Dragon*Con 2007, Day 4 (concluding)
Sep. 3rd, 2007 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatcrazycajunWell, the last of the Dragon*Con 2007 music programming has ended finally, and though there is other programming scheduled through the 4:00-5:30 block, people are wending their way home and the crowds are decidedly thinning out.
I came in around noon today after doing open filk to about 5 AM (following the Masquerade, a kicking-more-ass-than-usual concert by filkertom and almost as good a show by lukeski -- not a knock on you, Luke, by any means; but anyone would have to go some to top the Dark Lord of the Smith in high gear -- in the bowels of the Hyatt) and had a late breakfast at Metro Café Diner, on the other end of the Peachtree Center food court. (Highly recommended, as long as you understand that should you go on a weekend day during D*C, the crowd will be huge and the wait for tables longer.)
Then I sat in on what became an impromptu gripe session at the band table area among filk fans and performer/dealers, at which His Smithitude imparted this bit of wisdom to me: If you want the D*C concom, the "goth rock" musicians and others at the con to treat you with anything resembling respect, do not under any circumstances admit to being a filk music artist; call yourself a "singer/songwriter" or whatever other label you feel comfy with. I am reliably informed that the only group that gets shit on worse than filkers at this con is the web-comic cartoonists (poorpartiallyclips, being a member of both groups, was catching it from two directions at once and forced to sit with gritted teeth while others in a web-comics panel room made snotty cracks about filkers). The concom looks down its nose at you because you don't bring in the gigundo numbers of bodies that Goth-rockers do, and the GRs do likewise because, by their lights, you aren't a "real" musician. (Never mind that, as Tom readily pointed out, we had on our performing roster at least two guitarists—Carla Ulbrich and her husband Joe Giacoio—who could, together or separately, kick the asses of any one of these black-clad "artistes" any day of the week and twice on Sunday...or for that matter, that Tom himself could do so just as easily, which modesty prevented him from saying but provides no such obstacle to Your Humble Correspondent.)
For my own part, I have seen too many instances of performers, writers, artists etc. forgetting where they came from when they make the leap from talented fan to pro to be at all comfortable hiding my association with filk. Filk and its people have given me far, far too much in the way of kindness, encouragement and appreciation for me to not be conscious of that debt; it's a matter of pride, y'all. I think it's for us who remain to keep working on changing attitudes around here.
Anyhoo, I came up a level just in time to see Emerald Rose perform a nice little half-hour set on the open-floor concourse stage (as opposed to the ballroom stage nearby). This almost made up for having missed all their other performances at the con this time around, especially when they gave us a truly sick and twisted little number combining the lyrics of "Danny Boy"—yes, the old Irish folk weeper—with the music of "Whiskey in the Jar," along with namechecks in the last verse to several other Irish-bar standards. Trust me on this, boys: you're all going to the special hell for "Danny in the Jar"...and we'll all be there roasting right alongside you, for laughing so hard. :-)
All in all, despite the slings of poor location, limited space and next to no publicity, and the arrows fired at us by outsiders from all quarters, all the filk-track concerts had good turnouts (blessed be Ghu and the LJ community for that, in part), even the one I shared with Roberta Rogow on Friday night, despite its being so early in the con and so far down in the basement. And all the shows went off well (Tom told me he had been truly anxious until he saw how well Roberta's and my show went, and then sighed with relief and thought we just might pull this off), with performers in fine form and audiences tolerant and enthusiastic. And a rollicking, foot-stomping, drum-beating, guitar-slinging, hand-clapping, gut-busting good time was had by all.
The only thing I truly hated is that it has to end today. (Few things are more depressing than the waning hours of a con on its last day, to my mind.) And I may well not be here next year, if I end up moving to Nairobi to be with my Songbird as she clearly still wants. But it was one king-hell mountain of a lot of fun while it lasted.
filkertom and almost as good a show by lukeski -- not a knock on you, Luke, by any means; but anyone would have to go some to top the Dark Lord of the Smith in high gear -- in the bowels of the Hyatt) and had a late breakfast at Metro Café Diner, on the other end of the Peachtree Center food court. (Highly recommended, as long as you understand that should you go on a weekend day during D*C, the crowd will be huge and the wait for tables longer.) Then I sat in on what became an impromptu gripe session at the band table area among filk fans and performer/dealers, at which His Smithitude imparted this bit of wisdom to me: If you want the D*C concom, the "goth rock" musicians and others at the con to treat you with anything resembling respect, do not under any circumstances admit to being a filk music artist; call yourself a "singer/songwriter" or whatever other label you feel comfy with. I am reliably informed that the only group that gets shit on worse than filkers at this con is the web-comic cartoonists (poor
partiallyclips, being a member of both groups, was catching it from two directions at once and forced to sit with gritted teeth while others in a web-comics panel room made snotty cracks about filkers). The concom looks down its nose at you because you don't bring in the gigundo numbers of bodies that Goth-rockers do, and the GRs do likewise because, by their lights, you aren't a "real" musician. (Never mind that, as Tom readily pointed out, we had on our performing roster at least two guitarists—Carla Ulbrich and her husband Joe Giacoio—who could, together or separately, kick the asses of any one of these black-clad "artistes" any day of the week and twice on Sunday...or for that matter, that Tom himself could do so just as easily, which modesty prevented him from saying but provides no such obstacle to Your Humble Correspondent.)For my own part, I have seen too many instances of performers, writers, artists etc. forgetting where they came from when they make the leap from talented fan to pro to be at all comfortable hiding my association with filk. Filk and its people have given me far, far too much in the way of kindness, encouragement and appreciation for me to not be conscious of that debt; it's a matter of pride, y'all. I think it's for us who remain to keep working on changing attitudes around here.
Anyhoo, I came up a level just in time to see Emerald Rose perform a nice little half-hour set on the open-floor concourse stage (as opposed to the ballroom stage nearby). This almost made up for having missed all their other performances at the con this time around, especially when they gave us a truly sick and twisted little number combining the lyrics of "Danny Boy"—yes, the old Irish folk weeper—with the music of "Whiskey in the Jar," along with namechecks in the last verse to several other Irish-bar standards. Trust me on this, boys: you're all going to the special hell for "Danny in the Jar"...and we'll all be there roasting right alongside you, for laughing so hard. :-)
All in all, despite the slings of poor location, limited space and next to no publicity, and the arrows fired at us by outsiders from all quarters, all the filk-track concerts had good turnouts (blessed be Ghu and the LJ community for that, in part), even the one I shared with Roberta Rogow on Friday night, despite its being so early in the con and so far down in the basement. And all the shows went off well (Tom told me he had been truly anxious until he saw how well Roberta's and my show went, and then sighed with relief and thought we just might pull this off), with performers in fine form and audiences tolerant and enthusiastic. And a rollicking, foot-stomping, drum-beating, guitar-slinging, hand-clapping, gut-busting good time was had by all.
The only thing I truly hated is that it has to end today. (Few things are more depressing than the waning hours of a con on its last day, to my mind.) And I may well not be here next year, if I end up moving to Nairobi to be with my Songbird as she clearly still wants. But it was one king-hell mountain of a lot of fun while it lasted.
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Black and Proud
Date: 2007-09-03 08:28 pm (UTC)To stay till the end of a con
Is to watch a carefully constructed universe
Disintegrate before your eyes.
All the auras you've reached out to embrace
Now scatter to the winds
Under the ascending basses and baritones of retreating cars.
There's the slam of back doors and the ding of cash registers,
Then so-called "reality" folds in and turns everything grey.
All that work, all that pleasure, gone.
And you'd do anything to do it all again.
<<"Turning Away" by Ariel Cinii>>
But enough poetry:
As far as the mistreatment of the filk community, I wholeheartedly agree. After literally a generation of growth, it's a shame that we're still despised by some who refuse to just stop and listen and only complain about the noise. A lot like life. To paraphrase a certain movie, let's just say that Fans are the Blacks of Mundania. And the filkers are the Blacks of Fandom.
So say it loud: "We're black and we're proud."
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 08:42 pm (UTC)So maybe the strong filk track that Tom put together will change a few minds. Meanwhile, I will pick gencons by their filk-friendliness, not that I get to many. ConFusion was quite filk-friendly except for under-estimating the room size for concerts.