"Live music was something so stable, and visceral, it didn’t seem like it could be touched by this mysterious disease." -- Sarah, 10th grade
In 1990, when she was twenty-six and “old enough to know better”, my mom took a position as ticket seller for cult rock band The Grateful Dead. Known for their devoted following, live energy, and well, stoned sound, The Grateful Dead counted my mom as an employee (and later, unofficial member of the band) for five and a half years. In that time she was witness to all possible emotions live music can bring. A friend of hers and avid Deadhead (as Grateful Dead fans are so called), described going to their concerts as “one of the most life-changing experiences I've ever had.” Because of her, I keep track of every concert I’ve gone to in a “concert log”. In 2019, I’d already planned a few festivals out for 2020. Then, earlier this year the world’s biggest music festival, Summerfest, closed its doors. And everything ground to a halt.
Perhaps we shouldn’t have held onto our hopes so long. But in the early days of COVID-19, the future appeared increasingly blurry. Staying inside was still a new concept, and the deadly predictions by newscasts were still a ways away from fruition. Live music was something so stable, and visceral, it didn’t seem like it could be touched by this mysterious disease.
Don Smiley, Summerfest chief executive, told Rolling Stone, “The vibe was [like] walking on eggshells...I had my eye on it early, trying to convince friends of mine to keep their eye on it. Everyone’s phone was blowing up every five seconds with breaking news, breaking news, breaking news. Our entire company wasn’t sleeping well because of the uncertainty.” As a pit of anxiety settled in everyone’s stomachs, the idea of being able to see your favorite artist live became just that: an idea.
For some people, it was another vague reminder that reality had shifted in a rather bleak direction. For those who’d built their careers around live music, it was more than just a reminder. My mom has a fairly secure, if stressful job now (being a high school librarian). She can hesitantly laugh about what would’ve happened if she kept the ticket selling one. Others, not so much. Even Marcie Allen, an industry vet (promoter for Billy Joel, Metallica, Green Day), talked about the situation with measured alarm. “I remember 9/11, the financial crisis’ tremendous impact — but in 25 years in the industry, I’ve never experienced anything like this,” she said. “The industry is hitting the reset button. It will be forever changed.”
While still not approved by the CDC, live music remains an undeniable dent in the economy. In a recent The New York Times piece, Thomas Rodgers reported, “The live-music and events sector has been among the hardest hit by the coronavirus pandemic. In Germany alone, it brings in 130 billion euros in revenue each year, according to a recent study commissioned by the I.G.V.W., an industry group there. Concert venues were among the first to shut down to slow the virus’s spread, and their futures remain uncertain.” It’s almost eerie how something written months ago feels just as applicable today.
There have been notable efforts to support those now without jobs. The Crew Nation Fund, for instance, has been supported by the likes of BTS, Little Mix and Harry Styles. Its website reads, “Crews like you are essential to the fabric of live touring. You work behind the scenes to help artists and fans connect with the magic of live music, and Live Nation wants to ensure you are taken care of during this time.” Other gestures, such as Summerfests’ rescheduling into much later in the year, toe the line between being good for keeping workers, and good for the company.
Like many things with the pandemic, responses have ranged from performative, to naive, to calling out problems that were there from the start. Lady Gaga delaying the release of her new album, Chromatica, didn’t do much other than give her PR team a few extra days to readjust. While companies like Spotify and Warner Music made a big fuss of their donations to COVID relief, their inherent structure is still hurting musicians both big and small.
A few genuine changes shine through like sunbeams, however: Bandcamp waiving artists fees every Friday, and highlighting artists that need direct support. Still, all of these efforts feel rather insignificant from the couch view. The number of crew members who have lost their source of income (an estimated 120,000) has a tendency of melting into the day-to-day onslaught of bad news, becoming one more depressing statistic.
At the same time, people’s stories of falling in love with live music have awoken a new kind of grief. There has been so much to mourn for in these last few months. Things like stadium tours have always made their mark as something larger than life. A rush of emotion that towers above any and all people responsible. It makes sense that the loss of this would result in the most painstaking kind of nostalgia. We’re all reliving something we had in our hands less than a year ago. There is no room to forget.
This is what particularly struck me about my mom’s friend’s recollection of her first Grateful Dead concert. Though simply worded, every line seems to tug at all that’s missing. Early on, she told me, “I'll never forget the moment I looked around and saw people from so many different walks of life, all smiling, moving to the music, and feeling for the first time in my life like I was home.” Later, she clarified, “When the concert was over and as time passed, I knew when those feelings of having no home, not belonging anywhere, overtook me, I could listen to the music and be reminded there was a place for me, and every time I was lucky enough to go to another Grateful Dead concert, I would be surrounded by people I may not know, but who, in a way, because of our shared experience, were family.”
All we have left of that feeling now is pale imitations. In late August, a group of researchers from Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg in Germany conducted a study. It had 1,400 or so participants, all of whom were tested before being filed into a stadium for a mock concert. The point of the study was to see how fast COVID spread in said areas, with the concert participants fitted with location trackers and fluorescent hand disinfectant. The results of the study are perhaps too obvious to mention--concerts not super spreaders, stadium tours being a risk to public health, etc. The reasons why people signed up for it though, are a little less mundane. A 21-year-old student, Biana Tenten, stated that listening to music while at home simply wasn’t the same. For anyone involved with her treasured concerts, Biana said, “there is a passion and a love there.”
Perhaps we shouldn’t have held onto our hopes so long. But in the early days of COVID-19, the future appeared increasingly blurry. Staying inside was still a new concept, and the deadly predictions by newscasts were still a ways away from fruition. Live music was something so stable, and visceral, it didn’t seem like it could be touched by this mysterious disease.
Don Smiley, Summerfest chief executive, told Rolling Stone, “The vibe was [like] walking on eggshells...I had my eye on it early, trying to convince friends of mine to keep their eye on it. Everyone’s phone was blowing up every five seconds with breaking news, breaking news, breaking news. Our entire company wasn’t sleeping well because of the uncertainty.” As a pit of anxiety settled in everyone’s stomachs, the idea of being able to see your favorite artist live became just that: an idea.
For some people, it was another vague reminder that reality had shifted in a rather bleak direction. For those who’d built their careers around live music, it was more than just a reminder. My mom has a fairly secure, if stressful job now (being a high school librarian). She can hesitantly laugh about what would’ve happened if she kept the ticket selling one. Others, not so much. Even Marcie Allen, an industry vet (promoter for Billy Joel, Metallica, Green Day), talked about the situation with measured alarm. “I remember 9/11, the financial crisis’ tremendous impact — but in 25 years in the industry, I’ve never experienced anything like this,” she said. “The industry is hitting the reset button. It will be forever changed.”
While still not approved by the CDC, live music remains an undeniable dent in the economy. In a recent The New York Times piece, Thomas Rodgers reported, “The live-music and events sector has been among the hardest hit by the coronavirus pandemic. In Germany alone, it brings in 130 billion euros in revenue each year, according to a recent study commissioned by the I.G.V.W., an industry group there. Concert venues were among the first to shut down to slow the virus’s spread, and their futures remain uncertain.” It’s almost eerie how something written months ago feels just as applicable today.
There have been notable efforts to support those now without jobs. The Crew Nation Fund, for instance, has been supported by the likes of BTS, Little Mix and Harry Styles. Its website reads, “Crews like you are essential to the fabric of live touring. You work behind the scenes to help artists and fans connect with the magic of live music, and Live Nation wants to ensure you are taken care of during this time.” Other gestures, such as Summerfests’ rescheduling into much later in the year, toe the line between being good for keeping workers, and good for the company.
Like many things with the pandemic, responses have ranged from performative, to naive, to calling out problems that were there from the start. Lady Gaga delaying the release of her new album, Chromatica, didn’t do much other than give her PR team a few extra days to readjust. While companies like Spotify and Warner Music made a big fuss of their donations to COVID relief, their inherent structure is still hurting musicians both big and small.
A few genuine changes shine through like sunbeams, however: Bandcamp waiving artists fees every Friday, and highlighting artists that need direct support. Still, all of these efforts feel rather insignificant from the couch view. The number of crew members who have lost their source of income (an estimated 120,000) has a tendency of melting into the day-to-day onslaught of bad news, becoming one more depressing statistic.
At the same time, people’s stories of falling in love with live music have awoken a new kind of grief. There has been so much to mourn for in these last few months. Things like stadium tours have always made their mark as something larger than life. A rush of emotion that towers above any and all people responsible. It makes sense that the loss of this would result in the most painstaking kind of nostalgia. We’re all reliving something we had in our hands less than a year ago. There is no room to forget.
This is what particularly struck me about my mom’s friend’s recollection of her first Grateful Dead concert. Though simply worded, every line seems to tug at all that’s missing. Early on, she told me, “I'll never forget the moment I looked around and saw people from so many different walks of life, all smiling, moving to the music, and feeling for the first time in my life like I was home.” Later, she clarified, “When the concert was over and as time passed, I knew when those feelings of having no home, not belonging anywhere, overtook me, I could listen to the music and be reminded there was a place for me, and every time I was lucky enough to go to another Grateful Dead concert, I would be surrounded by people I may not know, but who, in a way, because of our shared experience, were family.”
All we have left of that feeling now is pale imitations. In late August, a group of researchers from Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg in Germany conducted a study. It had 1,400 or so participants, all of whom were tested before being filed into a stadium for a mock concert. The point of the study was to see how fast COVID spread in said areas, with the concert participants fitted with location trackers and fluorescent hand disinfectant. The results of the study are perhaps too obvious to mention--concerts not super spreaders, stadium tours being a risk to public health, etc. The reasons why people signed up for it though, are a little less mundane. A 21-year-old student, Biana Tenten, stated that listening to music while at home simply wasn’t the same. For anyone involved with her treasured concerts, Biana said, “there is a passion and a love there.”
