Adventure #66: Conway, Arkansas

DIY is more than a sound or a fashion sense. It's more than a shared legacy of bands we like. At it's heart it's always been a set of values. I've turned down some offers and walked away from opportunities that could have made me a hell of a lot more “successful” than I currently am because they violated these values in some way. But to me (and my rambling quixotic career is a testament) the true measure of success is not the number of records sold or the size of my guarantee. I have my eyes set on something bigger. Success is helping to build an international community of artists, activists, and fans that perpetuates the values of self-reliance, community, sustainability, co-operation, and free artistic expression. And in this world, the all-ages DIY venue is our temple.

So I showed up in Conway, Arkansas after a 7 hour drive to play a show at the all-ages DIY venue in town. I played there once before, and though the show last time had been a smashing failure, a few of the folks I met told me to come back and they'd set up a real show. Tanner put together the bill, and when I got in I had a message from him saying that apparently the weather was real bad up north, and he wasn't sure how many folks would come out, but the show was still on. So I headed into the venue and got set up. It was empty save two guys who were playing, the owner, and his friends. I waited for folks to show up. And waited. By the time other people started trickling in I overheard the owner complaining about the show. Complaining that he was going to lose money. Complaining about how the bands failed to promote the show tonight, while bragging about his prowess and expertise at promotion. “You're from out of town, so I don't mean you.” He said to me, overhearing. “But the local bands are responsible for bringing people out. If no-one else shows up we're going to pull it.”

I've been on every side of that microphone. I've managed venues, managed bands, live engineered, recorded, produced, done promotion, written and published reviews and interviews. Hell I've even (ineptly) shot video and done artwork for bands. Here's the thing: although DIY stands for “do it yourself,” the actual ethos of the community are more like “do it together.” Everyone. Every single person in that room was responsible for bringing people out. And we all failed. Myself included. Up to and including the folks who run the venue. (fun fact: if your room is empty, that pretty well invalidates your claim to be a great promoter.)

I'm not so naïve to deny that money matters in the scene. As much as I do try to practice alternatives to capitalism in my daily life, the guy at the gas station isn't going to just give me 12 gallons of 87 in the spirit of mutual aid. (Carson, if you're reading, I'm sure your analysis that my hatred of money as a means of exchange is a luxury born from a sense of privilege having been raised in an affluent community will be both cutting and insightful. I can't wait to read it.) I'm not so naïve as to advocate that the venue should have lost money on the night. Frankly, he made the right call by canceling the show. But the all-ages DIY venue is more than a bar. It's more than a road-house where at the end of the day all that matters is the take from the door.

The all-ages DIY venue is a community hub first and foremost. It offers nothing else. No beer. No coffee. It just offers music and a place for outsiders to feel like they belong somewhere. It's a listening room for anarchists and outcasts. Finances should be taken into account, sure. If little green pieces of paper don't change hands over the evening, we're all going to have a tough time of things pretty quickly. As much as I would like to make my living singing my little songs in your space, I would like you to make your living running that space. These things are a lot of work and until we can work out a sustainable alternative to capitalism, we all gotta get paid for our time. But the second you place finances above community building, is the second you're running the wrong kind of venue. Open a coffee shop. Open a bar. The all-ages DIY venue is more than a stage and a microphone. It is a sacred place for people who lack sacred places. So inconvenient as it may be, your obligation to the community is higher than the owner of the local dive. You have an obligation to community-building. You have an obligation to not be a jerk. You may not want the responsibility, but by running an all-ages DIY space, you are a leader in your community. And the preacher does not talk trash about their congregation. We play unpopular music in run-down venues with terrible sound to far too few people because we can't bear the selfishness, competitiveness, and pettiness of the mainstream music scene. So don't make us need an alternative to the alternative. If we keep digging new undergrounds eventually we'll hit the magnetic core.

So I'm not pissed that with 3 paying audience members, they pulled the plug on the show. That was an understandable call. I obviously wish he hadn't done it, but I understand why he felt he had to. I'm pissed at how it was done. There was no conversation with the bands. We only figured out the show was off because in the middle of a conversation with Tanner, I looked up and noticed that the sound guy was literally pulling the plug and packing up the microphones. The owner never said a word. The formality of hollow apology followed by some vague promise that if I come back next time it'll be better actually counts for a bit. I know he doesn't mean it. And he knows I'm not coming back. But it communicates to the performers, and it communicates to the fans (all 3 of them) that although he had to pull the plug for financial reasons, his relationship with the community is still first in his mind. A discussion. An explanation. An apology. Nothing.

He lost money on the show, but so did I. We all got screwed. By pulling the plug on the show without so much as a word, he showed that the community this venue supposedly acts as a hub for matters less than the money he stands to make off of them. By creating an adversarial and disrespectful relationship with the performers and with the audience, he showed that though he profits off of this community, he is not a part of it. So to borrow from the language of every parent everywhere: I'm not pissed at the venue; I'm disappointed in them.

Tanner (who is one of the world's few good people) did his best to make it right. He paid the venue out of pocket what they said they lost on the night. He paid me what I lost too in gas. He ordered some pizza and brought the show over to a friend's house. We turned it into a songwriter's circle. Each act taking turns on a song. A handful more people showed up. Enough to feel like a full room. Enough to feel like a community for the night. It was maybe not the show I had expected, but it ended up being a pretty solid night. So the spirit of community-building and independence was in full display last night in Conway, Arkansas. It just wasn't in the place where one would traditionally expect to see it. The all-ages DIY venue in town was dark. But the spirit of DIY; the values that I and so many artists have sacrificed so much to help propagate over the years is alive and well.

This is Pen Pen never falling down.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.