Every [two weeks?] Jamie Hale takes a long, hard look at the music industry and the blog scene that feeds it. Here, he releases those findings and makes snarky, sarcastic remarks. Admittedly, both Jamie and Knox Road are a part of this scene. So sue us.
Oh, you’re so lucky. Yeah, I’m looking at you Mr. “I Live in a Big City and Get to See Live Music All The Time.” You’re such a jerk. But I used to be like you. I lived a cute 15 minutes from Washington, D.C. and took live music for granted. “Sure, I see shows every now and then, but I just don’t have the time.” I’d love go back in time and punch my past self square in the jaw. “SHUT UP AND GO!” I’d say.
Past self didn’t know it then, but live music is a luxury. Having lived near big cities my whole life (Portland, Philadelphia and D.C.), I never realized this. Almost every act toured within a hour of where I lived. It took a move to Farmington, N.M. to instill lack-of-music-fear in my bones. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the shit hole that is Farmington, it’s a small city roughly three hours north of Albuquerque. Do you know how many people play even Albuquerque? VERY FEW THAT’S HOW MANY.
For eight months my only live music fix came from the local country cover band that played at Top Deck, our local raucous cowboy bar. I’m pretty sure I drunkenly mumbled “I wish I had a noose” a few times at that bar. Meanwhile all you big time city folk posted Facebook statuses like “Can’t wait to see Edward Sharpe tonight!” or “Three concerts in one weekend, man am I tired!” You posted pictures of you and all your friends holding up tickets and dancing in a crowd of hipsters. I watched Intervention and polished off a bowl of old guacamole. I hated you all…
But things changed! I moved my ass out of Farmington and up to another podunk Western town: Pocatello, ID. My music situation improved quickly. Within a week I was jamming out to some Portland and Boise indie bands while drinking Deschutes (look it up, New Yorkers) and dancing my v-neck-clad ASS OFF. “Jared Mees & the who? Who cares, this is fucking GREAT.” Past self would be so proud.
But I can’t help but think back to all the wasted D.C. nights watching Intervention and polishing off bowls of old guacamole. I could have seen so much good music! With all my bitching and whining am I the real asshole here? Of course I am. I’m the BIGGEST asshole here. But I offer all you big city types a word of warning: Don’t take your access to live music for granted. One day you might find yourself in your own Farmington somewhere, hours and hours away from it all, and YOU will be the one with the guacamole. If you don’t take advantage of your live music, I might just drive up there and hit you square in the jaw. SQUARE. IN. THE. JAW.
I grew up in Minot, ND, and my parents always whined about no concerts coming to anywhere closer than Fargo. I LOVE living in D.C. because of all the concerts. In May, I’m seeing Tame Impala, Yuck, Lykke Li, Cave In, and Paul Simon all in three weeks. That would never happen in North Dakota (or New Mexico).