Today I got paid, and before I could fritter my money away
on junk food, I decided to make some purchases for my instruments that I had
been putting off for a while. Granted, I'm not playing music right now the way
I used to, but I haven't totally given it up yet.
I stopped into a music store that I will not name. The clerk
was engrossed in a conversation with a fairly well-known Capital Region
musician, who, again, I will not name. The musician introduced himself, with an
air of, "You might remember me from ..." and sure enough, the clerk
did. Neither had any idea that someone else was in the store. I was browsing
cables on the other side of the room, hidden behind racks of hanging guitars.
So the musician confided in the clerk,
something to the tune of what's wrong with the music scene today. And what's
wrong is apparently those damn kids.
He went on a tirade for a good five minutes, with the clerk
agreeing wholeheartedly, about how the new crop of musicians "sucks,"
and how hard it is to play shows and compete with "35-year-olds." I
swear to God, this is a direct quote: "You know, our generation were the
last real musicians." It was like stepping into a bad cartoon. I had to
practically jam my fist into my mouth to keep from guffawing.
But I'm not one to confront people, or talk to people, or
announce my presence to other people, so I continued to browse nonchalantly and
listen to these two make asses of themselves. Eventually the clerk asked if I
needed any help, I said I was just browsing. The musician seemed a bit flustered: "I
didn't know anybody else was in here."
After selecting an overpriced cable, I went to the counter
to get some overpriced Elixir strings (my finger sweat eats acoustic strings
like you wouldn't believe). After the clerk grabbed the strings, I asked him
about a crate of records I had seen in the back. He said they're $5 each. Great, I
said, I'll be back. I went and got the "Best of Buck Owens Vol. 2" record I had been eyeing before, then reached
for Paul McCartney's "Ram." But on the way back to the register,
while looking at the song list, I decided I didn't actually want to buy the
record at that moment, and add to an already exorbitant bill.
Unfortunately, the clerk saw me put it back. And thus began
the uber-cool old guy hipster grilling:
"Can I ask, why did you put it back?"
Me: "Uhh ... because I didn't recognize any of the song
titles."
(Yes, really, I'm horrible at song titles. And I really just
wanted "Maybe I'm Amazed." And that's not on "Ram."
Proceed.)
Clerk: "Oh ... I think I would have put back the Buck
Owens."
Musician Guy: Yeah.
Well whoop-de-doo. I
put it back, so why don't you buy it then? But instead of saying this, I just
kind of shrugged like a schlub and silently hoped the conversation would end.
When it was finally over and I was left to reflect on the
entire transaction while standing on the curb just outside the shop, I came to
a few realizations.
1. I will never shop at this music store again.
2. Here's the important one. If the music scene here sucks,
it's because of people like this. Not to be all hippy-dippy, but isn't there
room for everybody, man? Can't I play my 90s throwback grunge and you play your
'70s granola singer-songwriter stuff and some kid play his hip-hop/funk/dubstep
hybrid, and can't we all respect each other for being kindred, creative spirits?
There are plenty of bands I dislike, international, national and local (again,
I'm not naming names). There are even more bands I love. Let's not be petty
about this.
I've largely given up on doing the band thing beyond the
basement anymore, and I may be a bit bitter about it sometimes. Of course. I'm
human. But I don't think people younger than me who are just discovering music
and learning to do their thing are to blame for my shortcomings as a musician.
And it's not the veteran musicians' fault, either. It's mine, and mine alone. I
think the guys who have been doing it forever and are still out there doing
their thing deserve the utmost respect. I think the kids just starting out
should be encouraged.
In the end, we all seem to have forgotten what this should
be about. A few years ago, my band was having a particularly difficult
practice. I was losing my temper, as usual, and slamming around the practice
room, yelling obscenities, being an ass. Our bassist at the time brought me
back down to Earth. "This is supposed to be fun, remember?" Last I checked, sniping at each other isn't really all that fun. We all need
to remember that sometimes.
