Experience In Norman, Oklahoma Makes Strong Argument That We Should Consider Other Work
Blurry Morning
I’m mostly hurting myself, of course, and I’m not sure how to get around it. It’s hard not to just feel like a couple of losers roaming America playing songs that no one asked for. -Andrew Grimm
11.04.2022 —Moore, Oklahoma
So, what should an artist feel when 48 hours in a town results in $30 in tips and a canceled show? What does is it even mean to be an artist, anyhow? You’ll probably be better off talking amongst yourselves on that one. Seriously, I have no real idea what it means, or even why I’m doing anything anymore.
A few years back I tried to impress on some of my college students the importance of shifting their perspective of money as more of a perspective of time. Time = Money… is the tired old idiom we should reverse: Money = Time. We all have the potential to make more money; we cannot make more time. And it’s with that sense of value—and many other factors—that I got out of the teaching racket and started focusing solely on music. A few years later, a booking agent agreed to work with us, and we started booking some really long tours. Two month long tours.
Those long tours were scrapped at the beginning of the pandemic, so when the threat of serious disease was mitigated by vaccines and apathy we decided to try again. By “we,” I mean my good friend and pedal steel player extraordinaire Dave Hadley.
In 2021 we contacted our booking agent about heading back out on a few tours and we booked six months of tours for 2022 through 2023. As some folks may have seen on our Tour Dates page we were really spending some time on the road. The road. An overly romanticized vision of underdogs scraping by on gas station coffee and sweaty shows completely triumphant in making their voices loud enough to be heard. Or, as someone recently told me, “You’re paying your dues.”
Oh my god, fuck you.
I’m not paying any dues. To whom am I paying those dues? Like there’s some time-honored board of trustees in our society/cultural that will stamp approval on my music after a set time of being treated like shit? Whatever. It’s more like I’m spending time I will never get back.
The only solace during these moments of intense disappointment is that I’m traveling with a second person, whom not only forms an integral part of the sound we make on the stage and the songs I write, but he is my witness that all this touring seemed like a good idea at the time, but the future gets sketchier and more unsure. The stakes are pretty high, almost as high as most of the people in Norman, Oklahoma—that’s not meant as a criticism; Norman has medical marijuana, and it seems like every person we talked to had just smoked a joint. And in truth, they had… we watched them. Nothing wrong with that. You do you.
But here’s the reality of touring as a nobody with some good songs and who has spent decades honing their craft—no venue names or individual’s names will be mentioned and don’t bother asking.
Our first night in Norman we played a bar… and expectations were pretty low. A Wednesday night anywhere, in bar world, is rife with open mics, karaoke, and/or trivia nights. For the most part, not a place anyone wants to really go and hear introspective songs about how I may or may not have fucked up a lot of relationships. I get that… and to that I really start to wonder how the owner of the bar booked us in the first place.
Regardless, I am grateful for the opportunity… and sometimes those shows are really great. This really wasn’t one of them. To be clear, the people we encountered, the bartender… the one guy at the bar who tipped us and the owner of the bar were all nice folks. There was a late start and some poor communication… we had a contract to play from 8-10pm. There was option to play later; we opted to pack up and leave.
It is really something to play to no one. Dave and I usually take some risks with intros and instrumental breaks, and sometimes we practice some new songs as both creative exercise and amusement. I always try to keep my sense of humor in check. It is an emotional endurance of my self worth wholly unnecessary at this point in my life. But, here we are. And, this sense of self doubt and worthlessness is exacerbated by the pervading sense that we have to prove ourselves a-fucking-gain. (See Bruce Cockburn’s “Pacing the Cage” for an excellent take on that idea)
We knew all of this going in… it was, after all, a bar gig. This experience isn’t what really challenged me. It was the next night.
Our second night in town we had negotiated to play an independent arts venue. Independent. Arts. Venue: a dedicated space replete with their own mission statement: 4 bullet points about supporting art and integrity and some bullshit like that. Earlier in the previous week they had contacted us to let us know that they couldn’t find any local support for the show, to which we countered, “we would still like to play… we could carry an entire night.” I guess they weren’t having it, because no one showed up to open the venue. We stood outside for awhile waiting… then went and got a drink at the bar next door… checking in regularly to see if there was any sign of life at the venue. Alas, desolation.
I get it… it costs money to run that non-profit art space. I get it… predictably—and from their own experience—no one in the 150 mile radius is interested in music. I guess the thing that gets in my head, which I’m solely emotionally responsible for, is that “we aren’t worth anything.” Make no mistake, we are totally worth it… but the message I keep hearing is, “go home, we’re not interested.”
I’m mostly hurting myself, of course, and I’m not sure how to get around it. It’s hard not to just feel like a couple of losers roaming America playing songs that no one asked for. But, we just keep doing it.
Is it fair to lay this at Norman’s feet? Probably not… they didn’t know… I guess… it wasn’t on purpose. However, we showed up ready to play… Some of this situation is also a reminder of where we are as a culture too… people are tired and don’t want to leave their house to see music they’re unfamiliar with. It is too much of a risk that they might be wasting their time, time they won’t get back, on an unknown quantity. Which is ironic… because we are totally willing to show up for an unknown quantity too: an audience.
I would have rather just stayed in that night working on a recording or a song than having shown up to a closed venue; that creative expenditure of my time would have been more worthwhile. Certainly the next morning, staring at an omelet, it gives me a lot to consider for the near and far future. We have another month to go on this tour… then home for four months then we’re back out…
I like to joke from the stage that, “We’re traveling America wearing out our welcome!” Only… I’m not sure we’re always welcome.
Hadley Waiting
“I’ve got my hands in my pockets/and I’m waiting for the day to come”-Paul Westerberg
