Mouthin off...

(This is the long overdue posting of my long ass response that I wrote {and sent to the appropriate people} to an editorial in the Mercer Cluster, which stated we have no music scene and then blamed it on the lack of bands and venues. While I agree we have some work to do, my belief is that what we lack is fans. Wow. That's probably all I had to write... whoops. If you feel like reading three pages of my ranting, get down on it.)

Mr. Brown, Editors, et. al,

Loved the April Fools Day stories. Good satire. It is unfortunate that Eric Brown's piece about the Macon music scene wasn’t conceived in a similar vein. It would’ve been closer to the truth if it had been.

It’s disingenuous for Brown to name Nomenclature and then say they moved away and think that’s an accurate or even adequate description of what’s happening here, as if the only good band left town. The problem here is folks here don’t look for local music so they don’t know that there is anything good.

So what Brown accidentally illustrates is one of the major and generally unaddressed causes of our chronically sick music scene: uninformed opinions have become the prevailing wisdom, having spread like a fungus that colors public perception so that it becomes a "reality".

In other words, one of the reasons our “music scene sucks” is because so many people think our “music scene sucks”.

Just as it is hard for a “dirt-poor college student” to “create an award-winning venue”, it’s hard for a dirt-poor musician to bust his and/or her butt when no one’s showing up because they’ve already decided that there isn’t a music scene worth supporting. (The musicians, however, continue to.)

To avoid making this a totally subjective argument about taste, just look at one of this year’s Bearstock posters. The bulk of the opening acts are local, spanning a variety of styles and sounds, and there were many more from which to choose. The bands that made the cut (and most of those that didn’t) all play frequently, so the real question is why didn’t Eric Brown know that they existed?

Until recently there haven’t been enough fans to support local bands to make it a financially reasonable prospect for venue owners to showcase more local talent, which means the scene wasn’t very visible. But that’s changed. All the good venues—limited as they may be—book a healthy dose of local bands.

Even though local bands sometimes suck at promoting their shows—whether humility or laziness—they do play often enough that, if you’re looking for live local music, by now, there are no good excuses not to have seen Floco Torres, Citizen Insane, Trendlenberg, Rolybots, Al K!NG, Oh Dorian, Abby Owens, Magnificent Bastard, City Council or the dozen others I could name.

UNLESS… A#1) you’re scared to frequent the venues where they play, or B#2) you don’t actually like music enough to go see someone that doesn’t already have an album on a major label.

So now the question is: Do you REALLY want more “interesting and experimental” bands? If so, forget about learning an instrument and starting a band, as Brown suggests, just be “interesting and experimental” yourself. Be adventurous enough to see what already exists.

Folks like to compare Macon to cities with a thriving scene, but they forget one of the most crucial elements: FANS! In places like Athens and Atlanta, people will go see music for the sake of seeing music. And then… then the bands have to work to steal attention away from other bands. Our bands compete against prime time TV and the hordes that only go out to get drunk and get some booty.

Brown asks: “So how to fix this problem?” My response is stop being a part of the problem. If you look for good local music, you’ll find it. You’ll become a patron of the Hummingbird and the Capitol where regional and national acts play. You’ll know that the biggest strides in the local music scene haven’t been made by The Refuge (though I love JJ Weeks and his crew) or at Jittery Joes (where I sit typing this). It’s in the cracks and crevices downtown, like the Golden Bough, the Macon Venue Project, Envy and the 567 Cafe, or even uptown at Rivalry’s, the Shamrock and CJs.

Honestly, I don’t even like all the music here, but I don’t have to. I support what I like and try to be nice to everybody else. There is enough going on here that that’s all you have to do. It isn’t a charity. It’s like anything else, you might suffer through some crap to get to the good stuff, but regardless of how well it matches what you like, there is plenty to choose from—far more than most think.

I’m not trying to invalidate everything Brown wrote or even to take jabs at him, but I believe there are some serious issues to address before the blame is aimed at a supposed dearth of musicians or venues. Remember, we’re all still driven by very simple market realities: supply and demand. There is a dearth of demand. That’s what must change next.

Or maybe we just need to admit we’re not really THAT interested in local music, that we just want bands like The Flaming Lips and Death Cab for Cutie to play Macon so we don’t have to drive to Atlanta. If that’s all this is about then we’re just displaying a fundamental misunderstanding of music business, and the problem remains the same. Those bands don’t play here—not because there aren’t local bands to open up (see who’s opening for Gym School Heroes and Chester French) or because there are no venues (we have spaces so small they only fit 30 to those big enough to hold thousands)—but because they cost tens and tens of thousands of dollars for a performance.

And really, that’s only a problem because “no one” pays to see live music here. Ludacris didn’t sell out the Coliseum and Dwight Yoakum couldn’t even fill the much smaller City Auditorium. Our problem is the absence of real music fans, and the money they generate, which funds it all.

I used to think like Eric Brown (and scores of others)—it’s Macon, not me. Then I became the nightlife writer and later the editor of The 11th Hour, and watched what happens here. I'm now the publisher of Georgia Music Magazine, which is housed by the Georgia Music Hall of Fame, a tourist destination that should be treated like a blessing to this city but is, instead, ignored by locals and the officials they’ve elected.

But it isn’t all bleak. For the past three years, I've been on the board for Bragg Jam, a music festival which is hitting its stride. I’ve been a part of the Bearstock selection committee for the past two years and think it’s about to cement its place in the community. More people are warming up to live music here.

To push it more, I helped start The Local 478, which tries to facilitate growth in local music scene with showcases and concerts. With the help of local musicians, I'm putting together Monkeywrench Music Club, a multifunctional space where bands who can't get booked elsewhere can play, where bands who have nowhere to rehearse can rehearse, where they can get their mail, copy flyers, burn CDs and meet other musicians. This summer, we're going to release the first wave of albums on Random Family Records, a record label whose roster is entirely made of local talent.

You can see why I might be a little sensitive about this, but beyond my obvious bias, I hope you see the much deeper lesson: if you’re looking for good local music, you can find it. I have. And with that, I’ve found a lot of great people, crazy stories and the kind of fun I never thought possible here. All I had to do was look.

I agree with Brown when he writes, “By creating a closer community of bands in the Macon area, you can guarantee a better music scene…” I agree because I’ve been watching it happen for the past couple of years, and I hope that now that you all know it exists, you’ll support it. That’s the piece we’re really missing now.

To that end, I would be honored to introduce Eric Brown and the Cluster editorial staff (and anyone else who is interested) to a wide spate of the talented musicians ranging from indie rock to hip-hop and all sorts of stuff I can’t begin to classify. We’d love to see you be a part of building this music scene because I truly believe that history is about to repeat itself in Macon, that there are some names in the lineups around town that will eventually join the list of celebrated Maconites.

See it for yourself. Come out to Rivalry’s this Friday night to check out three of the best bands in Macon, swing by the show at Monkeywrench on Saturday, April 11, or wait until Bearstock and see even more in action. If you still feel like the scene is “far away” then it’s just a matter of your taste being bad. (Just kidding… no I’m not.)

Let the public apologies begin

I woke up naked, but wrapped in a blanket, awkwardly positioned on the couch and racked with guilt from the moment my eyes opened. I was still drunk and would remain that way until nearly 3pm. If I could bottle that feeling and slap a picture of that moment on the label, I wouldn't have to try to answer "How was your birthday?"

My favorite woman on the planet made it apparent pretty quickly that she was thinking of quitting my fan club. As she described the last hour or two of my night, I realized two things: 1) I don't remember the last hour or two of my night, and 2) I may have alienated everyone I like, or at least those were still there when I blacked out.

Here's what I don't remember but have been told. At some point late, I left my own party. I was called on the phone, which I answered, to return and said I was only to show up at 550 Blues instead. When Doc Brown found me, apparently I yelled at her and then ran down Riverside Drive in an attempt to avoid getting in the car.

Does anyone really miss The Power of Chris Compels You? I don't. All day Sunday, I didn't miss him. I'd sobered up just before Moms showed up with my grandparents for dinner. I nearly fell down three times, but otherwise managed to keep my hangover out of the way.

More than that, I just feel like an asshole. A lot of great musicians and friends came out, and though I know I had a good time with everyone for a while, I feel like I took a giant metaphorical piss on some of them. I never meant to and right now, I'm not sure how to fix that.

Then again, I always felt guilty after a binge like that, which used to be a weekly event. The problem, I think, is that I'd forgotten that people buy you drinks on your birthday. One extremely kind and generous gentlemen bought me five drinks in a row. I'd actually brought my own flask bottle of SoCo because I didn't have the cash to drink all night on my dime. I wasn't expecting anyone to buy me things. But they did and so I got hammered, hard.

Highlights that I recall:
A1) Heather Kemp (aka Oh Dorian) sang a song she wrote for me. It was sweet and referenced some tough times that we wiggled through together, which is why I say Heather sang it. She's good people and I miss her.

B2) Trendlenberg (aka Justin Cutway) sang a very Trendlenberg version of Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" at my request. It may have been the very best that Bon Jovi ever sounded... and that's saying a lot since "Slippery When Wet" was the first tape I owned (given simultaneously with Whitesnake by my uncle Danny).

Everything else--the blackout excluded--was one big highlight. All I'd wanted was to be surrounded by my favorite people, and as the date got closer, I got worried. I know I'd burned some bridges with a couple of years' worth of bad behavior and wondered if anyone still liked me enough to drink with me. And I knew that some of the folks who did would be out of town for the Labor Day weekend. To my utter surprise, the place filled up pretty good with friendly faces and new friends.

The cherry on top was the music. I wish I could've put 300 people in that room just so 300 people would have to witness a little sampling of what we've got going on here in Macon. There was such a selection and such variety. And it was all so damn good. I just shake my head when I think about how much we've all grown up in the last five years. It's amazing that it's coming together like this, that we're coming together like this.

One of the dudes dressed like he stepped out of Breakin' (I can't remember his name now) came to the Center for Revolutionary Studies way back when Roger, Clark, Camo, myself, and perhaps a couple others were really trying to put together a big concert down at Luther Williams Field where all the talent was supplied by local bands. We had just enough music to do it for a few hours and were desperately trying to figure out how to put something like that together.

It never happened, but the fact that we're all still kicking around like this means something to me. Roger--with Tagg and Dirty--finally has built a nightlife scene that responds. What Clark is doing with Nomenclature and recording is nothing short of awesome. While I don't remember what dude's name is, he and his buddy are about to debut themselves as The City Council.

Now I'm rambling. Sorry.

The point is thank you. Thank you for the birthday wishes. Thank you for coming to the party. Thank you for playing at the party. Thank you for being in this city. Thank you for being yourself in this city and making it safer for other weirdos to do what they love in this city. Thanks for helping me grow up a little so there's still a chance I can really contribute to what's going on here.

I hope this is the last public apology I ever have to me.

the Countdown to old age begins...

For my dad's 53rd birthday, I drove him to Augusta to see my brother and his family. We went shoe shopping, ordered pizza, drank beer and watched Al Green get the BET Lifetime Achievement Award. This was during halftime of a game between the Atlanta Falcons and the Colts. Afterward, we watched Harold & Kumar Can't Live Up to the Original, then tried to fall asleep on couches covered in microfiber suede while Sportscenter ran all night, like a looping highlight lullaby.

For my 30^th birthday, which is less than two weeks away, I have slightly different plans, which may still involve a road-trip to Augusta and microfiber suede—though only if I have a REALLY good time.

Saturday, August 30th, there will be a big-ass party beneath the Riverview Ballroom on Walnut Street, next to the somewhat dodgy, gray and maroon motel. It's called The Underground, when it's called anything at all, and this is where I hope to be surrounded by all my favorite people, who I hope will be surrounded by all their favorite people, who I hope will be introducing us all to interesting folks we haven't yet met.

There will be, like, a bunch of my favorite musicians, bands and other sentient noise-making devices... AND WE WILL GO UNTIL DAWN (if we please). Though I'm still awaiting some definites, I know that Nomenclature, Trendlenberg, Al King, Oh No They Didn't, Scott Baston & the News Architects, Oh Dorian, Aaron Irons, Doski Wo and Hank Vegas all want to be there performing for you. And maybe more.

But why? Well, it seems like a good time to celebrate ourselves, which would make an excellent excuse for me to have fun. And why not? We've got this big, beautiful, growing community of weirdoes who register semi- to full-bohemian on the strangeness scale. Plus Monica and Heatherly are going to be hitting milestone birthdays during that same stretch, and don't they deserve to have a bunch of drunk assholes scream-singing Happy Birthday at them too?

Of course they do. And what's better, you deserve to be there when it happens. You deserve to be able to say you were a drunk asshole, that you were singing shit that didn't even make sense at the time—that, in future hindsight, you were just having such a good time that you didn't notice how crazy you got. You deserve to feel like apologizing to people who will probably tell you not to worry about it because they were just about to call and apologize to you too, and then they'll ask if you've seen their keys because they can't find them and they had to sleep on the porch of their place because they passed out trying to break in while the church crowd was driving by. That's what you deserve.

In conclusion, I was raised to believe that Sunday is a day of rest, and I want to make sure that everyone has a damn good reason to still be asleep at 3pm on Sunday.

More details will be forthcoming, I swear. Just go ahead and mark the date, time and location. Saturday, August 30 until sometime Sunday, August 31 at the Underground (beneath the Riverview Ballroom). They'll be serving fried catfish dinner and such at 7pm if you want to come then.