Whose Shows Do You Go To?

Last night at the Vagabond Cafe, Joel “The Sticker Dude” Cohen brought up an interesting point, in the hopes of opening a conversation. “At first,” he said, “I went to everybody’s show. Then there got to be too many people, and I thought, ‘Well, I’ll just go to the shows of people I like.’ That was fine, but then I found that the people I liked didn’t come to my shows in return! So where do you invest your time?”

It’s a quandary.

Growing up in Pittsburgh, I used to go to Record Rubble, a basement vinyl store on Forbes Ave in Squirrel Hill, and grab up any local release that passed the muster of the clerk there. This collecting habit expanded into my time working at National Record Mart — I got into the habit of trying everything at least once. As a result, I came of age with a working knowledge of the local music scene. I was a huge fan of A.T.S, the Little Wretches, the Frampton Brothers, Spuds — all well before I even picked up a guitar. Once I started playing, local music appreciation became this giant thing for me.

Gar, my partner through many years and many bands, and I were both heavily into the local music scene. We used to go to Nick’s Fat City every weekend, checking out Brownie Mary, the Gathering Field, the Clarks, Dharma Sons, just dancing like idiots and knocking back Yuengling. If we opened for a band, we’d stay for their whole set, and as a result, we became fans of our peers in the Ike McCoy Band, Vibro Kings, Buzz Poets, Bitter Dolores, Manifold Splendour, Ritual Space Travel Agency, this list could go on forever. We never saw it as a quid pro quo situation, though; we went to these shows because we genuinely loved the music. We got off on it, and that was always enough for us. If I paid five dollars, and the Gathering Field melted me into a pool of happy with their folk rock, I considered that to be a hell of a transaction.

When I first moved to NYC, I became ensconced in a scene that was all about everybody going to each other’s shows. I went to about a million cabaret things, burlesque showcases, open mics, and exhibitions, mainly because I was trying to stay in view of my muse at the time, but also because it was nice to be part of a scene. When I played my first show at Rockwood Music Hall, I had about two dozen people sitting at the tables, all from this group of people, and I learned something: I’d rather have an audience than be part of a constant exchange of favors.

Did these guys like my music? Maybe, but they were definitely not at Rockwood on a Sunday afternoon at 4 PM, with the sun trying to force its way around the curtains, because they needed to have their Tabachneck fix. They were there because when they ran their game at Public Assembly the week before, I was there. I went to their one-woman show that ill fit the cramped space of an art gallery on the Lower East Side. I listened to hours of rants on subjects I didn’t care about, peppered with opinions that I only agreed with because they seemed to line up with common freaking sense, and hung out for after-parties where everybody congratulated each other in hopes of being congratulated themselves. I put in my time, and my reward was two dozen sleepy artistic types, who sat in front of their nursed sodas (one was nearly asleep at his tea, and almost throttled Ann Courtney when she tapped him on the shoulder out of sheer apneatic terror), and gave as much energy as they could, but you could feel the transactions in the room. The show wasn’t a failure, but I couldn’t call it a success either.

Since breaking away from that scene, I’ve been lonelier, but happier. I hit the music clubs when I trust the music, and I go for an hour before and after to see what’s doing. Going to see the Madison Square Gardeners clued me into Harper Blynn, and returning to see them, I was rewarded with Lucius — following Lucius to a gig at an eyeglass store led me to Pearl and the Beard. I’ve been blown away by people at gigs and open mics around town, and ended up seeing multiple great sets from Alfonso Velez, Jo Williamson, Niall Connolly, Sydney Wayser — and my deal is the same every time. I go to see your show, you give me a great show. That is our transaction. Many of the bands and writers I’ve listed have never been to my show, and I don’t consider it their job. They do their job well enough.

My point is, put on a good show and if I’m not broke, I’ll be there. Come to my show and I will thank you, and perform to the best of my ability, but if you’re coming to my show in hopes that I’ll come to yours, you’re coming to my show for the wrong reason, and expecting me to come to yours also for the wrong reason.

We can do better.

What do you think? Whose shows do you go to? How has the exchange program helped or hurt you?