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Some years ago, back when I was a West Coaster, I found myself standing at the back of the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver watching what remains one of the dullest and most boring shows I’ve ever seen.
Admittedly, I was exhausted by a hard day at work – it was a weeknight – and rather than sit – or in this case stand – through this horrendous monstrosity of an evening.
Now you might wonder whose music managed to irk my patience so badly.
Ryan Adams – that’s Ryan, with an “R” not a “B” – alt-country luminary and prolific solo-artist was in the middle of what would prove to be a banner year. He dropped three records in a twelve month span. This particular night found him supporting the second of those three records, Jacksonville City Nights. But instead of treating the crowd to selections from the new record or favourites from past ones, which is the way most singers promote their albums, we were forced to listen to the molasses-paced, self-loathing and self-indulgent cuts that Adams would eventually release as 29. Even when he played crowd favourite “To Be Young (Is to Be Sad, Is to Be High)” he slowed it to a dirge. It took me half the song to realize what he was even playing.
After 45 minutes, and an admission from my super-fan friend who had every Ryan Adams bootleg and lost album that he too had no idea what was going on, I made a break for the door.
It’s a simple solution. Don’t want to be somewhere? Then leave. But there’s something about a concert that compels people to stay, even when they don’t want to. “I paid thirty dollars to be here, and dammit, I’m going to get my money’s worth” seems to be the prevailing thought process at work. But why stand in a dark, cramped bar, listening to bad music when you could be somewhere else?
Quite frankly, leaving a show can be daunting. Unless you’re already standing by the door, you’ve got to make your way through the room, past people who are apparently getting far more out of this whole charade than you are. You feel the harsh gaze of their judging eyes as you walk past each and every one of them.
This of course leads to a bad case of FOMO, fear of missing out. You’re trapped inside your head in a heated debate over your own pride. “Am I making the right decision?” Meanwhile, back in the real world, everyone just thinks you’re headed to the bar or the can.
Then there’s the self-admission that perhaps what this quote-un-quote artist is doing is just too advanced for you. You just don’t get it.
Discovering you’re not as hip and progressive as you thought is an embarrassing feeling. “What will I tell people when they ask how the show was?” you’ll ask to yourself. “Why did I brag about it in the office today. I’ve really got to learn to keep my mouth shut?”
But then you reach the door, and with one last mighty push… you’re outside.
All the guilt, all the frustration, all the FOMO, it just washes off you – you are free – free to go home, free to go to bed, free to buy shwarma, stay up late and watch the Daily Show – take back the night indeed.
After doing it once, subsequent walk-outs become a cinch. Since walking out on Ryan Adams eight years ago, I’ve walked out on plenty of other shows.
You’re self confidence goes up – “They’re the ones that are too stupid to recognize how bad this is!”
Your FOMO disappears – “They’re the ones missing out on this delicious poutine”!”
And telling people the show was so boring that you left gives you an air of musical superiority. “Yeah, I saw ‘em once. It was so bad that I split” you’ll tell your colleagues when the band inevitably gets huge and they’re paying a hundred bucks to see them at the Air Canada Centre.
I should mention that I caught Adams again this past December at the Elgin Theatre here in Toronto. It was one of the best shows I’d seen in a long time. I guess that time eight years ago, he was just having a really bad day.
But the point is, you should never feel beholden to any musician or performer. They’re not infallible figures whose every move is to be praised and copied. Rock history is littered with just as many casualties of ego as true artistic breakthroughs. So the next time the band shows up two hours late visibly drunk or even if you’re just freaking out about finding a cab home from Sound Academy, just remember – you can always leave. - Ian Gormely