“Local music” is one of those euphemisms, like “farm-raised salmon” and “retirement community,” that sensible people learn to distrust. The other night I was at the Sauce Bar in Minneapolis and I watched carefully as after-hours Office look-alikes partied onward as the bar transitioned from background music to live bands. I predicted to a friend: “Two songs. No more.” Sure enough, by the crunchy guitar growl of the third song, the wingtips and stiff blouses exited the scene. No hard feelings here, they almost seemed to say as they left. It’s just, well, you know, this is “local” music.
Now, there certainly is an element of Darwinism that plays into mainstream perceptions of “local music.” Let’s just say I have seen an inordinate number of cat-themed punk rock bands and power trios dedicate songs to trousers. Who am I kidding, I’ve played in them. In these instances, the road less traveled is—as Seinfeld said—less traveled for a reason.
But, often, you have a local music scene that—thanks to a music industry in the tank—is often more creative, engaging, and relevant than what you will hear from the DJ, the jukebox or the cover band. I know this may sound like the kind of argument that is recycled every 4-6 years, but let me give you some specifics.
Last Friday night I rolled into downtown Sioux Falls around 6 p.m. Note: I did not intentionally seek out music. But, it found me—a whole sonic spectrum. At Touch of Europe, I struck up a conversation with one of the jazz musicians who moonlights in Queen City’s own alt-country rockers Snakebeard. Then he handed me a business card and told me he was a professional “luthier,” which is a fancy word for stringed instrument repairman. I spied another local musician in the band, the talented keyboardist for Sioux Falls-based funk and blues hybrid Solution. It may be a scene where everyone plays in everyone else’s band in dimly lit root-cellars, but the collective musical output is ill-proportionately diverse and electric.
Walking down the street back to the car, I passed by a piano troubadour inside some smoky bar on Phillips—the air was frigid but the warm glaze of the chords was like an artificial space heater. At Latitude 44, another Sioux Falls piano balladeer—Janae Sturma—played a score of originals and clever covers to an intimate and deeply appreciate crowd. As the train rumbled past as she closed her set, however, one couldn’t help but wonder how many people were filling out song requests at some oily karaoke bar instead of filling her tip jar. It’s not for the musician’s sake that I lament this fact; most have long ago given up on this gig making any money.
No, it’s for the audiences who miss out on a genuine, original, even sometimes powerful music experience.
Past midnight, we retired to Monk’s House of Ale Repute, where a member of We All Have Hooks for Hands told me about sleeping in a rest stop for four days while on tour on the East Coast. He wasn’t in the least bit fazed. This is part of the “business.” And musicians won’t complain. They love the gigs. Even if the bar does date your check for a month later. But, there really is quite a significant music scene right under the nose of a lot of people, not just in Sioux Falls, but in a lot of communities across the Tavern Belt and beyond. And it’s really worth listening to.
Of course, we ended the night by listening to Hall and Oates’ “Rich Girl” three times on repeat in the car. But, that’s because the song is less than three minutes long, and because no one cooks up a blue-eyed soul hook like Daryl Hall and John Oates. Not even in the Queen City. Maybe Rowena.
The revolution will not be iPadded.
Cousin Christopher writes about rock and roll for the Rock Garden Tour. He also plays keyboard in the family band.
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