Once More with Feeling
Keep New Music on the Cheap
It's a cold, dark Sunday night. I'm hung over and my eardrums are on fire. I'm not sure when it started, exactly. It could've been the Hunches last night, Eat Skull on Friday, or maybe Jens Lekman on Wednesday. Perhaps it was band practice. I can't really be sure.
The constant ringing in my ears is a problem, I suppose, but I wouldn't have it any other way. As the saying goes: If you haven't lost your hearing by the time you die, you've wasted it.
So I'll make do with the buzz. And if I end up spending every Sunday brain dead and worn out from all the music, so be it—there are few other places I'd rather be. Lucky for me, we've been living in a sort of music mecca. But dammit, that doesn't mean everything is all opiates and orgasms—the cost at the door is taking its toll.
Now, I'm not talking about national touring acts here—with CD sales taking a nosedive into an empty pool, working bands have got to make a living. No, the problem is three local bands with no draw for seven bucks on a Tuesday. Yeah. It's not a fucking joke. God, how many times has a ridiculous price gotten me into trouble with a doorman... I just can't help it.
And why should I? A small art gallery doesn't charge an entrance fee to look at unfamiliar, and thus-far unheralded work. The gallery's goal is to get as many people through there as they can in hopes of finding a buyer. So why can't a venue work the same way?
The easier it is to show up, the more people do. And again, everybody wins: The bands get to share their art with a larger audience, and the venue sells more drinks.
The blame can't be placed squarely on the shoulders of the clubs, since bands take home some of the money made at the door. But it's only a pittance. So bands, the next time you play, ask the venue to keep it on the cheap—because you're not really going to miss that $18 they toss you afterward, right?
All right, that's enough complaining for now. Hopefully next week we can move into some real news. If you've got some, send it, along with gossip, ransom notes, letter bombs, and naked photos, to andrewtonry@gmail.com.
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