Mates. Who needs 'em?

I went to see I, Thalamus at the Dublin Castle in Camden on Friday night. My good friend Dove Jones was sitting in on keyboards. Now for those of you who didn't know, I first booked I, Thalamus at the Dublin Castle for a Rock-Til-You-Drop night. They pulled a good crowd that night and consequently the venue's own promoters Bugbear offered them a weekend slot.

I, Thalamus were headlining on Friday night - for what that slot is worth these days - it certainly isn't anything prestigious, as you may have picked up from my previous blogs on the subject. It is a warm night and the pub is busy inside and out when I arrive. I chat to the band and miss the first act on, but catch the end of the second act - a singer/songwriter/guitarist. Nothing special. Can't really hear him over the talking. But he has a lot of mates.

The band that follow him are 'landfill indie'. Tight jeans. T-shirts. No charisma. Shoe-gazers and boring. So fucking boring. They have loads of mates too. It doesn't matter that they talk all the way through the set. When they finish, as is always the way at the Dublin, they all file out of the live area into the bar, never to be seen again.

It's in this half-emptied room, that I, Thalamus take to the stage. Grant Gordon who has recently lost his father and his rehearsal studio is clearly honouring a booking and not really in the mood. The band, who have had their usual one pre-gig rehearsal move through a familiar set, with the addition of a cover of Green Day's When September Ends. I could imagine this version being a bonus track on the Waterboys' Fisherman's Blues album. Anyway, they alternate up and down tempo songs and a few of the females in the audience show their appreciation with a little jig here and there. The visual highlight comes when Dove Jones recovers spectacularly with a bit of a 'Keith Emerson', after his keyboard falls off the stand and hits the deck.

Unlike the youngsters, I, Thalamus can't rely on their mates to come out and see them any more. Sure, occasionally, they will come out. But not every time. But while their audience need not be older, their mailing list probably is.

Many of these people will not continue to support live music at this level once they reach marriage and parenthood. Some might. But not many. That's for sure. Why? Because many of them aren't there for the music. They're there for the atmosphere and because their mate's mate is playing. Which is fine. The more the merrier. But these aren't loyal supporters. They will not still be coming to see the band in 5 years time. Unless they're playing Brixton Academy.

What we need to do then, is get some of these late-20s/30-somethings on our mailing lists. Maybe a trendy pub like The Libertine is a place to begin picking up some younger support?