Live rock and roll clubs have been closing down all over the country the last few years, and there's a very good and simple reason for it: there really isn't much demand for live music anymore. Bands are breaking up right and left, and even long-time road dogs accustomed to making a decent living from their chops are hanging up their touring spurs in favor of playing for dwindling crowds in small local dumps that pay squat. Guys whose primary ambition in life was always just to be able to proudly say the golden words "I'm a professional musician" when asked about what they do for a living are now ruefully searching the want ads for any kind of paying gig they can get. I do not mean "gig" the way it's usually meant, either. I mean: "shit job."

Don't even think of arguing, because I've lived it myself; I'm living it right now, in fact. And I'm more fortunate than many, in that I do have at least a bare modicum of other marketable skills. I'll stop before I start sounding even more like a curmudgeonly old stick in the mud than I already do. But it does make me sad.

And I'm not really assigning all the blame to anybody or any particular thing here, either; times do change, after all, and there's more than one reason for live music going the way of Al Gore's political career. But if you value your virgin ears, do NOT attempt to engage me in conversation about how great the latest, hottest CD from the rapper or turntable jockey of the week is. You will not like what I have to say on the subject, I assure you.