In the spring of 2007, I moved to Seattle along with the other three devastatingly good-looking members of my band. A year and a half later, after endless months of cripplingly horrible shows, desperate attempts to cobble together part-time jobs, and Oasis-worthy internecine squabbling, one of us finally broke.
“Guys,” our guitarist said one night at a band meeting, “I’m gonna play out the shows we have booked, and then I’m done. I can’t keep going on like this.”
We had thought that moving to a bigger city might help actualize our dream, never mind the fact that we knew exactly one person in Seattle. Emboldened by a blissfully naive confidence, laughing off the idea of vitamin D deficiency with quips about Flintstone vitamins, we had disentangled ourselves from our sleepy California town, packed our minivan, and driven north into the
leprous arms of impending doom.
We played our Seattle debut the week we arrived, a show I’d booked from out of state. Our ignorance as to which clubs (not) to play was profound. On that first night, we found ourselves unloading a trailer full of gear into the friendly confines of the Central Saloon in the teeth of a driving rain. An hour and a half later, we’d performed a full set of contemplative indie rock for the bartender and our single friend, been blasted with jock metal for every second of the experience we weren’t actually playing, and seen our group morale sink to previously unimaginable depths.
You’d think this holocaust of a coming-out party would have led to a tempering of my freewheeling booking strategy. Fool me once, and all that. Instead, I continued to engage in shameless, ill-fated MySpace binges, hitting up reputable bands (Thao with the Get Down Stay Down, the Cave Singers, even—oh, good grief—Fleet Foxes), none of which I ever heard back from. I imagined them lazily scrolling through their inboxes while eating oysters purchased with the sort of royalty checks I would never see, skimming my pleas while thinking, Who’re these assholes? They only have two plays today.
So it went. Playing a community center in Kirkland for a crowd with an average age of 12? Check. Agreeing to play a “festival” that turned out to be a Mennonite farmers market in Central Washington at 11 in the morning? Double check. Having the bartender at the Comet Tavern put on an extreme grind record in the middle of our final song because he didn’t even realize we were still playing? If it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t believe the story.
Ours were trials robust enough to shake the faith of even the most committed troubadours. Which we weren’t.
After a while, I had to wonder: Was this the dream for which I’d given up my job, the comfort of my mother’s green-bean salad, a chance at making out with Genevieve Flaversham? In hindsight… I guess it was. Nobody had guaranteed us anything. True, people had told us we had a spark, a great live show, a facility for interesting arrangements. Who cares if half those people were our parents? Who were we to argue?! We believed in the pot of PBR-soaked gold at the end of the Sub Pop rainbow. We had been drunk on the idea of making it as a band.
They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If there is some fantastic mathematics through which debt, relational strain, public humiliation, and endless frustration may be transmuted into strength, then I’m Hulk Hogan. That may be. But for a long time—and I say this with real regret—I got a bitter pinch in my stomach every time I heard about the buzz springing up around local bands we’d played with or that I thought we were at least as good as, whatever that means.
I can still remember a party I attended in the fall of 2004 at my friend’s Orange County ranch house. I was milling among a throng in the backyard, when a group of four young men emerged from the house and picked up some instruments leaning against the toolshed. Unbeknownst to me, I’d shown up at what turned out to be the first show ever put on by my soon-to-be-famous schoolmates Cold War Kids.
Over the next several years, I fawned over the band publicly while whining in private. Why did the Cold War Kids of the world get to strut like beautiful flamingos across David Letterman’s stage while I was trying to convince the bartender at Chop Suey to let me have a bottled water? Hadn’t we worked our asses off? Weren’t we paying our dues? The deck was stacked against us! I mean, how could we make connections when we were locked in the basement four nights a week writing songs with hooks so dreamy Ben Gibbard could only fantasize about them? He had Zooey to comfort him. I only had bandmates I’d grown tired of seeing, a house with no central heating, and a hamper full of dirty clothes the smell of which permeated my bedroom so profoundly that I was often kept awake at night—as much by the smell of moldering long johns as by my endless second-guessing of our decision to leave Santa Cruz.
It’s been almost three years since we broke up and no answer to my questions has been forthcoming, unless of course you count my growing awareness of how grotesque my sense of entitlement was. Part of me seems to have assumed that I had the right to be paid to play music. Turns out that’s not how life works.
I still find myself occasionally pining for the sour-beer smell of a club before it opens, a greenroom fridge full of skunky Heinekens, and a 40-minute time slot. Alas, our bass player moved back to California, where he now works nights in the vast walk-in refrigerator of the local Safeway. Sometimes I imagine him stocking gallons of 2 percent milk in that freezing, dark cavern that smells like a mausoleum, and I wonder how big a cemetery you would need to inter the savaged hopes, burned-out dreams, and low-quality merch of all the forgotten bands that’ve ever played the High Dive on a Monday night. 
Ben Bishop is the former pianist and singer in Caravel.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Who are the Cold War Kids? They are famous?
Also, as someone who has continued to play live shows every single year since 1985, and every single week since 2000, if you aren’t doing it because you love playing music, QUIT! You are never going to be “famous” or whatever Cold War Kids are. And who cares? Eat your mom’s salad in your home town and play your shows there and kiss your girlfriends there and make your life there. Or not! Do it in Seattle! But do it because it’s what you love!
All of your little “horror stories” add up to some minor inconveniences for a young man who has a lot to learn and not much to lose. So lose! And learn! Good fucking luck! Ha ha!
Making a living as a musician is hard no matter what, but it doesn’t help that you guys clearly never did your homework. Seriously – you run off to Seattle to become bigshots, but you didn’t take the time to figure out what clubs would provide a friendly crowd? Or what bands would be good to connect with? WTF? You’re coming to a new city with a new music community; you can’t just expect success to fall into your lap. If you seek a serious career in music, then treat it like a serious career already. That’s the thing too many musicians don’t seem to get.
I’m with #1. The music scene has changed so dramatically that unless you’re in it for the love of it, there’s really no point to go on with the mentality of “making it big” someday. I love playing music BECAUSE of places/experiences like The Comet or the local coffee shop that pushes aside enough tables to fit a drum kit and a few amps.
this is like an extended version of
i anon , a bad one . this guy’s story in no different than a million other bands . you have a better chance of winning the lottery than being a hit rock band . frankly dude the big name producers left town after the grunge fad went south , like 5 minutes later . you were better off in cali than seattle . its more than who you know , some times its who you blow . i don’t think you blew anybody let alone the right some body . if you were into rap i could tell you how to pull that off. you make a bunch of money selling coke . you buy 8 sets of lyrics from mnm for 200k , then you drop the same money to dr. dre plus a cut of the back side for the beats , and rip a cd . then you drop that cd with a check for 50k off at virgin or capitol and wait 6 weeks . tadah ! rap star !
I’m glad you came to terms with your crushing sense of entitlement, because it was pretty suffocating the first 2/3rds of your piece. 99 percent of bands aren’t going to “get big.” Some of those that do won’t deserve it and probably won’t be as talented or as interesting as you perceive yourself to be. Being on a stage may get you laid once or twice, but you’re not going to be snorting coke off the asses of groupies. There are thousands of people in this town and others that hold down shitty day jobs and spend their evenings practicing unremarkable songs. The good ones do it because they enjoy doing it, warts and empty rooms and late nights included. The bad ones do it for social acceptance and unrealistic ego-filled rock-star dreams. Go play some songs at an open mic night and quit bitching – no one owes you anything.
Your problem is that you didn’t move to Portland, the promised land for whiny, self-pitying indie boys. You wouldn’t have become famous, made money or got laid there either, but it’s cheaper and marginally warmer than Seattle.
seriously.
Fuck You.
band life sucks. its hard. its supposed to be. thats why no one hardly “makes it”.
“Making it”….by the way-what the fuck does that really mean in 2010 anyway?
Hopefully more idiots that start bands for ridiculous reasons will read your essay and decide not to do it, like you. Theres too much mediocrity and some serious Darwinism is needed stat.
my GOD you infuriate me
Moving to Seattle to make it as a band? It isn’t 1993. Not to mention, half of this town has bad taste in local music–look no further than the inexplicable popularity of Fences and the existence of Barsuk.
Nearly everyone struggles in their chosen field. I’ve been writing for 7 years and while there are moments I rue the existence of certain publications and certain writers for getting the credit I want for doing something I already did, I continue to keep nose to grindstone because I love writing and can’t imagine doing anything else. As has been pointed out, if you don’t love something and are in it only for a modicum of fame and some money, you’re going to fail.
You shouldn’t even be aloud to start a band until you read “Get In The Van”. If anything, just for the lessons in disappointment and work ethic.
Also, The Stranger…WTF?! Is this a joke?
Dear Ben, The system you are participating in was functionally over with 11 years ago. I’m sorry. Now all we have is a superstition. If you do certain things they will lead to certain results. Napster, Itunes and Myspace collapsed the system your are trying to use. Its ok. Things change. That thing old never worked that well any. Say it. Its OK.
A year and a half isn’t that long to pursue something that’s important to you. If you really love it, adjust your expectations and keep doing it. Also: Learn a trade. Just in case eternal rock stardom doesn’t work out as a career path.
Not saying this to put you down (like a bunch of others on this thread) just telling it straight.
What a self-indulgent knob! Thanks for the laughs!
Hate to join the chorus, but somebody call a WHAAAAAMBULANCE.
I’ve played in a band for 10+ years and never once whined about “making it.” Making it is not as important as having fun playing music.
One of the biggest shows of my “career” happened at the Central Saloon on a Thursday night in what was the worst snow storm of the year.
There were 12 people there, but we rocked like there were 15.
Hmm, are we sure this isn’t Ben Lashes?
Apologies for bringing up that unpleasant memory.
each and every one of you embody the sad and sometimes (though not demonstrated here) valid assertion that seattlites are passive aggressive asshats. i’m sure that you all feel wonderfully comfortable sitting by the glow of your computer telling this man how awful you think he is, but have you seriously thought about what it takes to write about your own naivete? i don’t pretend to know a thing about how to make it in the music business, but i do work in it. every day i see people like the author just trying, and yes, some suck. but they try and they get up each day doing what they love. some decide on other paths in life, as it sounds like this man has, but who are you to berate someone for attempting to put words to how people struggle as he did, all the while inserting in an ever so subtle manner the humor with which he views his past. apparently you all missed the point here…
So, tell us more about this Genevieve Flaversham. She sounds hot.
First of all, your timeline is fucked up. Let’s say you moved at the beginning of 2007. January. A year and a half later, is midway through 2008. Which means it’s almost 6 months before you hit your “3 years broken up” point…it’s not almost 3 years.
Secondly, your “dues” were only 18 months on one scene. With music that the scene is SATURATED in: “contemplative indie rock.” Fuck off, emo boy. That’s not DUES. Did you even get around to releasing an EP? The Cold War Kids had 2. And planned their own tours.
Thirdly, you quit your fucking job to be a musician, but you weren’t the most committed of troubadours?! There’s another of the answers to your failure.
It’s nice you have a growing awareness of the gross sense of entitlement you had. Still have, probably. Because, if you didn’t…
Play in a band cause you like playing music and you’ll never be disappointed. Play in a band cause you think you’ll end up getting blown by Zooey whatsherface and you’ll be disappointed almost most of the time.
Jeez, the guy wrote an already self-deprecating confessional article about his failings and realizations for the casual amusement of others. Tar and feather him!
My name is Chris and I did actually move here with a mediocre band in 1993. Wasn’t much different then, either. 😉
Thank you for sharing your story. As someone who has had the very same thoughts (but in a different field), it’s a nice reminder that’s just not how life works. My advice to my nieces and nephews is “Get comfortable with the fact that life isn’t fair.”
Anyway, sharing your story made me feel better.
@18 Yeah, more Genevieve Flaversham. The Flaversham. yeeeeoWWWWWW!
It gets better.
I also moved here to start a band and I’m going through the same thing but at least I expected it. It’s not supposed to be easy. It might be for some bands but this is Seattle. I think the “scene” here has been pretty stale since the early 2000’s hence the horrible bumbleshoots year after year It’s still a great place to be a poor ass musician. After reading the other comments….I feel like we moved to the wrong city. Fuck you assholes! It’s tougher then you think…. not only has Seattle lost it’s soul with the Grunge scene but this city does not rock anymore….try Austin
@16 The point is that he now feels entitled to get paid for writing about his grotesque sense of entitlement. Those of us who aren’t so entitled, are entitled to bitch about it.
Yeah. You lost me at “along with the other three devastatingly good-looking members of my band.” Congratulations on that at least, it’s rare to lose me after the very first sentence. Then jokes about vitamin D deficiency, rain, and pining away for the glory days of high school in California? Seriously?
Or is this supposed to be some sort of post-irony-irony?
should have moved to Olympia instead.
@16 — thank you. perfectly and beautifully said.
Is this Ben Bishop Jeopardy Champion from Seattle? http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/te…
I’m not a Jeopardy champion! NO FAIR NO FAIR NO FAIR
I actually wouldn’t have minded if this had been a longer piece, just because it was well-written.
Oh for god’s sake …
Go play Rock Band 3, you miserable twit.
Or move to NYC where you can moan about how hard it is to be a real band and people will give a flying fuck.
Blame the ))))))))INViSiBLE BOSS)))))))))
@31 – It certainly could have been a better piece if it was longer, funnier, and more of a ‘series of unfortunate yet hilarious anecdotes’ sans the somewhat blank-faced ‘I, Anonymous’ tone, but that doesn’t make the author a bad person, as a majority of the other commenters seem to imply. His disillusionment and coming to terms with reality don’t seem to be enough for some people – he must be punished!
@28 for the insightful Pay Your Dues You Miserable Twit win.
Wow, this is a lot of anger for such a modest article.
He clearly had no idea what he was getting into – and he said so.
He’s not quite sure what happened – and he said so.
This piece is a well-written peek into the confusion of folks who get into bands without even knowing their own motivations. If at the time you’d asked him if it was all for fame and fortune, I’m not sure he would have known the answer. It’s a decent confessional. I like a good confessional.
He made some misguided assumptions and a lot of mistakes and had the courage to include his name when telling us about them. I’ve heard whining much worse than this. I’m inclined to cut him some slack.
Would you rather read a piece that says: “I did everything right and now I’m on top of the world” ?
Is Seattle the land of angsty has been/never was musicians or what? Lighten up, assholes. Kid had a dream. Seattle shat on it. Perhaps deservedly. Maybe not. It ain’t easy making a living at rock and roll is a hard earned lesson. It’sa tough one to swallow when complete and utter shit bands are making a killing.
The injustice of the music scene is massive. Even Mark Arm, who has done more for Seattle music than any jerk-off in this comment section ever has (including me), has to have a day job. Of course, bands back in the early days of the grunge scene had one huge advantage: no one in America gave a rats ass about seattle and so the rest of the world left us alone and some of those kids went on to develop something they fucking owned. and it was great.
Good on ya, Ben bishop, and the rest of you can go fuck your damn selves.
Can we just sum this up with a “couple of gullible fucks haven’t encountered the real world that – regardless of city – will attempt to shit on them at all costs”?
Not that white boy problems aren’t interesting…
Just dropped in to ask where I can get that Fred Perry sweater from the illustration?
@11 Excellent comment, both content-wise and compassion-wise.
If the first adjective that comes to mind about yourself is “devastatingly good looking” — your band is shit.
@42, you’re stupid. He was making a joke.
I can forgive the whininess and naivete as the follies of youth.
But you probably should have realized that bringing ‘contemplative indie rock’ was bringing sand to the beach. In Seattle, when you start a band, you’re handed some Buddy Holly glasses, and accordion, and you have to pay Vampire Weekend 20 dollars.
Also, here’s some free advice. Try touring first.
Interesting and funny article. Thanks for humiliting yourself one more time for the edification of…errr…someone, I’m sure 😉
On a more serious note, it’s problematic how self-effacing and grovelling musicians are in the hope of getting blown or becoming famous. If we would all stop grovelling, and demand a little respect universally, perhaps we wouldn’t be so universally ripped off by everyone from a greedy club owner to the big pig record companies who are more than happy to rip artists off to fatten their own wallets. We really should learn something from the actors guild. But that kind of cooperation among musicians is a ridiculous dream as long as any of us behave like crack whores for fame or affection. Oh, my apologies to crack whores. At least they get *something* back for their grovelling.
Describing your music as contemplative only makes me think YOU aren’t.
Since pretentiousness seems to be the name of the game here, let me just say I hate indie rock. You failed because you came to a place where you won’t stand out. The mid 2000’s were all about scensters wanting to be DCFC or Joy Division, so your not really presenting a new idea. Know your role & shut your mouth you whiny ass bitch.
i blame guitar hero for giving the youth unreasonable expectations of stardom
also, writing this article during the winter months when all Seattlites are grumpy, under-exercised and vitamin D deficient probably wasn’t the best move…..
This isn’t our most empathetic season of the year.
I just listened to his music and well, it’s terrible. There is no other word to describe it. This guy needs to grow a pair, and learn to write songs that don’t sound like a retarded combination of The Dredsen Dolls & Death Cab For Cutie. He lacks destiny… Don’t believe me? Check out his page
http://www.myspace.com/caravelband/music…
I liked this story. It was funny and contemplative. I’ve never been in a band, but I have had the experience of moving to Seattle looking for the PBR-soaked pot of gold. I was smushed into poverty and disbelief. But I was young, naive and didn’t realize how much work you have to put in to get a career going in a well-educated and creative town like Seattle. For a few years I felt righteously indignant. Then I realized righteous indignation wasn’t going to pay my bills or get me out of debt so I woman-ed the fuck up and got to work. I’m proud of the small successes I’ve had in the five years I’ve been here. I bet if Ben had stuck around he could have pulled that off too.