True Believer
Despite being in the middle of the afternoon, the room was cloaked in darkness. Stage lights glared down in my eyes as we nervously set up our equipment before the murmuring crowd. I was jittery and nervous as my girlfriend and I double-checked our equipment and prepared to play. It was a surreal experience, and even though I’m a little fuzzy on the year, probably somewhere around 1994, the one thing I will never forget is precisely how that stage smelled. That smell, reeking of stale beer, was something I would become intimately familiar with for the next three years of my life.
At the time, I was in a band called Julia Stone. It was a noise rock duo with a distinctly nineties sound that was the brainchild of my girlfriend. To that date, we had only played one show, opening for my brother’s band in a small North Carolina town. But this was different. This afternoon, we found ourselves on a “Ripple Show.” For those who don’t know, at the time, the Ripple Show was a prerequisite to being able to play The Milestone Club. All you had to do to be on a Ripple Show was be able to sell fifty tickets and be willing to play for free. After that, you would get a guaranteed paying gig at the Milestone Club. Yes, it was exploitive on the part of Bill Flowers, owner of the Milestone, but it was the nineties, and we were young. Also, we really wanted a show in Charlotte. The problem was that the Milestone was in a bit of a decline at the time, and the monthly Ripple Show was the only thing on their calendar.
To make matters worse, the sound guy hadn’t shown up for the show. Because of that, I, as well as a few other musicians, were taking turns working sound for one another. Now, you may think this was a disastrous first gig. But you would be wrong. This not only ended up being a good show and learning experience, but it was the beginning of my several-year relationship with the Milestone Club.
A few weeks later, I showed up to watch my brother’s band, The Sludge Nymphs, play. Once again, they needed a sound engineer, so I filled in. This happened several times over the next few months until the owner asked if I wanted a job. I accepted the offer and began running sound. It wasn’t a bad gig, and I got to watch bands. The problem was the previously mentioned decline. As it stood, The Milestone only had three shows per month. If I wanted to make more money, there needed to be more shows. So I approached Bill about letting me do some booking. He was thrilled to have help. But, I learned I had my work cut out for me. The Milestone’s reputation at the time meant that most established Charlotte bands wouldn’t play the Club. If we wanted a scene, we would have to build our own.
The first six months were a rough learning process. Not having access to most established bands meant we had to look elsewhere. With the help of my friend Chris Peigler of My So-Called Band, a band I would later join, we set out looking for hidden gems. Fast forward a year, and we were booked for at least two shows every weekend. When it got too hot during the Summer, Bill agreed to let me throw a festival, and if we raised enough money, he agreed to buy an HVAC for the Club. The festival was a sell-out, and soon, the Club had a fully functioning HVAC, meaning we didn’t have to freeze during the Winter shows or melt during the Summer ones. Bands such as Spite, Ihafwhohas, 17 Dead, The Sluggs, Black Plastic, and It Could Be Nothing threw killer shows, alongside Nationals and Regionals such as Acid Bath and Kilgore Smudge. I even talked Jason Herring of Latino Chrome into throwing a swanky party/concert at the Milestone Club. It was a good time. But how had we been able to create that scene out of nowhere? How had we been able to build our audience?
The experience of getting the management of the Milestone Club dumped in my lap taught me how to use skills that I had already picked up but had not perfected. Before that first show at the Milestone, I had already worked hard to build a following for Julia Stone, my solo music, and the Sludge Nymphs. I spent long nights at Kinkos perfecting cassette covers for our releases and then longer hours talking to all the music store owners to persuade them to carry them. When we had shows, we all spent countless hours distributing flyers and handing them out at shows. I didn’t know it then, but there was a phrase to describe this art form. It was DIY, or Do It Yourself.
DIY literally means what it says, you do everything yourself. There is no marketing manager, booking agent, cover designer, or recording engineer. You wear all those hats and any other hat you need. As I mentioned, I had done all that before, but working at the Milestone elevated all my skills a thousand-fold. But don’t misunderstand, even though it’s called “Do It Yourself,” I didn’t do it alone. An entire family of people helped me. But none of us were professionals at what we did. We just had a passion and worked for it. That work paid off, resulting in a music scene we loved dearly.
Eventually, I left the Milestone Club, and in 1998, I joined my friend Chris Peigler’s group, My So-Called Band. At the time, they were on an Independent Record Label, Yesha Records. It was the equivalent of a Small Press book publisher. They paid for our studio time, put out our recordings, booked the shows, and managed us while we did most of the promotion ourselves. But as fate would have it, Yesha Records went out of business in 1999, and we found ourselves without a record label. Instead of shopping our records around, we flexed our DIY muscle again, creating our own record label, the very “punk rock” named Suicide Watch Records. During this time, we each took on specific responsibilities to work together and get the label off the ground. By the end of my run with My So-Called Band, we had all worked together to release two My So-Called Band releases and several compilation records. We also put together a series of showcase shows for the bands on our compilations, allowing us to pair unknown out-of-town bands with more established bands to help build awareness.
In 2005, I quit the band and moved to the suburbs to enjoy what would soon become marital bliss. However, two years later, I got restless and started an online zine for the Charlotte Music Scene called “Still Not Dead.” Before you knew it, I rounded up a group of friends, including Chris Peigler, who were willing to write and cover shows. We had a blast for the next four years, putting out weekly updates about shows, reviewing bands, and throwing our own concerts. The DIY skills I had learned earlier in life had become second nature. It was a lot of work, but it was also some of the best times of my life.
Those days are behind me now, but I’m surprised at how my experiences working in the musical underbelly of Charlotte, NC, prepared me for my life as a self-published author. You see, I very much view being a self-published author as the same as being an independent musician. In both cases, you advocate for yourself while expressing your art form. When you’re a self-published author, you must delegate whether to outsource the cover, editing, or formatting. You also have to continuously market your books, which could be considered a full-time job by itself. It is the proverbial definition of wearing all the hats. And that’s not to complain; I merely wanted to point out that it isn’t for everyone. While the work is continuous and challenging, it can also be very gratifying.
Sometimes, I think about how surreal it is that that afternoon on that stage, under those lights with that unmistakable smell of stale beer reeking out of the thin carpeting beneath our feet, would lead to me learning life lessons that I’m still using today. I owe a debt to The “World Famous” Milestone Club, a place that has somehow remained indelibly linked to me. No matter how far away I’ve moved, the “Ghetto Fortress” has remained part of my essence. Given history and Charlotte’s habit of erasing its own, I fear the day may come that The Milestone Club will go the way of The 1313, Park Elevator, Jeremiahs, Rocky’s, The Church of Musical Awareness, Aardvark’s, The Double Door Inn, Tremont Music Hall, and several other places I’m sure I’m forgetting. If that happens, Charlotte will lose an essential source of self-expression, both musical and otherwise. A sonic temple where there is no wrong, no right, no up, and no down, where you are free to be yourself. But also a place where you can learn life lessons that will help you carry through this world. A Buddhist temple hiding behind graffitied walls, ready to show you the proper path. I hope that day never comes. The Milestone has dodged the bullet repeatedly, but time is relentless. Someday, it may fall, but for now, The Ghetto Fortress remains, standing stubbornly against the tides of time and gentrified progress. A living monument to the power of DIY. And I should know, I’m a true believer.
– Ryan
To make matters worse, the sound guy hadn’t shown up for the show. Because of that, I, as well as a few other musicians, were taking turns working sound for one another. Now, you may think this was a disastrous first gig. But you would be wrong. This not only ended up being a good show and learning experience, but it was the beginning of my several-year relationship with the Milestone Club.
A few weeks later, I showed up to watch my brother’s band, The Sludge Nymphs, play. Once again, they needed a sound engineer, so I filled in. This happened several times over the next few months until the owner asked if I wanted a job. I accepted the offer and began running sound. It wasn’t a bad gig, and I got to watch bands. The problem was the previously mentioned decline. As it stood, The Milestone only had three shows per month. If I wanted to make more money, there needed to be more shows. So I approached Bill about letting me do some booking. He was thrilled to have help. But, I learned I had my work cut out for me. The Milestone’s reputation at the time meant that most established Charlotte bands wouldn’t play the Club. If we wanted a scene, we would have to build our own.
The first six months were a rough learning process. Not having access to most established bands meant we had to look elsewhere. With the help of my friend Chris Peigler of My So-Called Band, a band I would later join, we set out looking for hidden gems. Fast forward a year, and we were booked for at least two shows every weekend. When it got too hot during the Summer, Bill agreed to let me throw a festival, and if we raised enough money, he agreed to buy an HVAC for the Club. The festival was a sell-out, and soon, the Club had a fully functioning HVAC, meaning we didn’t have to freeze during the Winter shows or melt during the Summer ones. Bands such as Spite, Ihafwhohas, 17 Dead, The Sluggs, Black Plastic, and It Could Be Nothing threw killer shows, alongside Nationals and Regionals such as Acid Bath and Kilgore Smudge. I even talked Jason Herring of Latino Chrome into throwing a swanky party/concert at the Milestone Club. It was a good time. But how had we been able to create that scene out of nowhere? How had we been able to build our audience?
The experience of getting the management of the Milestone Club dumped in my lap taught me how to use skills that I had already picked up but had not perfected. Before that first show at the Milestone, I had already worked hard to build a following for Julia Stone, my solo music, and the Sludge Nymphs. I spent long nights at Kinkos perfecting cassette covers for our releases and then longer hours talking to all the music store owners to persuade them to carry them. When we had shows, we all spent countless hours distributing flyers and handing them out at shows. I didn’t know it then, but there was a phrase to describe this art form. It was DIY, or Do It Yourself.
DIY literally means what it says, you do everything yourself. There is no marketing manager, booking agent, cover designer, or recording engineer. You wear all those hats and any other hat you need. As I mentioned, I had done all that before, but working at the Milestone elevated all my skills a thousand-fold. But don’t misunderstand, even though it’s called “Do It Yourself,” I didn’t do it alone. An entire family of people helped me. But none of us were professionals at what we did. We just had a passion and worked for it. That work paid off, resulting in a music scene we loved dearly.
Eventually, I left the Milestone Club, and in 1998, I joined my friend Chris Peigler’s group, My So-Called Band. At the time, they were on an Independent Record Label, Yesha Records. It was the equivalent of a Small Press book publisher. They paid for our studio time, put out our recordings, booked the shows, and managed us while we did most of the promotion ourselves. But as fate would have it, Yesha Records went out of business in 1999, and we found ourselves without a record label. Instead of shopping our records around, we flexed our DIY muscle again, creating our own record label, the very “punk rock” named Suicide Watch Records. During this time, we each took on specific responsibilities to work together and get the label off the ground. By the end of my run with My So-Called Band, we had all worked together to release two My So-Called Band releases and several compilation records. We also put together a series of showcase shows for the bands on our compilations, allowing us to pair unknown out-of-town bands with more established bands to help build awareness.
In 2005, I quit the band and moved to the suburbs to enjoy what would soon become marital bliss. However, two years later, I got restless and started an online zine for the Charlotte Music Scene called “Still Not Dead.” Before you knew it, I rounded up a group of friends, including Chris Peigler, who were willing to write and cover shows. We had a blast for the next four years, putting out weekly updates about shows, reviewing bands, and throwing our own concerts. The DIY skills I had learned earlier in life had become second nature. It was a lot of work, but it was also some of the best times of my life.
Those days are behind me now, but I’m surprised at how my experiences working in the musical underbelly of Charlotte, NC, prepared me for my life as a self-published author. You see, I very much view being a self-published author as the same as being an independent musician. In both cases, you advocate for yourself while expressing your art form. When you’re a self-published author, you must delegate whether to outsource the cover, editing, or formatting. You also have to continuously market your books, which could be considered a full-time job by itself. It is the proverbial definition of wearing all the hats. And that’s not to complain; I merely wanted to point out that it isn’t for everyone. While the work is continuous and challenging, it can also be very gratifying.
Sometimes, I think about how surreal it is that that afternoon on that stage, under those lights with that unmistakable smell of stale beer reeking out of the thin carpeting beneath our feet, would lead to me learning life lessons that I’m still using today. I owe a debt to The “World Famous” Milestone Club, a place that has somehow remained indelibly linked to me. No matter how far away I’ve moved, the “Ghetto Fortress” has remained part of my essence. Given history and Charlotte’s habit of erasing its own, I fear the day may come that The Milestone Club will go the way of The 1313, Park Elevator, Jeremiahs, Rocky’s, The Church of Musical Awareness, Aardvark’s, The Double Door Inn, Tremont Music Hall, and several other places I’m sure I’m forgetting. If that happens, Charlotte will lose an essential source of self-expression, both musical and otherwise. A sonic temple where there is no wrong, no right, no up, and no down, where you are free to be yourself. But also a place where you can learn life lessons that will help you carry through this world. A Buddhist temple hiding behind graffitied walls, ready to show you the proper path. I hope that day never comes. The Milestone has dodged the bullet repeatedly, but time is relentless. Someday, it may fall, but for now, The Ghetto Fortress remains, standing stubbornly against the tides of time and gentrified progress. A living monument to the power of DIY. And I should know, I’m a true believer.
– Ryan
