I was sixteen when I went to my first concert. It was a four-person jam band called Uncle Sammy whose two albums I’d been listening to nonstop on CD, and I jumped at the chance to see them live. The show was at Milly’s bar in Manchester, New Hampshire, and my friend had to email the owner asking special permission to get in because we weren’t 21 yet. We had to make a bunch of promises not to drink, but we did get some good nachos.
Uncle Sammy was a local band out of Massachusetts who played at bars and smaller shows around New England and at the time had put out two live albums on indie labels. To us, though, they may as well have been a huge platinum-selling group.
The band was pretty flattered that we’d gone through all the trouble of contacting the bar owner to see the show, and made a point of introducing themselves beforehand. They also talked to us during intermission, and the bass player, Brian O’Connell, gave me a hug when we said goodbye.
Looking back, it was really nice to have that kind of personal interaction with a band we were genuinely excited to see, and who was genuinely excited to see us back. I’ve been to countless other shows since then and had the chance to meet other bands, but none were quite as meaningful as that first one.
Genuine Interaction is Something Independent Artists Can Offer But Bigger Artists Often Can’t
If Uncle Sammy had been a platinum-selling supergroup that played sold-out stadium shows, we never would have gotten to meet them the way we did. I was already a big fan, but the band earned even more of my support after that—I went on to see them three more times, buy their third and final album, and paste their band stickers on my notebooks and college dorm fridge. The experience of actually meeting and talking with them had made all the difference.
If you’re an independent artist or creative person of any kind, consider ways that you too can create genuine, positive interactions with people who enjoy your work. This could take the form of meeting people in-person and talking to them in a real way, but it could also be as simple as interacting with them Twitter or replying to their emails. The point is to create experiences, big or small, that are enjoyable for both you and the other person.
I bring up music specifically because I saw these kinds of interactions happening a lot at the smaller shows I used to go to, where you could literally walk up to one of the band members at the bar and start a conversation. It usually didn’t take much for me to make eye contact and tell them I enjoyed the show, and the band member was always flattered to know that I’d taken the time to comment. Sometimes that would be the end of it, but sometimes I was able to have longer conversations. This was the culture of the small venue scene, where these interactions were common and both the artists and the fans were comfortable with them.
I think artists in a lot of other fields (including writing!) can learn a lot from local music culture, and can integrate meaningful interactions into how they promote themselves and their work. Remember that self-promotion doesn’t have to be about selling out or shamelessly hocking your wares, but is instead about sharing something cool you’ve done with people who are already interested in it, or who might be interested if they’re exposed to it. If done right, that process can be fun and personal for everyone involved.
Bottom line: Whether you’re talking to people in person or online, make real interactions happen.
Small Concerts Also Have an Active Merch Table Scene
The other big thing I learned from going to shows was how smaller bands promote their music and bring in money through merch tables. If you’re not familiar with merch tables, nearly every bar or venue has a small table in the back or on one side where bands can sell albums, t-shirts, stickers, posters, and other stuff with their name and artwork on it. There’s also usually a mailing list, social media links, and the usual ways to keep in touch. For me, checking out the merch table is a standard part of any show, even if I’m short on cash or only mildly interested in the band. I’m already there, so why not at least have a look?
At bigger shows the people manning these tables are just paid employees, but at smaller shows it’s usually one or more of the band members themselves, so buying merch means another chance to meet the band in-person. In other cases the person behind the table is one of the band’s good friends who knows their music inside and out—these people are usually equally cool to talk to and have interesting stories of their own.
I mention merch table culture because it’s an essential part of how these shows work. The bands don’t feel awkward about promoting themselves or making money through merch, and the fans appreciate a chance to take home a memento or physical recording of an artist they’re interested in, especially when it’s coming from the band itself and not some corporate distributor.
I’ve seen similar merch table scenes at other events, one of the best being an indie poetry reading I went to in Omaha featuring my friend Paul Hanson Clark. There were upwards of fifty people in the audience, and all three poets told personal stories that made the reading feel intimate and fun. Each poet also had a small merch table set up on the sidelines where they hung out after their readings, and where fans could buy their independently released books. Once again, the poets felt no shame in promoting themselves or selling their work—the merch tables were an opportunity for people who enjoyed the reading to get something extra, either a physical book they paid money for, or a quick conversation.
Selling Your Stuff Won’t Feel Like Selling Out if You Make It Genuine
I put what I’d learned from the concert and poetry scenes into action when I held my first bookstore reading back in August. Before the show I set up a small table where people could buy my chapbook, my Erochikan zines, and the latest edition of the New Hampshire Writers’ Anthology. I then made sure to stand nearby after the reading so people could talk to me. A few even asked me to sign their books, which felt really, really good. I also left my social media links up on the projector screen so people who wanted to could follow me. People bought books, I had a lot of great conversations, and none of it felt like selling out.
I think creative people in just about any field can learn something from the small-time merch table scene—it’s certainly worked for me, and I’m sure you can find ways to make it work for you, too.