What I saw in the bar

If you've been following my Twitter feed, you'll know that I recently went to see Casee Wilson perform. It's the first time I've seen her live and it was also the first gig I'd been to in quite a while, as the financial crash meant gig attendance was the first thing I'd cut off as part of the drive to save money.

The gig itself was a free entry and in a pub bar. There were 4 acts in total over the evening, each with a half hour set. I'm not familiar with the pub in question, but given the price of the drinks, its location and the vast majority of its clientele, I'd say it was a student bar catering to the university, as pretty much everyone in the place including the bar staff appeared to be about 20 years younger than me.

Maybe it's the age difference. Maybe it's the thought that not so long back, what I saw in that bar... how I would have reacted..well, that would have been me. And maybe it's the fact that I've just come to the end of a month where I've been absolutely bombarded emotionally by encountering artists still suffering a combination of the financial crisis and just the music industry in general that's made me that bit more sensitive than normal. And this is what makes the observations I made that night a story worth telling.

So picture the setup. I'd got there early and scrunched myself into one of the tables opposite the bar and about halfway along its length, sitting on one of the most uncomfortable bar stools I've sat on in quite a while. I was also maybe halfway down in terms of table layout and the pub itself was quite small, certainly with seats for less than 50 and probably closer to 30 people, although you might squeeze around 100 in the space if most were willing to stand. If you look at me, I'm actually sat more facing the bar, so to my left are tables and the door outside and on my right there are tables and the performance area which in reality is little more than a microphone and temporary sound board/computer set up in a corner.

By the time it was decided the music should start (about 10 minutes later than I'd originally been told), the seats were pretty much occupied and there were a handful of people stood at the bar. From where I'm sat it quickly becomes obvious that there is a pub of two halves here and I am apparently sat on the dividing line. The tables and bar to my left are all sat with their noses in their pints, staring at their mobiles and/or deep in conversation with their respective groups. When the first song ends, only the more attentive group to my right clap while those to my left stay doing whatever they were doing. The applause is polite, expected rather than being through any genuine enthusiasm. The PA system is enough to carry the music over the conversation to my left but what the young guitarist says in between the songs he is playing is much more difficult to fathom because of the conversation in the room.

He finishes his set, there is more polite applause and he actually heads to the table immediately to my right as Casee attempts to get organised for her set. He realises there's an unoccupied stool on my table, asks if anyone is sitting there and I get the expected strange look when I tell him no, go on ahead and take it because I'm in there on my own. (A female on her own nursing a pint of coke in a pub is always something that gets people wondering, hence why I can be sure artists will usually find me even if they don't know me when I've told them I'll be there - I always stand out purely through looking out of place). One of his friends has gone to the bar to get a round in and once their table settles back down, I become aware of the change starting.

Casee attempts a bit more of an introduction and attempt to get some audience engagement than Chris (the previous act), but she's basically already got about all she's going to get. The pub is still effectively the same pub of two halves it was for the first act, only the table to my right is now much less attentive than when their friend was the one in the spotlight. They still somehow manage to applaud despite having only 50% attention at best on the music, but they're as much, if not more engrossed in their pints, mobiles and conversation as they are in the music.

Act three of the four is a couple, and the first noticeable thing is the fact they weren't actually in the room when the music started. They turned up about 15 minutes into the first set and were easy to spot arriving due to the guitar slung over his back. It seems he just plays the guitar while she sings, only she's singing so quietly that you'd think the microphone isn't actually plugged in. The pub itself is also at its peak of customers at this point, meaning that even from where I am halfway down the pub they are just turning into background noise rather than being music that people have any chance of listening to.

It's a couple of songs into their set that Casee's table makes a move. She's never laid eyes on me before, but due to my ability to stand out like a sore thumb I've already worked out that she decided a while back that either I must be me, or she's about to make a fool of herself because I didn't turn up after all. She makes the nervous enquiry and I confirm and she tells me that she has to go because she has a ride home. Whilst most of her group have wandered off, we manage to exchange a few words while one hovers with a definite "come on, COME ON we HAVE to go" aura. It's not much past 10pm and the music only started at more like a quarter to nine. She asks if I'm staying and I say yes and I try and fail to work out how much that is surprising her. What I don't say is what is flashing through my head, and that's something along the lines of "Why would it even cross your mind to ask if I'm staying? I may have specifically come out to this pub in this city on this night to watch YOU perform, but there are also  OTHER MUSICIANS performing.  What do you think I'm going to do? Show them the same RESPECT I showed you by staying and listening, or leave just because you are?"

The couple are now on a cover of "Bridge over troubled water" and the table to my right have just finished the round of drinks that I mentioned earlier. It's now a quarter past ten and lo and behold, they are off as well just a mere 10 minutes or so after Casee and her group of friends. The table is quickly gobbled up by a group who arrived maybe 20 minutes ago at best. They're not here for the music, so I'm now sat in my own little bubble and there isn't even any point in me applauding any more, because the few left who still are are all sat past the end of the bar right near the performers. I can still count them though - there's the host/sound engineer for the evening, a gentleman leaning on the end of the bar who, like me, looks out of place through being older than nearly everyone else in the pub and the group with the 4th performer. Who knows, there might be one or two lurking where I can't see because of the other groups in the bar area but that's pretty much it.

The couple finish their set and the last performer starts to set up for his turn. I'm no expert on instruments, but he's carrying some kind of ukulele or similar other small guitar. A guitar case swings past my view and I realise that the couple who arrived late have stayed until they have performed and they're on their way out already. This is getting truly depressing. So depressing in fact that as it becomes obvious the last performer is now essentially background music (and barely audible at that) left playing to a bar that has no interest other than the couple of friends he brought with him and the curious out-of-place oldsters, I make a decision.

And so to the confession I have. I did something I wouldn't normally do. I left before he had finished his set. Despite the fact half past ten wasn't that long back, I'd seen enough and to stay was just going to depress me further. And whilst I know it's not entirely fair to pass judgement based on the first gig I've been to in a while, maybe this was a one off, maybe because it was free entry and maybe this was the case or that was the case, I have still found myself coming up with rather a lot of maybes to dismiss what my eyes believe they've seen as just a series of coincidences.

Is there really going to come a time when I find myself suggesting to an artist that maybe most of the answer as to why nobody is listening to their music can be found by looking in the mirror? If young musicians are losing (or have lost) the ability to realise that they need to be out there supporting each other first and foremost and teaching their friends the same, then we really are on a slippery downward slope.

And by supporting, I mean listening to and talking to each other, not sitting cooped up in your own safe little friend bubbles that come and go with you and are only there for the spotlight moment. Sure, I'm willing to bet that over 90% of the people you encounter by connecting with those outside your bubble will land up as dead ends, but who knows what you'll find if people remember you further down the line? Fans? Your bandmates? Someone who went on to work in marketing? The guy who has the tip for mixing or creating that sound you've never been quite able to get your head around? Or any one of another hundred reasons I can think of that will help you if you're nuts enough to want to continue with this idea of a career in music.

And that brings me to the friends who get to see you tired, stressed, grumpy and whatever other side effects the attempt to create a career in music at the same time as having money to pay the bills and something approaching a social/family life leaves you with. If you can't make them see the importance of why you're supporting other musicians and what it could really mean for you and your career, even though none of you can quite see how that might work yet, then what on earth makes you think all those other people out there like me who DON'T get to see any of the stuff your friends do are going to pay any attention to you? And are your friends ever going to understand and support you when you really need it if you don't start teaching them now?

And when you finally wake up to the fact that actually, nobody is really listening to your music, how many wasted years and opportunities will have passed while you've been oblivious in your bubble? I've seen this age group of musician do much better than this before. So much so that they actually expanded the area of interested people in the room! It certainly doesn't always happen, but it never will when musicians don't stick together.

As a whole the evening reminded me why I climbed out of the consumer pile in the first place. But when that same cry of "because nobody else is listening" means I'm left wanting to rattle some sense into the musicians themselves (and I can't because they already left), it's not a good reminder. The result is one of those times where I'm left wondering why on earth I bother and why on earth I should still care.