by Marisa Torrieri
It was a gloriously hot, sunny day when I settled into the back seat of our drummer Nick’s family van. We spent hours wading through traffic, but our spirits were high as we listened to music and rattled off names of songs we wanted to cover.
Later that evening, on the small stage in the back room at Otto’s, my absolute favorite hole-in-the-wall Tiki bar, we played a killer set. It felt so good to play again with the first band I’d started since becoming a mom in 2012. It felt even better to be among other musicians, including my “punktry” singer-songwriter friend Rew and Chris Cyanide, a solo bassist who wore these crazy, Mad Max-style masks, who played sets that night.
That night was a phenomenal inauguration for Trashing Violet — me, lead guitarist Anna V., bassist Doug E., and drummer Nick D — and motivated us to work harder. After months of practice and fine-tuning our sound, we finally hit our stride in mid-January, when we played our first gig at Cafe Nine in New Haven. Between January and February 2020, we played four shows, sometimes on back-to-back weeks, and had a few more dates booked for Spring.
Our last live show was on February 29, with Bad Bad Stereo and Chaser 8. Then Covid-19 happened.
One day after my birthday on March 10, my kids were sent home for “distance learning” and everything shut down. Our rehearsal studio shut down. Clubs shut down. Bars shut down. Travel shut down. Sports shut down. For several weeks, hope shut down as I tried to wrap my brain around what I thought would be a temporary setback. It wasn’t.
We’re more than three months into what some people are dubbing “the new normal,” and while I’ve found silver linings in post-coronavirus life, I’m still mourning the life I had in February. My band was on the verge of doing great things. We were talking to producers about recording an album, and getting booked for more shows than we could handle.
My biggest worry was managing our time, so we could stay present for our kids, spouses, and full-time jobs. Now, my biggest worry is staying healthy as I bide my time, hoping to return to the stage one day.
These last few months have tested me in so many ways, and I’ve been adapting pretty well, considering.
I played my first acoustic Facebook Live show on March 25, a date I’d originally reserved for a solo acoustic gig at a sports bar in Milford, Connecticut, put together by Bob D’Aprile. Meanwhile, my friend Rew resurrected her live Rew & Who weekly variety show, which featured some of the greatest interviews and live performances by local musicians. Today, the Internet-based Renegade Rew & Who invites performers to share their creations, open-mic-style, to anyone who’s watching.
Many of these “new normal” happenings are actually awesome. Through my Facebook Live performances, I reached hundreds of friends and fans all over the world. It’s so fun and encouraging to read all of the supportive comments and seeing all of the heart emojis flood my phone screen while I strum my guitar.
Another bonus: I’ve spent more time with my NYC area friends in Zoomland over the last three months than I had in the last three years. In the “before time,” I rarely had the chance to venture into NYC, a four-hour round trip via Metronorth. But this spring, I’ve “met” several new rock n’ roll friends via Zoom. Once we get talking, it’s not unlike having cocktails at a pub in the Lower East Side.
I’m also finding time to learn new things. In May, I bought tons of recording equipment through Sweetwater, including my Focusrite 2i2 and Warm Audio WA-47JR condenser mic. I’ve spent hours tweaking and testing, and watching video tutorials. I’m using GarageBand in new ways to record songs, and my band and I joined ProCollabs.
I’m grateful for all of these silver linings.
But with the super-warm summer months of June and July, my desire to play out again has returned with a vengeance. I’m sick of screens. While I love most Facebook Live shows, I need to be in the presence of others — singing, strumming, and connecting.
So on June 21, I played outside on the street in front of my house in the suburbs, for Make Music Fairfield (part of the Make Music Day festivities held in more than 1,000 cities). As I stood on the edge of my front lawn, playing a heartfelt blues-rock set for my neighbor and her young daughter, people beeped as they drove by, and waved as they strolled along the main road. It felt liberating!
I wanted more.
So last week, on a balmy summer evening, I drove 20 minutes to my drummer’s house to get together with three-quarters of my band. Wearing my light green, cloth face mask, I sung into the microphone like I was on stage at a club, while my two bandmates played along. It was so much fun, playing together again, even though our only audience was Nick’s wife and kids. I felt more alive that night than I had in a long time.
It could be said that there’s little point to playing for one or two neighbors, or practicing in a backyard. What’s the point if only the birds and a few people are listening?
But if I’m not playing, I’m losing a part of myself. Even if we have to wear masks, playing music is essential to my survival (and if you and/or your audience isn’t masked up, we have a problem).
Although Trashing Violet is still scheduled to play a gig on September 5, I don’t know what the future holds. But as Foo Fighters’ David Grohl recently wrote for The Atlantic, live music has to come back. It simply must. My sanity depends on it.
So until we can play real shows again, I’ll make the best of what I have … safely. I’ll go outside, crank up the volume up on the amp and my new PA, slip on my mask and sing. Maybe it’ll sound a little warbled with cotton barrier in front of my mask. And maybe only the bees and insects will enjoy it. In the end, the act of playing live music in spite of impossible circumstances — and with the consideration of others top of mind — just makes me more punk rock. And I’m fine with that!
Marisa Torrieri Bloom is the editor and founder of Rockmommy.