Not so long ago, Mill Avenue was the center of the universe for local bands trying to break into the music industry. Almost every band signed out of the Tempe scene in the '90s made it via the conventional route, cutting their teeth in the nightclubs along the strip, winning fans, and forging relationships with other bands.
Courtesy Photo
By any means necessary: Doggass Productions promotes on Mill Ave.
Details
The Best Fucking Live Show is scheduled for Friday, March 20, at Last Exit in Tempe.
Related Content
More About
Other than the newly reopened Sail Inn, downtown Tempe doesn't have music venues anymore. The strip's been colonized by chains (that decline was documented in the film Mill Ave Inc.), and even the headshops seem stressed to be paying the rent in a neighborhood with American Apparel, Urban Outfitters, and a slew of trendy college bars.
Likewise, the industry that bands once toiled to break into has pretty much disintegrated. The major-label model doesn't work anymore. The biggest-selling album of last year came from a guy who made his name circulating free mix tapes on the street — but how is Lil Wayne's marketing plan supposed to work for anyone else? The music industry, it often seems to me, is slipping into anarchy.
And so it is that on a recent Friday night on Mill, people stick their heads in a hole cut in a painting of a dog's ass, posing for pictures while a band called Darkness Dear Boy performs acoustically atop ladders. Around the band, local standup comedians and artists hand out fliers to a show at Last Exit. Some hold protest-style signs that say "Support Local Music," "Support Local Arts," and "Support Local Comedy." A guy named Ted Organ, playing his guitar on the highest ladder, fronts the Tempe-based Darkness Dear Boy, and this demonstration is by his design.
Darkness Dear Boy isn't a particularly gimmicky band — they play the same solid, post-grunge alt-pop you'll hear from Nada Surf or The Eels — but this little happening is one of many stunts Organ has cooked up to promote the band. Here on Mill, scene of the biggest musical triumphs the Valley has seen, he's hoping to help rebuild camaraderie in the scene and, perhaps, find a way to "make it" in the post-label era.
"I think, for every band, it takes a little bit of delusional-ness to think you're going to make it, but even more so if you think someone else is going to do it for you," he says. "This is us completely scratching at every opportunity, knocking at every door."
The fact that DDB is asking people to pose with their head in a dog's ass just shows how far they're willing to take it. It also shows how far the local music scene — and the music industry, for that matter — has fallen. It's not that there aren't great local bands in Phoenix, and it's not that local bands aren't making it. It's that the scene is fractured. There's no strip of nightclubs, so bands are forced to play on musical islands across the Valley, working their niche and marketing themselves online. You can't really blame them — it seems to be what works nowadays.
Look at the two local bands that have received the most national ink in the past year, The Medic Droid and The Maine, Alternative Press cover boys this month. Both bands have relatively small local fan bases, building up their national followings on the Web. The Medic Droid, an electronic duo, played their first gig at New York's Bowery Ballroom before ever booking a local show. The Maine, an indie-lite act with pop sensibilities, has more than 10 million plays of the single "Everything I Ask For" on MySpace, yet they're still playing the Clubhouse. You don't see those guys handing out fliers on Mill or, perish the thought, playing on top of a ladder.
That's the Web for you. I still remember the first time the Internet and music intersected for me: It was 1995 and I was in eighth grade, poring over the liner notes to Radiohead's The Bends when I came across an address for a Radiohead Web site. I'd never been online before but I decided to ask my buddy Richard to pull up http://musicbase.co.uk/music/radiohead (yes, that was the URL of their official Web site — if you have a first edition of The Bends, look it up) on Prodigy. Ironically, 14 years later, the band used the Internet to bypass record labels entirely, staying independent after their contract expired and releasing In Rainbows through radiohead.com.
If going label-less works for Radiohead, I have to think it'll work for other bands. And if there are no labels to impress, why don't more bands rustle up fans the way The Medic Droid did, flexing their marketing muscle online instead of with fliers for tiny local shows? It seems to be the obvious move.
Still, you have to appreciate what Organ wants to do: rebuild the pecking order of the local scene. "Really, what we're trying to do is a resurgence. We want to keep it from going down anymore so we can get it going up. That's what we're doing: Putting the rings on it and trying to pull it up again."