Tag / concerts

by Linnea Arold Michel

Skip Ticketmaster—Great Local Bands Rock Too!

There’s been a lot in the media lately about outrageous ticket prices for live music—the add-on fees exceeding the ticket price; Ticketmaster’s plan to float seat prices according to demand (euphemistically referred to as “dynamic pricing”) as is the norm with air travel prices (and why not—some tickets cost as much or more than air travel); and the debacle of Taylor Swift’s presale demand overwhelming Ticketmaster systems. All of this is merely capitalism at its best—it’s all about demand and market forces.

Those spectacular concerts and mega-shows, fees or no fees, cost significant dollars for a seat, and if you can afford the seat (or standing), you can probably also afford the $20 burger and $10 beverage, and don’t forget, there will be merch as well, making for a pretty expensive night. These shows are making somebody rich—probably the label—with a reasonable (we hope) percentage to the band and its songwriters. These are shows for bands that have arrived, bands with the clout to write their own tickets (pardon the pun).

But there’s more to the live music world than expensive flame-throwing spectacles. Elite artists, it’s safe to say, got their start somewhere else.

This was brought home to me recently at the Rivet Canteen and Assembly in Pottstown, Pennsylvania. I was happy to find that my plan to paint my daughter’s kitchen on a recent weekend coincided with an opportunity to support a local Pennsylvania band, Die Tired, whom I’d been following via Spotify and social media. My daughter had tagged me on one of their posts, I checked them out on Spotify, and told her, “We should go see these guys!”

The Rivet is located in a century-old downtown Pottstown building, with rustic styling to reflect the town’s industrial history. The venue presents both live music (their full schedule is here) and celebratory events, like wedding receptions and corporate parties. Their large room, called the Foundry (in honor of the region’s steel-making era), offers a good-sized stage, sound system and lighting, along with table seating for the audience. Die Tired was the headliner, with two other new-to-us bands on the program. All of the bands hailed from eastern Pennsylvania.

Arriving shortly after doors opened, we parked in the free lot out back and walked up to the entrance. From the street, with its big glass windows common once-upon-a-time along Main Streets everywhere, Rivet’s space looks like it might have once housed a department store. Inside, we were welcomed by a staffmember who invited us to pick a table in the Foundry room and shared menus from nearby brewpubs; she explained that we could just call them and order delivery right to the Rivet.

Choosing a table was a major decision: Do we sit really close to the action (about 15 feet in front of the drum kit) or less close, up in back (maybe 30 feet from the band) but in an elevated semicircular booth (very nice for a date night!).We opted for right in front of the drum kit.

As we sat there considering what food to order, two guys came over to chat. They revealed themselves to be with Die Tired. They’d seen my post wherein I tagged my daughter with her photographer handle, and we chatted awhile about bands she’s photographed.

Kristin went to fetch us a couple of beers—“Tripod” Belgian tripels—from the Rivet’s bar but brewed across the street at J. J. Ratigan’s. Then we began unpacking our just-delivered chili and loaded tater tots from Pottstown United Brewing Company.

Die Tired

While we were digging into our tots, the opening band, The Tressels, came out, did a quick sound check, and then hurtled full-throttle into their set. These guys could play! I was even more astounded when their vocalist said this was their first show since 2016. They wrapped up about 45 minutes later, cleared their equipment, and the next band, Hannibal-HNBL, came out, channeling ‘70s prog rock that blew me away. Headliner Die Tired capped off the show with a great set that included their just-dropped-that-day single, “Better Off Alive”, as well as another recent single, “Play”. After their sets, at the merch table, I chatted with HNBL and Die Tired band members while adding to my tee shirt collection. And all this crazy good rock ‘n’ roll for only $12 at the door!

The Tressels
Hannibal – HNBL

I only wished the crowd had been bigger for these fantastic local bands.

These musicians haven’t given up their day jobs yet. Like the rest of us, they work all day, but then they go home to practice their music.  You cannot stand up in front of a crowd and be the evening’s rock star if you haven’t put in the work. For all the excitement and spectacle of a stadium show, the mega-bands on the program of such a show did not burst full-blown onto the world stage. They had to start by getting up the courage to show up in a small venue somewhere and take their chances with a live audience for a first time, and many more times thereafter. Artists practice in private but at some point, validation requires that they go out front and play.  And we should be there to support them when they do.

One of the catastrophes of the pandemic was the impact of lockdowns on these small local venues and the bands that depend on them. I would hazard a guess that those big arenas and stadiums did not suffer the pandemic to quite the same degree. 

Remember when we were unable to go to live performances? Tours were canceled, rescheduled, canceled, rescheduled and sometimes finally scratched entirely. The venues for these performances suffered the loss of income painfully, but not equally. The arenas and stadiums knew their bread-and-butter sports teams and elite bands—and their fans—would be back as soon as the pandemic eased. Small venues and local bands had no such assurance. Many small venues did not survive.

While stadium and arena shows do inject funds into their communities, small venues do so as well on a grassroots level. Like their bigger cousins, small venues pay taxes in their communities and provide employment for local people.

But small venues have another part to play. They offer entrée into the world of artistic performance for the local bands and artists who appear there. Small venues are the proving grounds for young or new artists, where they can cut their musical teeth, discover their fans, and advance their art.

Only in the small venue can you have that in-the-room feeling, the excitement of being part of something special, sharing the atmosphere with like-minded fans in support of a group of musicians who are trying to make a go of it. In the small venue, you can watch the guitarist’s hands on the instrument as you hear the notes reverberating in the room, you can make eye contact, and connect with the artist in a way that is impossible in a mega-venue (unless perhaps you’re down there on the floor at the barrier, but that’s a different experience entirely.)

Local music will likely never have the polish of those flame-throwing mega-bands with their decades playing together. Local music will always be a little rough around the edges. But what could be better than spending a few bucks in a local spot and discovering a bunch of hard-working musicians having a great time making music for you. After all, it was a small local venue—that repurposed warehouse cellar in Liverpool known as The Cavern—that gave the Beatles their start.

For a good discussion of the key part that small venues play in the music industry, check out this pertinent article from 2020.

by Linnea Arold Michel

In Flames!

In Flames, Starland Ballroom, Sayreville NJ, September 8, 2022

Supported by Vended, Orbit Culture, Fit For An Autopsy

Anders Fridén was relaxed and full of energy as he and In Flames took the stage at the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville NJ, on Thursday, September 8. Anders took us through a tour of In Flames metal history, with the band playing songs from several of their earlier albums (1994’s Lunar Strain, 1996’s The Jester Race, 1997’s Whoracle, and 1999’s Colony). To be honest, as somewhat of a newbie, I think I was the only one who couldn’t sing along with those songs. (Working my way backwards through their catalog, I’m only up to A Sense of Purpose, with a detour to Clayman).

In Flames also played their two most recent releases, with Anders promising a new album is the on the way—can’t wait for that!

This show was in sharp contrast to the Rammstein show we saw the week before. Rammstein’s arena show was a fantastic display of the band’s particular kind of artistry, but its grand scale prevented any sense of connection with the band.

Not so on Thursday. Anders’ easy banter, the mix of old and new songs, the fans’ over-the-top enthusiasm, and the intimate size of the venue, made for an exhilarating night. Well warmed up by the supporting bands, fans immediately got down to moshing and crowd-surfing, and the turned-up-high bass made sure every molecule in the room was bouncing.

In Flames was supported by Vended, Orbit Culture, and Fit For An Autopsy, all new to me—but not to the crowd—and I will be checking out their music further, especially since our pub waitperson the following night told us he was a big fan of Vended.

Here are a few of my pictures, but my daughter, photographer Kristin Michel, has far better ones; visit her Facebook page.

Above photos by Linnea Arold Michel
This photo by @robertsiliato besutifully captures the energy of the night (and I’m so happy to be in this picture)!

by Linnea Arold Michel

Rammstein at last!

Rammstein

Lincoln Financial Field, Philadelphia, PA

August 31, 2022

I have been aware of Rammstein for a long time, possibly from 1998, when the band was banned in Worcester, and Till Lindemann and Christian “Flake” Lorenz spent a night in jail. I suspect that event may have put them on my radar as a bad boy metal band, as it certainly would have been news in puritan New England. (Check out stories by Revolver Magazine and the Worcester Telegram & Gazette.)

I bought Metal Hammer’s March 2019 issue for a story on Within Temptation. The issue featured Rammstein on the cover, and I read every word of that story. Something about them resonated with me. Maybe I understood them as committed artists who were uncowed by critics and unintimidated by authority, or maybe it was simply because they knew how to play with fire. If they toured anywhere nearby, I was going to be there.

New Year’s Day 2020 drew to a close, and my daughter and I wanted to make 2020 as great a year musically as 2019 had been. Scrolling through Ticketmaster looking for shows, we found Rammstein’s North American Tour. Knowing it would be a flaming good spectacle, and having been severely let down by our Iron Maiden nose-bleed seats located so far to the side that we could see nothing of the action on the stage, we bought the best center seats we could afford, and my son-in-law agreed to join us.

Then in March, pandemic.

Rammstein’s tour was postponed, and postponed, and postponed. But now, at last, three years later, here we are!

On Wednesday night, I was expecting spectacle. But this spectacle was far beyond anything I have ever witnessed in my life. It was performance art—breathtaking—quite literally. At points, I sat there transfixed in my seat, holding my breath in anticipation of what could possibly come next. The music pounded, pummeled, rumbled, and skewered us. Till’s sonorous vocals ranged from throaty whispers to screaming rage. And the fire! Did I mention there was fire? Incredible pyrotechnics toasted us even up in our aerie seats.

Here are a few of my pictures. You can find more by Bill Raymond/Digital Noise Mag here. The setlist is here, and Kerrang! has an article discussing Rammstein’s 20 greatest songs, many of which were included in the show.

by Linnea Arold Michel

Covid-19 Notepad – Day 49 What we risk losing

The media has been much concerned of late with the idea of re-opening the economy, as states begin to dial back their stay-at-home orders and lockdowns. We were told these would “flatten the curve” and protect the healthcare system from a fatal crash. We have hunkered down to slow the spread of the virus. The deaths—of friends, acquaintances, loved ones, the bodies bagged and stacked in makeshift morgues—have terrified us, motivated us to stay in, stay home. 

Now (though we are surely not out of the woods yet), we begin to contemplate a new normal, where restaurants are half full, crowded bars are a distant memory, flight attendants wear masks, and we take a number to enter grocery stores. BBC News just ran a story about travel in this new world, complete with an airport disinfectant scenario straight out of Doctor Who. 

As we hunkered down, bans on large gatherings were among the first social distancing strategies put in place. Now it’s been suggested that such gatherings may not be allowed this year. Suppose, for the sake of argument, the bans on gatherings of 10, or 100, people remain in place for a year, two years, or longer. As we shrink our worlds to avoid the risk of infection, what becomes of concerts, performances, readings and so many other events, and the artists and artist communities that these support?

There was a time when this would have mattered less to me. I wasn’t going out to events much. But that trek to Groningen, Netherlands, to my first live rock concert ever, drastically changed my perspective. We were welcomed into a community—the metal community—where we stood shoulder to shoulder, hands raised, utterly carefree and full of life, singing the songs together as though we were singing hymns in church. What becomes of this community if we can no longer gather?

Large gatherings like this, whether 20 people for a poetry reading or 20,000 for a heavy metal concert, are intrinsic to every arts community.

If we have learned nothing else from our national experiment with Zoom meetings, it is that in-person is just better, whether it’s a meeting with colleagues, a trip to the ballgame or a concert.  Relegated to the camera’s view, we lose a powerful world of nuance and non-verbal cues, of closeness and camaraderie. But perhaps especially for art, it is that personal, real-time experience shared with others of like mind that cements our relationships and unites us into community.

While community brings people together, it also serves a another purpose. Communities sustain the artists around which they form, and the music community is no different. Indeed, artists and their art-making have generated vibrant communities around the world, helping to reinvigorate cities everywhere and making arts a vital economic engine that can help ensure the continuation of independent artists making art for the joy of making art. 

If we lose large gatherings, we risk losing the arts. The sustenance these large gatherings provide to artists—emotional, professional, financial—can vanish if performance venues can’t survive the new normal.

Without a question, even in a strong economy, arts are a tough way to make a living. A lot of parents, despite buying all those music and dance lessons, have pushed kids away from careers in the arts, telling their budding photographers and dancers, “You won’t be able to support yourself.”

This economic reality is a fact of the music world, where touring is a way of life for bands, who depend on tours to generate income. For heavy metal, historically, this has been especially true, since metal has tended not to get the radio play enjoyed by other musical genres  (a topic of its own, outside the scope of this post). Few bands have the stamina and sustained creativity, to reach that elite world of musical nirvana where significant money is to be made. Before the pandemic had even started to unhinge our world view, Kobra Paige, of Kobra and the Lotus, talked about the economic realities she and her band face.

For our part as fans, we stand to lose a kind of sustenance too. We will lose the exhilarating experience of live concerts. I went so long without them, but now, reawakened, I crave them. I think about the concerts I’ve been to in the last year, that excitement, that feeling of being a part of this big, crazy family. We fed on the bands’ energy, just as the bands fed off ours to keep them going, night after night.

Vaccines and antibody tests already in development, contact-tracing tools like apps, and other public health strategies, if they work, might permit a return to large gatherings. Vaccines are undergoing trials in several countries. Apps are in development that will allow discovery of every person who stood within 2 feet of you; China has a version, UK is about to unveil one. In the US, approaches like these will encounter significant roadblocks due, for example, to our willingness to tolerate distrust in science, or to our laser focus on individual rights to privacy at the expense of the public good. From another perspective, the fear is that these strategies would “coerce” people into trying to catch the disease.

If we want to return to even a semblance of normalcy, we need to weigh our responses to public health tools and strategies with our common good in mind. We need to think about the impact of our personal decisions on others and on the communities we care about. We can no longer think solely of ourselves and our individual happiness. We must understand, now more than ever, that our happiness and well-being are tied directly to the happiness and well-being of others.

What do you think? Do large gatherings matter?