First off, shut up. I am the words on the page, and you are a nudity consumer, so sit down and listen. And by listen—I mean read. I know you have work in the morning. Or are you trying to juggle multiple commitments you made that night cause you’re so popular—slash—have zero time management skills? I don’t wanna hear it. Please don’t show up five minutes into your friends’ set only to bounce after an unenthused "good show." On the local level, cross-pollination is literally the only way up-and-coming acts can grow a fanbase. You show up for the opener and you stay for the closer. Your feet hurt? Sit down. You’re bored? Go get a drink. You’re horny? Have a wank in the bathroom like a grown-ass adult!
I’m only telling you this for your own good. If you wonder why the dude you knew in high school who played with Portugal. The Man for a year doesn’t invite you to the sex and coke parties, it’s ’cause you continuously asked him this question when he told you about his shitty band’s gig at some community center or local dive bar, in the hometown you’re both trying to forget exists.
Next time your annoying friend, who is still playing in bands for some reason, texts you about their upcoming cry for attention, try texting these five zingers in response. I know you’re super busy with your coding job that—due to inflation—basically pays minimum wage these days, but since it’s February and love is in the air, why not say something sweet? Something supportive? Don’t treat your musician friend like some cheap dick appointment. Make them feel loved, and maybe in the highly unlikely chance they do make it in the industry, they’ll invite you to the sex and coke parties. You’re welcome, nudity consumer.
Unless they’re a super smart laptop DJ, your friend is probably a dumbass who is in a band with heavy things like amps and drums. Some all-tube bass amps can weigh up to 80 fucking pounds. Don’t just show up for most of their set. Show up for the hard part as well! I guarantee your buddy’s musical project doesn’t have roadies. And if they’re from Portland, they probably don’t have a lot of upper-body strength, either. Be a pal.
If you’re just gonna stand in the back and feign interest like an embarrassed parent at their child’s recital, at least bring some other warm bodies so your dysfunctional friend can feel like they’re doing something worthwhile with their life. To be clear, you don’t have to actually bring anyone to your sad friend’s show, but this text alone would make their day, rather than the usual "What time can I maybe show up, if I’m feeling generous?" text.
Hopefully not, and you don’t have to buy anything and waste any more money (especially if there’s a cover.) But hey, it’s the thought that counts. Bonus points if they don’t actually have any merch because you can sound like you’re genuinely interested in their little substitute for therapy, and they get to feel cool by using words like "yet" and "soon," as if they’re actually gonna put any money into actually making fucking T-shirts. Everyone wins.
Without exception, every venue (at least in Portland) will always and forever only offer two complimentary drink tickets for each performer of the evening. If you didn’t already know, your musician friend is somewhere on the spectrum from a highly functioning to barely ambulatory alcoholic. Two drinks just aren’t gonna cut it. You could be the true and understanding friend that has a six-pack waiting in the car for them to sneak off and imbibe. It’s not enabling—it’s supporting!
It would just be plain silly to ask if you should bring any. Of course you should! These are people your age, still playing for a handful of locals in a bar. Clearly, something has gone really wrong somewhere along their emotional development, and that void ain’t gonna fill itself. Don’t give them the option to pretend they don’t want any. Just be straight up. Is this a "half-a-G for us to key bump in the bathroom" kinda show, or a "full 8-ball to do lines off CD cases in the van" kinda show?
Or if you really don’t want to go, you can just leave them on read. They’ll understand. Just don’t ask them what time they’re playing. They don’t fucking know. The sound guy doesn’t know. The guy who booked the show doesn’t even know. Don’t rub it in.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
