Newsletter Announcement: In The Trenches
In The Trenches #000: Concert Ecosystems
There’s something in the air in Bushwick.
Maybe it’s the gentrification. Maybe it’s the gushing fire hydrants. Maybe it’s the iced matcha strawberry lemonade from Nook. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way the Sun sets in the West, coating the squat walk-ups in varying shades of dappled light.
The further you take the L train into Brooklyn, the more you recognize the people you see at shows every weekend—thrifted skirts and high-waisted Levi’s jeans, ballet flats and clogs, line tattoos and piercings out the friggin’ wazoo.
It is both foreign and familiar. Over several hours, show-goers crowd the backrooms of dark, bustling bars. Everyone seems to know each other the way people down South wave and nod at strangers from the car. No, you don’t know each other really, but it is one of the few places left in this city where human connection and eye contact still reign supreme.
These carefully crafted ecosystems exist in abundance all over the city, each providing some nutrient rich third space for their local inhabitants. Everyone plays a role there. The balance of harmless social faux pas and polite conversation, coupled with the more intense feelings brought on by the live music make for a ritualistic dance that could easily be captured in a nature documentary.
I found myself observing these spaces in this way entirely by accident. The first one I stumbled into was Purgatory.
After a lonely start to my first year living in New York, an acquaintance of mine invited me to her first open mic night. I sat above the main room next to the sound booth and marveled at the tiny space below me full of effortlessly cool people.
I met someone new and tried my best to hold a conversation with her. I was perplexed by her choice to pursue a job in Big Finance when she initially studied film at UCLA. She proudly cited the pay, benefits, and stability but admitted she still went to the shows of her artistically-inclined friends to relive the late shift, arthouse lifestyle she once led. Ultimately, I concurred, noting my own shift towards academia and away from my one true artistic love: music.
I learned that Brooklyn is made up of two main types of people, or in the Linnean tradition, families—Natives and Transplants. These families are further broken down into genus and species based on neighborhood of residence, job title, artistic medium(s) of choice, political beliefs, dietary restrictions, and—oh yeah, whoever it is you are or want to be dating.
Each subsequent visit to one of the small back room venues of Brooklyn has brought me closer and closer to the days in which I studied evolutionary biology. (Yes, really.)
Now you may be asking—is this really a fair, humane treatment of local music culture? Can human beings really be broken down into those generalized labels, patterns, and behaviors? Well—yes and no.
In high school, I was lucky enough to take IB Biology with the best biology teacher on the planet. Despite my propensity towards the arts and humanities, this teacher taught me one of the most important lessons a scholar can learn: the benefits of interdisciplinary study and research.
He assigned us a book to read entitled The Beak of the Finch. It’s an interesting exploration of evolutionary biology through the work of biologists Peter and Rosemary Grant and their beloved Galapagos Finches. This book fundamentally altered the way I viewed biology, as well as the study of evolution and ecosystems. Author Jonathan Weiner integrates history, archeology, literature, and philosophy into this incredible work of nonfiction. It’s no wonder it won a Pulitzer.
Since this truly revolutionary class, I’ve held a soft spot for biology. In another life, I chose to pursue that line of work more seriously. I loved meeting the challenge of a subject that didn’t come naturally to me. I loved studying plants and animals—their habitats, ecosystems, cells, and behaviors. Even now, I am endlessly fascinated by reading about conservation efforts to maintain the existence of endangered species all across the globe.
Like the fragile ecosystems I once studied in the classroom, I’ve noticed particular patterns in the concerts and shows I attend. Be it the accepted ways in which artists, fans, and others interact with each other or the language everyone tends to use in these spaces, I think it’s all worthy of recognition and some deeper analysis. Like a biologist or botanist studying their preferred living organisms, I study concerts.
This all sounds very academic of me—not very punk-rock or laidback, which is how most music memoirs and essays sound. The truth is: I don’t think I could be laidback about this stuff if I tried. I am a scholar and researcher by training. It’s who I am. Learning how to close the gap between my artistic leanings and academic expertise is a long-term goal of mine.
So, with that in mind, I want to start a newsletter dedicated to the smaller, DIY venues of New York City and the remarkable artists who play them. I'm not sure exactly what shape this will take but would like to start by writing brief show reviews and possibly branch out into interviews. After all, each and every artist based here has their own story. Transplants all have their reasons for moving to New York. Their music and approach to performing are likely just as varied.
Once, while walking to the L Train after a show, my good friend Lily used the phrase "in the trenches” to describe my treks all over Brooklyn, Manhattan, and beyond to find the best and brightest amongst this incredible city of bands, artists, and musicians. I thought back to my strange fasciation with the trench warfare of the Great War. I studied battles and lifestyles of that war religiously for years. It seemed a fitting title to this kind of newsletter—part documentary/part homage.
Baby’s All Right. Mercury Lounge. Nightclub 101. Elsewhere. Union Pool. Purgatory. ALPHAVILLE. Pete’s Candy Store—these are the underground trenches in which we all move and play and write and drink and eat and sing and talk and dance.
I hope you all will join me as I explore these cultures, bands, and scenes, one show at a time.