"Be The Change" Observation Draft #1

On a rainy evening in Salt Lake City, Utah, I decided to go see my friends band play at a small venue called Kilby Court.
After driving our car throught the business district of Utah's capitol city, passing through the inner city neighborhoods, and finally ariving in the warehouse district, we park in front of a block of buildings that look nothing like a musical venue. We take a small walk and find an alleyway with a street sign that says "Kilby Court", but we haven't arived yet. Kilby Court, the street, is about 60 yards from the entrance to the end and is a mixture of warehouses, puddles, and, surprisingly, houses. Some of the last residences left in the area have stayed standing through the years all due to business at the last lot on the left in the alleyway. All the people the live in Kilby Court either work or have worked at the tiny venue that lays hidden in this alleyway.
When we arrive at the venue, there's a small entryway with a ticket taker on our right. We payed the 7 dollars a person ticket price reluctantly, the website had said 6 dollars, and the enter the small open courtyard. On a dryer day, there would be a fire crackling in the old half oil drum in the middle of the courtyard. There would most likely be people surrounding the fire and scattered around the lot, talking, smoking their cigarettes, and discussing their favorite music. But the day's rain has taken a toll on the mood, either keeping people at home for the night, or keeping them in their cars till the last second when they can make a mad dash to the venue. To the right of the firepit is a garage. It's old, it's kinda rickety, and it's been covered with graffiti and band related stickers through years of concerts and shows. To a music obsessed individual, like myself, this is heaven! We walk into the garage-turned-concert hall, aside from a small stage on the far left, a sound booth on the far right, and some sound equipment hung from the rafters, we're alone. It's a pleasant feeling, but it's short lived. The realization that this may be a negative thing becomes strangley foreboding. About 15 minutes after arriving, other people start showing up. They pay their toll and their hand is stamped, tonight's stamp is the face of Disney's Goofy. I start to get excited. My friends show up with their trailer full of musical gear and begin setting up on stage. It's amazing how much equipment they have! Since I last saw these friends, we'd all gone our separate ways for school and work, and apparently, they'd gone off the deep end in the musical world in the best way possible.
With three guitarists, Fictionist, my friend's band, definitely a bigger band than most. Alongside at least two guitars each, a vintage amp for each of them, and at least two one foot wide by 3 foot long pedal boards full of the latest and best sounding guitar effects pedals on the market for each, there's a bassist, a keyboard player, and a drummer. Each of those musicians has their instrument(s), amps, and any extra equipment. That's a lot of stuff. For about fifteen minutes, Kilby Court has become a cluster of bodies, tour cases, and instruments, and then they start playing. The music is, in my opinion, and apparently the opinions of everyone else in the neighborhood, absolutely perfect. People cheer, fans clap their hands excitedly, and people who haven't heard this band before become lifelong fans. Fictionist killed it. After moving their instruments and gear off stage, Ask For The Future, a band from Logan, Utah, sets up their equipment. This four man band does an amazing job. They play their instruments with talent and style. About this time, we start to notice an influx of young girls showing up at the venue. It's a strange occurrence, as these girls all seem to be under the age of 17, definitely not the normal crowd for this venue. Ask For The Future completes their set, clears the stage, and the next band begins to prepare. I look around and the mass of teenage girls seems to have tripled. I'm kinda nervous about it, but I focus on the instruments that are getting unpacked on the stage. It calms me down a bit.
The next band to play is called Allred, named after the lead singer/guitarist, John Allred. On the surface, he's a stereotypical All-American boy. He's clean, attractive, talented, well dressed, and has a wonderful voice. When investigated further, one will find that he's also nice, has a very creative mind, and is more than appreciative that we all came to hear his music. This is about the point in time when I realize why all the adolescent girls are in the venue. Small, high pitched whispers start at all corners of the room. They got louder as the band continues to set up. Hundreds of carefully made-up eyes darted from their friends and back to Mr. Allred. Camera phones and cameras were being set up, pictures taken, and texts to absent friends sent. John stepped up to the mic, plugged in his guitar, put his in-ear monitors into his ears, and the crowd absolutely freaked out! Half of us stood in awe as the other half, young and impressionable, jump up and down like little rabbits, and squirm from the excitement. The band begins to play, all the while enduring the flash from cameras. The front man and namesake of the band stopped between songs to thank the other bands, encourage his fans to stay for the next band, and tell stories about his songs. One such story was about when he spent a week in New Jersey recording. He talked about how he sat in a room with a guitar and a microphone, singing his songs. When the recording was finished, John walked into the control room, to find his producer moved to tears by his songs. At this point in the story, every girl in the house let out the stereotypical "AAAAAWWWWWWWEEEE!". But that wasn't the end of the story. Mr. Allred then told us who his producer was. Ace Enders, the singer and founder of The Early November, a poppy rock band from New Jersey that absolutely exploded on the national level a few years ago, especially among girls similar to the ones in attendance at Kilby Court. John Allred flashed his smile through the crowd as they react to his story about hanging out with their other musical hero. Surprisingly, nobody passed out and had to be dragged to the hospital, but I honestly felt like I was witnessing something i couldn't completely grasp the meaning of. This dude gets on stage, sings, picks his strings a little, and smiles a few times, and multitudes of girls fall at his feet. Aside from the craziness of the young crazy girls, the music was, at worst, exciting. I couldn't stop smiling. This man had some major talents. The songs were both catchy and full of meaning, something you don't find much anymore.
About this time, something insanely confusing happened. John Allred and his band, Allred, finished their set, they started preparing the stage for the next band, and I became absolutely disgusted with what happened next. Everyone under the age of 19 disappeared like roaches from the light. That left about 20 people. 20 people, of the 60 people that were there, were left standing in a space that suddenly felt massive.
The Devil Whale, a folky, indie band from Salt Lake City, got on stage next. They're one of the best local bands I've heard. Brinton Jones, their front man, stepped onto the stage with his guitar to start his set, a celebration of the release of their latest album. A six foot something tall bassist ducks through the back door and steps onto the stage next to his amp. The keyboard player and drummer both sit behind their instruments, and Jamie Timm, a guitarist from the band Band of Annuals, plugged in his guitar. It's Jamie's first tour with The Devil Whale and he definitely looked nervous. The music began and the band didn't miss a single note. Even their newest song that they had never played for a crowd went off without a hitch. Everyone in attendance was either dancing, smiling, or singing along with Brinton's voice, which coincidentally, is as smooth as a newborn's bottom. Just like the other singers, Mr. Jones would take brakes between songs and tell short stories. At one point he thanked the people who had been there since Fictionist played, but immediately took his statement back and said "I doubt that anyone here has been here the whole time". First of all, I had. Second off, That got me thinking. Where had all the people gone? And how did the guys in The Devil Whale feel playing to an almost empty venue? I got pretty angry about the teeny boppers that had come and then left before hearing the amazing end of the show!
I find it so frustrating that these young people are seemingly so closed minded to good music. And what makes less sense to me is trying to think of what these teenage kids had that was more important that night. Underage teens with enough money to spend on seeing one band, but not enough time to stay for an even better band? It just doesn't make sense to me.
After talking to a few people in the local music scene about this situation, I only got more frustrated. Jason Steadman, a local celebrity who starred in the 90's horror movie Troll 2 and owns a local venue said, "...having produced and promoted concerts for years and having managed several bands, I've dealt with this A LOT and I can't tell you how bad it pisses me off and makes me embarrassed for the Utah music scene. I've obviously seen this happen at tons of local shows, but I've even seen it happen at bigger concerts. I don't get it. Stay around and get your money's worth. What in the hell is so important that night that you have to get to? I mean, if a family member is in the hospital, I can understand leaving. Other than that, stick around....".
Along with that statement, a local musician named Nate Phelps says, "It is truly unfortunate, but, not too many people know how it feels to play for people who don't wanna hear you or just plain don't care (or even worse, an empty room). I always stay for every band ESPECIALLY if i am in the show. It's just proper etiquette. too many bands don't get the recognition they deserve because of eleventeen year old wannabes who only wanna see "ace enders."
Other people also commented on it, and the consensus is that it does, and will continue to, happen. It's a sad fact, but it isn't going to change overnight.
I have a dream, to copy Mr. Martin Luther King, Jr., that one day our fellow musicians might be treated the way their fans would want to be treated if they were on the stage. I hope that I can do my part to support my favorite bands AND bands I've never heard. I will continue to invite everyone I know to come to every show I attend, and then strongly encourage them to stay for the entire time. While this happens more than I'd like to know, I know that it can be changed. As Ghandi said, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world".