The Collective: an Ode!
It is scientifically proven that the member of the indie collective is a good person. He’s not in it for the money; imagine splitting all profits between twelve starving musicians. He’s not in it for the glory; in most cases, it’s hard to pick one of them out of a lineup. He’s simply a virtuoso who glides in and out of the cohesive cloud of creativity whenever he deems worthy, discerning enough to even opt out of projects in his own band. He plays the banjo on one song, and in the next he’s pounding it out on the drums. You might say we here at Elitist Hipster Snob are members of a writing collective: wildly creative, hurtfully brilliant, and humble.
The members who do stand out in a collective are four times more special than someone who stands out in a three piece. He is four times more special than a typical rock star; imagine how many lightyears cooler than you he is. Onstage, with the winds blowing and the lights spiking blue silouettes behind him and his eleven band mates, he is a glorification of the un-worshipped, begging the question, is it vanity or comraderie that creates onstage magic?
(Andy from Everything Absent or Distorted. Photo by 28 Deep.)
The lamen, thinking only of Mick Jagger and his rooster strut might bark the former inspires the most wicked of onstage pleasures. But the musician, after all, has at least a little bit of "normal people," peasant blood in him. He’s only human. You, sir: do you feel more at ease galavanting onstage like a lunatic alone, or with eleven other people? One might say that the members of the indie collective are more enabled to put on a good show, hop around like a monkey, lose their shit like a teenage girl screaming along at a Justin concert. There’s a psychology of the masses, and it says this: even the most idiotic of ideas can gather exponential rushes of gathering energy behind them, which grow and grow into a spasmadic explosion of bliss; imagine what happens with a good idea. The highs are higher, the sads are sadder, and we feel littler and insignificanter.
Top reasons to book a collective to play your party:
*Sheer numbers. Imagine if each member of the collective mentions the gig in passing to one person. That’s already a crowd of twelve, besides you.
*Sheer sex appeal. Put twelve young men who can do amazing things with their fingers on multiple instruments onstage, and you’ll likely end up with at least twenty-four smitten girls. Have twenty-four smitten girls at your party, and you’ll likely attract eighty-six horny boys.
(a dancer at the EAOD 6.23.07 Bluebird show. Photo by Nina Barry)
*If half the band gets sick, you still have more than a band left.
*Buy in bulk. More bang for your buck.
Check out our favorite collective, Everything Absent or Distorted, at our Bastille Day Party July 14th at Meadowlark Bar. They’re playing with the opposite of a collective: the biggest dance party of a one-man-band this side of Colfax: the Chain Gang of 1974.