As I write this, it has been 270 days since my band last performed in Nashville, Tennessee at ACME Feed and Seed. Prior to that last show, we had performed every other Monday for about five years there. It seems like an eternity now since we lugged our gear – rain, snow, or shine – through the traffic, the massive crowds of tourist and tipsy “woo girls” flooding lower Broadway for one of a thousand bachelorette parties for which our city somehow became the “it” destination. Live shows made us consistent money, though not always enough to offset the costs of performing between gas, parking, and gear we had to buy or maintain. Clearly we were not doing it for the money, but the love of making music.
Every member of the band has a story relating back to their earliest days of learning to play, that connects to school music programs, and connects to a local music retailer. We are all of a certain age where big box music stores didn’t exist, and where the local musical instrument retail store was the place where we got our dreams fed by purchasing the talismans and tools needed to conjure up the magic we sought.
This year sucked. It’s going to suck in 2021 for a while, if not most of the year, too. We all know this virus is not behind us yet. Not even close. People we know are still getting sick. People whom we knew are dead. It isn’t safe to congregate in large groups. It isn’t safe to sing indoors or play on small stages, though my group has been fortunate to typically play on larger stages. That’s not even really relevant, because the whole process from loading into the gig, to loading out after is a labyrinth of avoiding people, surfaces, and people who refuse to mask up while smiling in your face. For my bandmates and I, all of whom are also of a certain age where we are at higher risk if we get the virus, it just is not worth it.
One thing certain about music retailers, big or small, is they tend to employ musicians who want to perform. These are many of my friends, some for most of my life. We all just want to perform. We see some friends doing it anyway, playing in “socially distanced venues” or inside tents, and while envious that they are playing, can’t join them. Won’t join them. It just isn’t worth it. We see other friends performing as though nothing has changed, sitting side by side on stools having writer night shows in small venues where people are not distanced. We are envious of them, too. We want to perform. We don’t. We choose not to because it just isn’t worth it. And that isn’t about the money, it is about the health risks, to not only the bandmembers, but to the friends who will normally come out to hear us, or our family members back home we might bring the virus back to after the show. To each his own to some degree, but there is no small amount of social responsibility involved here for us as a band. And for us, it is not worth the risk.
It is encouraging to see the tours and shows being promoted now for 2021, some as early as spring, but I don’t get excited when I see them because I have no real confidence they will actually happen, as badly as I want them to. And I want them to because your customers who are performers, like me, want to work. We want to be entertained, and we want to entertain. The pent-up energy and frustration from not being able to do so is at a boiling point, but until this virus is genuinely under control, it will continue to be this way.
Ironically, being stuck inside, I have likely spent more on gear this year than I do during most years while I am getting to perform. I bought a couple of guitars, four nice pedals, a new audio interface, and who knows how many plugins. I wrote, and I recorded two albums. All of my purchases have been made online this year. I miss stopping by the various small dealers in Nashville even just to stare at what is in stock, maybe pull something off the wall, or have the folks behind the counter show something cool they just got in stock. There is a comradery that is missing in this year of gear purchases. That is a big part of being a musician, at least it is to me. My local dealer, area dealers, heck, even wandering around Guitar Center, are something I miss.
There are no easy answers to when this will end, if the vaccines being announced now are going to be taken by enough people and if humanity will learn to show concern for others until then. My hope is that this turns around sooner rather than later, that I can spend Saturday afternoons again popping into music stores to see what’s new, buying things on impulse, and getting some socializing. That was part of my normal. I’m hoping I get to book my band again, or even just see my bandmates in person. Until then, I will wait it out, writing, recording, shopping for gear online, and being a musician, because that’s who I am. Sell me something, I’m so bored.
