In terms of potential and demand, Georgetown should be destined for a fruitful music scene. This campus is abundant in empty living rooms and basements. A fair share of the student body has diabolical weekend liver habits. And, most importantly, we have plenty of emotionally repressed teenagers who know how to play electric guitar.
So, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why I can count all of the local bands on my left hand, and all of the house shows per semester on my right—and still have several fingers left over to twist my mustache with. But, after three semesters of intensive field research, I have a diagnosis: Our crowds are terrible.
The majority of the student body’s knees are seemingly injured and stiff. I saw more action and hip movement at my great-grand-pappy’s funeral in rural, ultra-conservative German Wisconsin than I did in the front row of one of the best on-campus live musical performances. Many of our lungs must also be wrought with bronchitis, given that my little, microscopic 5-foot-2 self has often been the loudest hooter and hollerer in many of these crowds. Backs must be broken, seeing as no one is willing to throw it back. Even worse, no one seems to know how to back up and make room for any local savior who dares to shake what their momma gave them. You could find more spirit in somebody who has recently undergone an exorcism than I have found in some of these basements.
Thankfully, there are some exceptions to the rule. The crowd at the Dr. Badar Khan Suri Solidarity Concert in February was incredible; the community rallied together with an energy so lively, I left feeling genuinely rejuvenated. And, the following week, Hoyas at Asian American Pacific Islander House’s Hieroglyph show properly released their inhibitions, turning the living room into a gleeful mosh pit. Most notably, sets from the GroupChat at Black House and different hosting living rooms have consistently had some of the most joyful and memorable energy on campus. They—with help from our friends at Howard University—have set the bar for what a phenomenal crowd can look like on campus.
Hope is not lost. Somewhere, embedded deep in the small talk of how many LinkedIn connections one has, is a quiet plea for a music scene that allows the soul to breathe. But if we want a music scene that actually matches the talent on stage, we must be a crowd worth playing for.
There’s a symbiotic relationship between the crowd and the band. The band feeds the hungry souls of the crowd with the rhythm, and the people need to feed the band back with gregarious praise. This is a worship ceremony where your nonchalant, arms-folded posture of self-perceived “coolness” is beyond sacrilegious. You have to bop with it! Lean with it! Even open a pit with it! You just must, for the sake of everything good in this world, dance!
For once in your life, take a break from being serious and academic and just be.
There’s this devastating lie going around that’s eating our society alive like rot. A lot of people believe they “can’t” dance. Nothing could be more untrue. Your body’s most fundamental capability is to have a pulse. And to dance, all you need to do is feel the pulse of the drums and rock your hips to it. What you do from there with your arms and feet is dealer’s choice, but just about anything is acceptable as long as it catches the rhythm. You can also listen for the loudest, most consistent sounds—like a snare drum or a bass—and tap your feet, nod your head, or sway your body back and forth. The most important thing is that you move—and when you do, move to the beat.
It is especially important that you dance if you’re in the front row. The front row is the first line of contact the band has with the crowd, and the most influential on their psyche. A front row that stands stagnant and serious will drain the life from the band and kill the energy of the rest of the crowd. A front row that screams their heads off and jumps around will give more life to the room than any amount of liquid courage could. That being said, the rest of the crowd must give the front some room. And prepare to get bumped into if you’re up near the band.
Aside from dancing, it’s vital that the crowd listens to the band. Cramped living rooms and basements get very loud very quickly. If people aren’t able to contain their small talk when the mic pops on, the concert becomes nothing more than a house party where the most magical guests in attendance are being ignored. Hoyas, we must contain our vanity and silence our mouths when short stuff with the guitar starts shredding. You are going to miss the most important thing that will ever happen in front of you. You will miss this rare glimpse at the most raw manifestation of the human soul’s glory and beauty. You must pipe down. You must listen to that boy shred.
After the band has given the night’s sermon and your ears are ringing, the most important thing you must do as a good crowd member is talk to the people around you. Talk to the band, talk to the strangers you danced with. And, soon enough, after enough shows and sweaty basements endured together, the crowd becomes your community, and you’ll wonder why you weren’t dancing together in the first place.
