What Does The Future Hold For Live Music In The 919?

The DURM Hip Hop Summit, 2013. On a bus, surrounded by random people of Durham, headed to Casbah to watch Lil Bob Doe and then some beat battles. Catching performances at Pinhook that included a rap battle involving (a pre-viral) Anderson Burrus. You couldn't find any words to describe that night. All of it felt ethereal.

As I write this, it’s memories like those that weigh on my mind, alongside the wave of emotions—equal parts outrage, confusion, emptiness, gratitude—that come with addressing the elephant in the room in the 919 arts scene (or increasingly, lack of a room): venues. 

It’s never been easy, or lucrative, to run a show or operate a venue. The difficulties of piling souls inside one room to drink, enjoy music and be merry is almost comparable to getting people outside to vote. If you care enough you’ll do it, but at the end of the day, the comfort of the couch has always been a viable option too. Missy Lane’s, Casbah, Skewers, Shakedown, Jack Sprat, many more—all have been invaluable to my journey and that of so many others. All gone. Of course, things are always changing, businesses are always opening and closing. But it’s hard to not look around and worry that something more unstable is at play. What exactly is happening?

For one, the post-2020 landscape has changed in terms of how people interact with one another and how they consume their information through media—what they do for enjoyment, how they process their desires and emotions, everything. The pandemic forced us all to sit down, be still, and make changes to how we operated moving forward, some being better than others. Smoking more. Drinking less. All of our food delivered by courier. Streaming parties at home. So many different activities that were adjusted and born from how we couldn’t move. Then, as restrictions eased up, there was an emphatic rush to get out; breaking that cabin fever and being as supportive as possible to whomever was organizing something. Just grateful to be outside of the house. 

After a while though, that rush seemed more like a fever dream. Something to be faintly recalled but not necessarily believed as time went on. As our timeline progressed, we regressed. Folks forgot how to be social or even communicate, preferring the company of pets and family over the unique electricity that comes from sharing space with strangers. 

It's far from just a Triangle, or North Carolina, phenomenon. According to Neda Ulaby of NPR’s All Things Considered, venues from San Francisco all the way to Brooklyn are feeling the impact. Venues that have been around for 60-plus years, and of course more recently opened spaces, all closing down for various reasons. Here in the Triangle, many have closed because of either unpaid bills, mysterious circumstances, or simply not making enough to keep it going. (Perhaps the subject of a Super Empty story at another time.)

It’s important to remember that for many of our peers in the indie arts world, this is literally what they do to survive. This isn’t some hobby or pastime for them; it pays the bills. With the live music economy going to shit, proprietors have to make adjustments, shifting away in some cases from the kind of events they’ve historically provided to what actually works. If indie acts are hit-and-miss in terms of filling a room, it only makes sense to put on more dance parties that will. (No shade, because I enjoy them immensely.) 

Unfortunately though, not only are there fewer shows being put on in general, but when they are, the turnout often isn’t pretty. This compared to a time, pre-pandemic, when on any given night you could casually walk into a random venue and be shocked at how many people were gathered. (I once stumbled into Pinhook and discovered the Burlington artist OC From NC for the first time, performing to an unexpectedly packed house. I bought his album on the spot, the first time I'd ever bought another artist's merchandise.) There have always been ebbs and flows in activity, and some shows that did better than others. At present though, it seems the overall number has gone down dramatically. 

It’s not all bad news. Many home creatives of ours are exposing the light at the end of the tunnel. One who I’ve been able to appreciate from afar is Khalil Nasim. Rapper, producer, and member of the local rap conglomerate The Deviants, as well as the newly formed label Souf Star International. Khalil and the collective he represents have been quite successful in putting together shows and events. Displaying the righteous rewards of community. The karma that’s born from persistence. Almost as impressive to witness is how creatively they promote these gatherings—anytime I come across a recap of their shows, the love seems so pure and the numbers are always outstanding. 

When I ask about the landscape, Khalil paints an interesting picture. He says that while the audience seems even more eager and supportive post-pandemic, there’s also been a higher ask from newer venues, including exorbitant prices to lock down dates for events. Even though he realizes the origin, he says it can still feel exploitative and unfair in many cases. In the same breath, he also credits venues like Bond Brothers in Cary & King’s Barcade in Raleeya (kidding) for their professionalism and affordability towards artists. As always, the agenda of getting people to drink at the bar has been pushed on them, but he adds that if they haven’t been reaching the goal number, he isn’t aware of it. Which, to me, is a promising sign that changes are on the horizon.

Artists like LesTheGenius, Rastaa Slimeyy, Jooselord, Cj Monet and others, including Khalil, are still keeping the flame. Holding the torch. Doing their part to bring fellow creatives, artists and fans together. Proving that we can and should have spaces for executing ideas, and providing hope that it can be successful too. 

On the venue side, though, is the combination of low drinking sales, high insurance rates and leasing issues becoming insurmountable? Speaking with Griffin Wade, co-owner with Lauren Hussey of the recently closed space PS37 in Durham, he said it was just time. “We want to think about how much fun it was and how many great memories were had with PS, and closing when we did allows us to do that.” As for those uphill realities, he concedes that for venues that rely primarily on bar sales, it's “leaner than it’s ever been.”

For the co-owners of PS37, it was time to appreciate what had worked, not agonize over what current conditions demanded. There were other businesses feeding Griffin and Lauren primarily, while it seemed PS37 was asking for more than what could be given. Although the announcement of their closing brought tears and sadness, so too, in its final moments, did it bring joy and happiness. Right before closing, they were kind enough to provide a parting favor, allowing John Laww, myself, and others to record a music video on location for my song, “MerryGo” (Editor's Note: debuting Feb. 4 at the newly opened Stancyks). Proof that while some spaces close, the spirit that once filled them still exists. 

These venues—these buildings and rooms that created so much of our joy—are important and invaluable, as are the community members who fill them. Recent history provides plenty of reasons for hope, but also warnings of what may continue to happen if we don’t step out and support one another. If the people remain, so too does the art. No matter how we must present it, creativity will always find a way to bloom through the cracks of deprivation and tyranny. If you made it this far, keep going. If you thought about quitting, think again. We need you.

Defacto Thezpian is a rapper, writer, and producer hailing from Durham, NC, known for his explosive performances and quirky music videos. His latest project, Chicks & Rhymes, Vol. 5, is available on Bandcamp now.

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