Now and again, a smattering of rather idealistic or sentimental posts flutter across my Instagram feed. They tend to ruminate on the joys and sorrows of participating in the DIY music scene of Columbia, its foibles, setbacks and horrors, the opportunistic trends of mid-size city creativity, yet they mostly focus on the triumphs of community and unity in its cyclical trance-like dance around the Art (capitalization intended).
I’ve observed that these posts typically reflect on how “we” as participants in a subculture around the local music scene have poured blood/tears/gallons of sweat equity into work that has an inevitably short lifespan or even falls unrecognized to the wayside, disregarded by Columbia-at-large.
My growing affinity for this community of creative ponderers evolved over the past four years since returning to the city full time; despite bouncing around for the previous 15 years, I’ve always thought of Columbia as home.
The relationship I have with Columbia’s music scene started with a lot of enthusiasm and naïveté. Over time, I’ve come to understand it as a network of shape-shifting players who, despite false starts and the occasional fallings-out, serve to “push the envelope” of an underground world of possibility a little further.
Self-portrait of Eden Prime, Free Times Contributing Editor.
With each new venue (DIY or otherwise) that pops up and fades away, I’ve seen another little wave of hope on the horizon — a hope that there is a legacy here and that we aren’t just working on all this for nothing …
It sounds silly to say, “I’ve always loved music.”
Although, there hasn’t been a day in my life when I didn’t hum or mumble a tune, didn’t listen to something new and vividly daydream music videos in my head or make up new lyrics to instrumentation I’m familiar with. I, of course, wrote my own melodies in fits and starts as a teenager, and I was always, always listening.
My parents ensured that I got bottle-fed by the 1994 albums “Swamp Ophelia” (Indigo Girls) and “Cracked Rear View” (Hootie and the Blowfish). I learned the merit of Southern songwriters and the impact they could make on the industry, long before Darius Rucker turned his gaze to solo country releases.
At the age of 4, I ended up at the Grand Ole Opry for a rather historic moment in country music history — Josh Turner’s Opry debut in 2001 where (according to my tiny kid-brain memory) there were multiple, minutes-long standing ovations after he performed “Long Black Train” at the end of his set and again as an encore.
I refused to sit still in church as a kid and could often be found breaking it down to “Amazing Grace” in the aisle, even if it wasn’t the peppier version my dad coined. I hated piano lessons and ended up teaching myself guitar because dad was terrible at teaching the things that felt natural to him — I have inherited that propensity.
I remember my first arena show and leaving halfway through to go have a panic attack in the hall; my friends couldn’t find me for an hour and were pretty upset — this was back when I had a flip phone (that sweet blue Samsung Intensity II), and of course it was on silent and I wasn’t checking it because I was HAVING A PANIC ATTACK …
When I lived in South Florida, I snuck into a music festival during finals week with my roommate and got to hear Macklemore perform “Thrift Shop,” of all things. I remember the exhilaration of breaking the rules and feeling the energy wash over me while dangling from a chain-link fence, barefoot and out of breath.
It wasn’t until after college and moving back to Columbia in December 2020 that music became really intimate for me. I think my first show after returning was a house show in August 2021 … at a house that has since been demolished on River Drive, near the first house I remember living in as a kid.
I don’t even remember who played that night, I just remember thinking “this is actually kind of cool” — I went to a handful of shows at Art Bar and New Brookland Tavern (State Street location) around that time too, and I recall being surprised that I was actually having a good time.
I got bit by a hyperfixation bug in early 2022 and got a new mirrorless camera. Photography has always been one of my preferred art forms, but in this instance it was a “right place, right time” situation, and I ended up taking it to NBT with me for a show, somewhat last-minute and somehow ended up taking some of my favorite photos I’ve ever produced. The band was a Belgian shoegaze act called Slow Crush. I don’t know how Carlin (Thompson) got them, but I’m so glad he did.
It was surreal — I felt like I’d stepped into another universe, lured in by the muse, by the art that was possessed and mastered by the people in front of me. A month or so after that, I remember emailing a few of the photos I took that night and my resume to David Clarey, the then-Free Times managing editor, and I started covering music as a freelancer.
Slow Crush at New Brookland Tavern, April 2022 in Columbia.
My observations of Columbia compile over layers of deep affection for the space, for this home, coated and wadded up with some feelings of disdain for the avarice of more politically minded folks, as well as a possessive adoration of the possibilities that have a tendency to spring forth from the cracks between the bricks.
Another trend I’ve observed is that these efforts toward constructing a space for everyone to create and explore their art are never “for nothing.” Even at shows where literally every tiny thing that could go wrong does go wrong, somebody still walks away with a smile and a sense that they’re a part of something. To me, that’s what matters the most.
We are all here, making art, pushing each other, learning, piecing things together with duct tape and shoestrings, holding our teeth just right and hoping it works out this time. And somehow it does (mostly) work! And we do it again the next week, because it worked!
I am at all times balancing a sense of frustration with the limitations of being a Southerner and an artist in tandem with my intrinsic desire to repossess my home and orient it toward systemic self-improvement. My goal, now as contributing editor for arts & culture at the Free Times, is to continue documenting what works (and what doesn’t) in a way that sheds light on the vibrant impetus of it all:
Y’all brilliant, beautiful people.
