We’re almost there, folks. Cases are down and vaccines are rolling out. Fairly soon, Mr. Gates will activate those microchips; instead of being subtly manipulated with well-algorithmed ads, we’ll buy dumb shit during mini-fugue states. But, I digress.
With the world returning to some normalcy, we can only assume that live music will rear its ugly head once again. As much as it didn’t seem like it, pre-COVID (especially in Portland), the demand is clearly there. An endless slew of Brady Bunch split-screen CO VID jams and Livestream events have proven this. Along with the memes decrying the absence of live music for over a year now.
It’s not going to be the same. At least not for a while. The germaphobes are probably not going to feel safe to come out for another five years and every one else will get cold feet before hopping into the sweaty whirlpool of flesh that is the mosh pit. Still, those arenas and theaters gotta pay their back rent, and people want to see their favorite acts. However, these more significant, more professional venues are not my jurisdiction. My snide commentary is reserved for the paltry local scene that will probably also rise from the ashes reasonably soon. Bars can’t do karaoke every night.
God knows that too many local groups are just itchin’ to get back out there. It’s gonna happen. But, before we all pile in the van and piss off the sound guy, I think this year off has given us the chance to do some house cleaning. There have been some incredible innovations in technology to try and work around this whole crowd debacle. It was kind of cool to have a world- changing event to bring us all together, but the following things are verboten in Blazer’s new musical utopia.
As mentioned above, this was a neat way to simulate that whole live music thing, but we all know it was about as good a substitute for the real thing as I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. We pretend we can’t believe it, but we can all very much believe it. Although Grimes—in all her electro-twee Canadian wisdom—insists that live music will soon be obsolete. I insist that precisely the opposite will happen. While tech wizardry has allowed for some really neat not-a-live-show-but-sorta experiences, I think the people would much rather have the real, sweaty deal. Music in its modern form has two halves. The performed and the record ed. If you want not to leave your house or put on pants, there are things called recordings—be they on vinyl, cassette tape, or non-fuckable tokens or whatever the hell they’re called. Despite what Elon Musk’s baby mama says, that other half is something you, unfortunately, have to put on pants for. Or not. Who knows what social norms will be like post COVID. Bottomless dance parties are a thing.
I appreciate Dante’s doubling up on this sentiment. The Guest List, also known as "The List," to those who can’t shell out five fucking dollars to see their friends perform say they are "On," is now canceled. Hopefully forever. Look, unless you are a roadie, a merch bitch, or the fucking manager, pay to get in the goddamn show. If you’re a guy with-camera, sorry photographer, the publication you shoot for will reimburse the price of your tick et. Even if you’re fucking someone in the band, be a good sport and throw down some dollars at the door. When you drink at your significant other’s bar, do you expect free drinks? I mean, I know you do, but you shouldn’t. It makes your fuckbuddy look bad. We’re all trying to pay rent and buy groceries, goddamnit. Once the world opens back up, we have a chance to make live music that’s not propped up by massive entertainment conglomerates a thing again. We can build from the ground up. We don’t even have to wear pants if we don’t want to!
Before you accuse me of being an old man yelling at a cloud, hear me out. Bedroom Pop is fine and djenna, and, as a far-leftist, I support artists seizing the means of music production with their laptops. I think there is some uncertainty with this fad of lonely, sad sacks plunking away on toy key boards, preparing us for how to deal with this year of isolation artistically. The progression of this genre from the mid-2010s onward, arguably peaked around 2019 with Little Miss Eilish pulling a Christopher Cross at the Gram mys. And, perfect timing, cause when the plague hit, every singer-songwriter had an acceptable template to re fer to when trying to connect with all of us stuck in our bedroom. It’s almost like it was planned [tightens tinfoil hat.] However. Once we’re all allowed out of the bedroom, I think it’s time for this disco to finally die. Instead, take your laptop to the garage or the base ment and record your friends playing poorly. Learn to keep time and play poorly together. Isolation had its time in the spotlight, and thanks to CO VID-19, it got a sunburn. Let’s bring back neighborhood hip hop crews, bratty suburban punk bands—hell— convene with fellow nerds using laptops and do the Kraftwerk thing. It’s time to stop playing with yourself and start playing with friends. You don’t even have to wear pants!
