, find something decent to eat, and hit the road for two or three hours. Quit your frickin whining and sack up.

Craig Minowa of Cloud Cult, during their recent show at Shank Hall, pleaded with the crowd to come up to the front of the stage. He said they needed to be able to feed off the energy of the crowd. The crowd responded, and so did the band, plowing into a fiery set, and. coming back for three encore sets.

Jon Dee Graham, who has a way with word in his songs, also does pretty well in spoken word. At his show a couple of months ago (during which he laid his soul out for all of us to see), he said "Here's what has to happen for this insane torture to even start to make sense. I'm selling CDs over there for fifteen bucks. If five of you buy it, I get to eat breakfast tomorrow morning. If five more buy it, I can buy cigarettes. If I sell just five more, I can eat lunch. And if I hit that magic mark of twenty CDs sold, I can refill my meds; and while that won't completely still the voices, the voices WILL start saying more encouraging things so I'll be able to play tomorrow night."

Get out there. Support live and Local music. Music needs you.