SHARING THE SHOWS
As I type this, I’m listening to the Lettuce show on December 31, 2017 at the Brooklyn Bowl. This show permeated the speakers in my office on the evening October 31, 2018, ten months after the show.
That night’s a significant one. I had been spending the last month organizing the prior four years of the work I’d done as a college professor in Virginia into a huge binder and writing a narrative explaining why all that work entitled me to a promotion from Assistant Professor to Associate Professor. I didn’t think I was even close to qualifying, so my first draft of the portfolio (which was required) was a sloppy binder with about eight pages. My chairperson at the time didn’t accept this and insisted that I put in a real effort. I had done the work; why not reap the reward? After a lot of hesitation, I decided I had nothing to lose. That night, I had finally organized it the way I wanted, and it was time to place little sticky notes with typed page numbers on the sheet protectors that housed my work. A real pain in the butt, but the powers that be required it. It was 10 at night, I had spent a few weekends and late nights prior printing out documents, organizing them, collecting letters of recommendation, and fighting the onslaught of anxiety. And that’s where music comes in. The transition from the cocoon of graduate school to the tenure-track was a challenge. Expectations were lofty, and I wasn’t quite used to the conservative, genteel nature of the South. But I had made some new friends who were into the music that I had listened to before I decided to stop going to “those shows” and become an academic. About two months into my newfound residency in Virginia, a neighbor I knew as “Plumber Dave” invited me to an Allman Brothers tribute band called Skydog at a nearby bar/grill called Hoss’s Deli. Just like with my chair, after some hesitation, he kept doing the “come on” until I relented. I’m glad I did. It was there that I met the folks who would be my friends/show buddies for the next several years: Maggie, Mark, Gary, and through Mark, I met Drew. And through the shows, I’ve met others (Pete, John, Charles, Mark, Jaclyn, Bob, Amy, Shana, and well, lots of other good people). It was slow going. There were some sporadic trips I took with Mark: DSO at the Paramount, Widespread Panic at the Altria, Andres Osborne at the Jefferson. Then, during my second year at Hampton, I took weekly trips with Maggie and her/our friend Russell to see Blind and Dirty at various venues in Williamsburg. Then another Panic show with Drew and Mark. Then another. Then another. Then there was Phish in Philly with Drew and Scott. Then String Cheese with Mark, Drew, and Maggie in Portsmouth. That was the night my car got towed from the parking lot at Mark’s apartment complex. Bummed was what I was, but singing “Contact” helped. Then more local shows. Then Phish’s four-night run at Madison Square Garden to close out 2016 (hence where the title of this blog comes from). And then, well, more shows. By day, I lived the academic life. Teaching, leading teams and committees, developing my research interest in Singles Studies. I planned lessons, researched, wrote, and did all that paperwork they don’t show on television, and it could be stressful. But I often had the music from the likes of the Grateful Dead and all its offshoots and tributes (Dead & Company, JRAD, DSO), Phish, Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident, and countless other acts/genres, playing as I worked. And by night, I was grooving out. And going to those shows would help me get a perspective on life. Hearing the music, dancing, joking around with friends (“Special Guest!”), high-fiving and fist-bumping strangers, all those things would help me stay in balance. As Mark Hannah stated to a young Jordan Belfort upon his entry into the world of high finance in The Wolf of Wall Street, “You gotta stay relaxed.” Music’s done that for me, much healthier than the strategies employed by the brokers in that flick. And low and behold, on May 1, 2019, I got the letter congratulating me on my promotion. The Lettuce show helped me get through that late night. Cut to 2021. I’d gotten promoted, but tenure was pretty impossible to come by. Luckily, I’d gotten a wonderful opportunity at my current school in Washington, DC. I’d go in at the rank of Associate Professor and I’d have a shortened tenure clock (I’d go up for it after two years, whereas most would need to put in four). I had a successful first year, but I had moved during lockdown. It was hard to build personal connections, and I’d grown burned out from teaching to video screens. I was in love with my current school, so my stress around tenure was way higher than that during my time in Virginia. The car accident I had at the B Chord (10/11/20) had also caused some trauma around driving, so my anxiety was at a peak, so much that I had been prescribed a medication to help me sleep. It did the job 98% of the time, but the groggy feeling I had the next day sucked. I’d learned about a local Dead cover band called Better Off Dead playing at the Pearl Street Warehouse one Saturday night (7/28/21). Once they started playing and I began grooving, a familiar feeling of bliss permeated my body. I hadn’t felt this since before the accident. I met a cool guy named John that night, and chatted casually with other Deadheads. The subway ride home was fun. And that night, I slept very well without the medication. Over the next several months, the shows came back. I met Pete on 10/1/21 at Masala Art, an Indian restaurant near the Anthem. He and I have done several shows in the past year and a half, and he’s turned me onto some good acts. As I went to more shows, my work stayed solid, but my anxiety around tenure decreased. This past January, going to shows was starting to feel like a job, so I underwent a 40-day fast from shows, which was wonderful for my spirit. I have some shows planned, but I’m being more judicious about them. So what’s the point? On June 8, 2023, the Board of Trustees at my school announced that I had gotten tenure. I’d been grinding away for the past several years toward this goal, and it happened. And while many people stereotype Deadheads, Phishheads, and fans of other jam bands as lazy, drug-addled burnouts, that stereotype couldn’t be further from the truth in my case. I worked my ass off for tenure (a rare feat in higher education these days), and the music has provided the soundtrack. So now what? I hope to stay in DC for years and years, and while I imagine my life will change quite a bit (I have been cutting down on the shows, and I plan to buy a home in the near future), I don’t see the music going away. It’s helped me get to where I am so far (knock on wood), so the way I see it, why mess with a good thing? And it’s not just the music; it’s the people. Everybody I mentioned here has played a role in helping me get to tenure. And it’s been great. On a deeper level, there’s some existential anxiety. I’ve been a nomad for the past thirteen years, as many of us in higher education are. So while I’ve developed connections to the areas I’ve lived in, I’ve always felt as if I’m eventually going to exit. Now, I’m committed to the DMV, and it’s a scary thing to think about. But I know I’ll roll with it, and the music and the friendships will be there as I do.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
May 2024
Categories |