Bands from all over the country play basement shows in New Brunswick and the tri-state area but what are the chances that any of these bands will ever see the lights of big venues? These days the music industry is shrinking as more and more people turn to online streaming of music. As the industry faces new challenges, changing music technology and social media develop new means to connect to fans, that even the basement crawlers can manipulate; today’s bands might not even need a record label at all. I’m going to attempt to explain what tomorrow’s music world will look like for all types of basement dwellers.
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New Brunswick, New Jersey is a city with a population of just under 60,000. Yet the contributions this city has made to the fabric of America are undeniable: from sporting achievements like hosting the first ever game of American football in 1869, to springboarding actors into Broadway and Hollywood stardom, to countless healthcare achievements with the city being home to the corporate headquarters of several pharmaceutical companies. However, what often sticks out the most is the city’s nightlife, which has completely transformed in the past forty years due to urban redevelopment. This has turned a city that was blighted and decaying in the mid-1970s to being named the third most exciting small city in the United States by USA Today. A big part of New Brunswick’s nightlife is its thriving music scene, whether it be from national acts playing at the State Theatre, local acts playing at the historic Court Tavern, or from an underground music scene that keeps on going. And by underground, I mean this in both the figurative AND literal sense of the word, turning to semi-legal concerts in residential basements.
By: Lindsay Haddox
New Brunswick, a place where you can go to four bars less then half a mile within one another, home of the fat sandwich, brilliant kids earning a great education at Rutgers, a booming city. What is New Brunswick to me though? A place to find some of the raddest underground music out there. The other day, my friend Sara and some of the other girls were talking about their favorite country music artists. I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Though I can appreciate the music, it’s not my taste. Instead, I sat around and stared at the white walls in my office. There were no marks, not a single hole, no finger prints, not one trace of dirt. How boring. The bleakness of that pristine wall felt like a parallel to my life.
By: Chelsea Pineda
It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon when I venture down the narrow, concrete steps that lead into New Brunswick’s sole vinyl record store. Raindrops are hitting the pavement and cars whir by at the intersection of Somerset and Easton as the stairway leads me past the gold lettering of the sign that reads, “Spina Records || Vinyl Antiques Vintage.” I’m stopped at a door donning a vinyl record with the word “OPEN” hand-painted in red and yellow paint. I take the cue from the circular sign and open the door, stepping into the shop. Closing the entrance behind me, I am instantly immersed into this stormless musical refuge – a place completely opposite of the bustling world outside of it. By: Erica Szkola
Traffic was always the worst in the summer…the sweltering heat, with dozens of people impatiently honking their horns, although ultimately it would do nothing. Even worse was sitting in this sauna of a car with an air conditioner that had never blown out cold air, trying to pass the time. We switched through the radio stations, which as per usual, were either playing the same few songs or an abyss of never-ending commercials. Finally, we landed on a station that was playing “I Gotta Get Through This,” an old Daniel Bedingfield song I remember listening to as a kid. “Throwback!” my friend Jessie yelled, as she turned the music up. There was something different about this song, another remix perhaps. But before we knew it, the bass dropped and we were having our own mini dance party in the car. The people parked in the standstill traffic next to us, seemingly amused, looked over in confusion. Halfway through the track, a voice over was heard saying, “You’re in the mix with DJ Hook.” Jessie and I paused, mid dance and stared at each other in shock. “Michael?” By Zari Haynes-Prescott
To many, choosing to dedicate your life’s work to music in this day and age seems somewhat foolish. It’s difficult to blame people for thinking that way since stories are written every day about the ongoing turmoil facing the music industry. Streaming music services are on the rise, but most musicians are continuously underpaid, while labels reap whatever benefits they can get their hands on. The artistic population is growing exponentially as a result of the fall of record label gatekeepers and the rise of the internet. While it’s great that anyone can release an album and express themselves, it’s difficult for talented new artists to make a dent in the cultural zeitgeist. Keith Lalley, Connor Babos, Rachel Horner, and Alexander Minter, four Mason Gross School of the Arts music majors, gave a rare glimpse into the musings and motivations of the modern collegiate music student. A large rift has come to exist between various student groups on the Rutgers campus in New Brunswick. Organizations like Hillel and Students for Justice in Palestine are often at odds with one another over the deep-rooted Israeli-Palestinian conflict in the Middle East. Even in my music journalism class, a passionate debate erupted over Middle Eastern politics. As this turmoil continues to unfold in a land so far from our own, it is difficult to come together with a fruitful solution on the matter. The power of music, however cannot be understated. Music possesses the capability to bring people of multiple different backgrounds together in a united and harmonious capacity. The Rutgers University Student Peacemakers demonstrated this on April 24 with the first annual Concert for Peace, taking place at Bishop Beach on College Avenue, with all proceeds benefitting the Syrian Children’s Relief Fund. By Branden Steinagle
NEW BRUNSWICK, NJ Apr. 2 - Basement shows are nothing new to the residents of New Brunswick, as they have been a staple in the community since the 1980’s, often considered an essential experience for any local music lover, Rutgers student or otherwise. In a city divided by social class, the renowned basement scene has become a Mecca of sorts for punk rock bands and fans alike. The literally underground society of musicians, with its bizarre venue nicknames (The Catnip Castle, Cooler Ranch, etc.), hidden addresses, and misinformation to throw off police has a legacy beyond The Bouncing Souls or Screaming Females. It has a reputation to maintain, as perhaps the last true refuge for punks on the east coast. Maxwell’s has closed, and New York City has been overtaken by hipsters and Strokes-copycats, making the basements of New Brunswick one of the only places left to celebrate live music with good buddies and even better bud. The local Alpha chapter of the Phi Delta Theta fraternity decided to shake up the scene by hosting a philanthropy event called “Phi-Stock” at their house (with a real address) on April 2nd, perhaps the first publicized basement show in New Brunswick’s history. As a Rutgers student I’ve been a witness to the many talents of this city. As a Rutgers student, I’d have to be living under a rock not to. Though such exposure is nearly inevitable in this town, I had even caught word of the music scene in New Brunswick in my high school years. From playing shows at the Court Tavern to seeing a friend’s band at the Old Bay, somehow being involved in music in this area always meant winding up wandering the streets of the Hub City, where the music and culture flourished and the artists seemed to flock. Though bars and art galleries have always been catalysts of creativity in this town, there was always a buzz in the background, or underground, more appropriately, that I was more interested in getting to know. This buzz, or hum, of raw music was the sound of the basement scene in New Brunswick, a scene with a strong past, but an even stronger present.
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AuthorErin Walsh is a journalism and media studies major at Rutgers University. She plays music and loves Circa Survive, the Front Bottoms, and plenty more awesome music. ArchivesCategories |