by S.B enage
A nonfiction piece from the point of view of a floundering musician
As I prepare to walk up those steps onto the bandstand, I wonder what our listener in New York would say if he could see us now. Taking to the stage just as the burger eating contest and the 'who can hang off the forklift truck for longest competition' come to an end, to play to our crowd of a handful of friends plus the drunken revellers in town for the so called festival. One such reveller was insistent that we play some Nirvana and take a (complementary) swig from his bottle of cheap whisky. 'It's on the house' he explains. We appease him, who are we to turn away our biggest fan of the evening.
What would you say, our listener in New York? Who to us only appears as a single statistic on a screen. What would you say had you seen the fight that broke out at the back of our crowd, the fun fair which illuminated the night sky behind us, or the old decrepit man up front who sang along without knowing the words, who we were, or in fact, what he was doing watching us in the first place.
The question 'who on Earth are these guys' probably came to mind the first time some internet algorithm threw us onto your Spotify radio, and believe me when I say this: we're asking the exact same question ourselves.