As a grizzled and bitter scene vet still trying to push a few of my own Sisyphean rocks up that old hill of perpetual musical anonymity, there are two laments I often find escaping my lips when I take a look around at the state of local music. The first is, “Where is everybody?” — as in, “Where are the crowds?” Lately, it seems I’ve been playing to rooms more barren than grocery store toilet paper shelves circa March 2020. The second — the chicken to the egg of the first repine — is, “Where the fuck are all the bands?!” By this, I specifically mean rock bands. More specifically, new (see: also young) rock bands.
There are a handful of us relics still kicking around from the Fort’s indie-rock peak of the middle aughts, trying to reignite the once healthy and diverse scene, but there sadly seems to be no next wave coming to help carry these efforts to the next gen, and, consequently, apparently no younger crowds seeking live music either.
It’s not exactly news that live music attendance has been steadily declining over the last decade or so. At least at the local club level. Big arena legacy acts appear to be doing just fine getting folks (i.e., monied Gen X-ers) into $150 seats, along with $30 for parking and $60 beer tabs, but your favorite listening rooms around town can’t seem to consistently get more than a handful of patrons in at $10 a head, even on weekends, to take in some local talent. It’s an alarming trend we intrepid journos in charge of the music beat at the Weekly feel compelled to draw attention to as consistently and with the ineffectual urgency as “real” news outlets do in covering that buffoon in the red hat currently playing craps with your 401(k).
As more and more former rock-based clubs have folded over the last several years, the few remaining are increasingly incentivized to favor solo singer-songwriters as their live entertainment. There’s certainly less overhead in individual artists. Full bands likely require three or four times as much of the night’s take. Solo acts are also perceived as a less risky product to put onstage. The fear is that unestablished rock bands could potentially alienate the few patrons who happened to wander into the bar, seeking drink and company more than loud music blaring out of a PA. A single person with an acoustic guitar is less likely to drive nonmusical crowds from the room.
So, are there no crowds because there are no bands? Or is it the other way around? And does anybody care? Sure, we all know “rock is dead.” We’ve been hearing the refrain for decades. Unless you’re talking about metal or hardcore punk, the tardigrades of guitar-based music: small, hidden from plain sight, and impervious to any ecosystemic destructive forces. The very nature of punk and metal is to exist outside of the mainstream, thereby making them largely immune to its everchanging trends and tastes. Somehow healthy metal and punks persist, relying on a fervent fanbase, despite being relegated to smaller DIY and “unofficial” venues. In most local clubs, however, plain ol’ rock ’n’ roll seems to have largely gone the way of the VHS tape.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly proud of the solo artist-centric aspect of the Fort’s musical community. There are so many wonderful singer-songwriters. But a city this size should have — and, more importantly, needs — a vibrant underground rock community. It’s an essential element to any city’s hope for a vivid and dynamic subculture.
The irony is that recent years have seen a sort of resurgence of rock music outside of our local scene, especially from overseas. KXT, one of the few local radio stations to still play new rock music, regularly spins young and up-and-coming bands like Irish post-punks Fontaines D.C., the UK’s IDLES, Aussie provocateurs Amyl & The Sniffers, or even stateside acts like Wet Leg, Japanese Breakfast, and Snail Mail. Frustratingly, little of that seems to have made its way to inspiring the youth of Fort Worth to join in.
Little but not zero. Enter: the Washheads.
Despite the old-man-yells-at-clouds aspect to this piece so far, its eventual intent is actually to offer a little bit of hope. A few weeks ago, I got an unexpected, and much needed, shot in the arm to neutralize some of my curmudgeonly bitterness. One of the Sisyphean rocks I’m still pushing, my band Understudied, played a show at The Cicada in late March. One of the openers, if you can believe it, was an actual band made up of actual young people, a five-piece alternative rock revival outfit called Lost in the Wash.
Playing only a handful of shows so far in their, a’hem, young career, this group of literal high schoolers has single-handedly renewed my faith in the future of our scene. They were raw and unseasoned, sure, but they also had an energy and an enthusiasm we crusty vets find difficult to muster anymore. They began their set with a respectable cover of Radiohead’s “Just” before playing a set of original ’90s-inspired rock ’n’ roll.
More importantly, the place was packed with fellow teens rabidly cheering them on, “Washheads,” as the band lovingly refers to their legion of followers. It had been a very long time since I’d seen so many young folks in one place at one time outside of a school. There had to be close to 100 of them.
For one night at least, I was transported back to my own high school bands and the throng of friends who would come to see us at all ages-friendly venues like 1919 Hemphill, the old Ridglea Theater, The Impala, and, in Arlington, Laser Tracks. A major hurdle for young bands now is the shameful absence of spots like these that are willing to allow all-ages crowds. Kids can’t drink and therefore don’t fit the business model. Here’s a secret: Fewer adults are drinking, too. At some point, would-be music clubs might need to rethink the model and help to future-proof it — or risk losing it forever.
Chasing the buzz of my own formative musical experiences is what still carries me through to today, as frustrating as many of my recent live experiences can be. But for a moment, watching Lost in the Wash and several dozen Washheads cheering them, I was gifted that same feeling in its pure unbridled infancy again. It was inspiring. More simply put, it was fucking cool!
One band does not make a scene, but it can certainly start one. If even one kid in that crowd was watching Lost in the Wash and was hit with the thought, “Wow! That looks rad! I want to do that!,” it could be the beginning of something. Nothing inspires new bands like new bands. So, kids, do something cool. Grab a guitar and join in.
When they do, clubs, take a chance and let them play.
