This past Saturday night, I played my last show (for hopefully a very long time) to a handful of family and friends at the State Theatre in St. Petersburg.

I've been in bands for ten years now - The Gita (1998 - 2003), Auditorium (2003 - 2008) - plying heartfelt acoustic ballads and experimental noise in my spare time. A lot of energy (physical, psychological, spiritual, etc.) goes into keeping a band together and Saturday night served as a clear reminder of why I'm putting this piece of my life down for a while. 

For a decade I've performed at least twice a month (sometimes a few times a week); released 9 (or so) CDs; scheduled weekly rehearsals; produced and designed the band's recordings, merchandise and promotions; scheduled tours of the Southeast (including a 2003 showcase at South by Southwest); worried about playing too much; worried about playing too little; dealt with club owners; dealt with other bands' egos (which are always suprisingly bigger than your own) and searched high and low for the right manager or agent so that I would no longer have to deal with club owners or bands with egos larger than my own. Eventually, it takes a toll.

As my wife, Jen, said on the way to the show, "It's been fun. It used to be more fun, but it's been fun."

A more accurate assessment cannot be made. 

Expectations weren't all that high for Saturday's turnout. Honestly, the new band has never had that large of a following. It's kind of a psychedelic-electro-alternative-pop thing that just never gained traction with many listeners. Plus we're usually very loud and tend to force people out of the room, so I didn't expect too many people to give a shit that we were finally calling it quits. But that's why you put a multi-band bill together - it's a party, and hopefully you see some kind of cumulative effect. If you get 20 fans for each band, all of a sudden you've got a hundred people. And in the past, with word of mouth on our side, we've averaged around 200 through the door.

After the two half-page ads in Creative Loafing, the downtown postering, radio appearances and interviews, the 3,000 e-mails, the 200 text messages, there were 55 people that came out on Saturday. 55 people? Five really good bands played, tickets were only $5. I know times are tough, but is $5 and a couple drinks too much to ask? Our own music writer was even down the street covering goddamn RibFest. I gotta say, one thing I won't miss is playing to an empty fucking room.

It wasn't a total loss, though. After our set (and in between me wrapping cables and making trips to the car with the gear), I managed to end up smoking and drinking and generally partying backstage with everyone and was told all night about what a great job I'd done "for the scene." I even ended up on stage with Soulfound singing "Real Full of It," one of my favorite tunes.

A little foreshadowing: While on stage with the guys, I came to the realization that if and when I return to the stage, it might just be with a single microphone in my hand. I could probably get used to the lead singer thing. It's the trying to keep a big, heavy piece of wood strapped around your neck that's a pain in the ass.

Inevitably, as a generation, there will be younger bands that come up and take our place. And where we used to put out compilation CDs and 'zines, they will host download sites and blogs and twitter or text each other about the hot new shit. I just hope they don't forget how to put on a well-produced, well-promoted "show." Those are the memories that I will cherish - the knowing smiles between the bands, the promoters, the bartenders, the sound guys, the light guys, the door guys. When all the pieces work together, these are the people who make it possible to turn a regular "night out" into a night you never forget.

And to the 55 people who understood that and showed up (or didn't quite understand, but showed up anyway), thank you.

More to come,
Joran