I never practice what I preach. I will tell anyone who will listen how cell phones have been a massive detriment to our collective mental health. Filming and social media have also taken their turns to ruining concerts, either from people who won’t stop filming or snapping photos or people who treat a show like it’s the backdrop for their grid posts. I’m going to assume you agree with me. All that being said though, I love having my phone at shows. If you scroll through my social media, you’ll find plenty of photos or videos from shows. Lately, they have a voiceover with commentary over them.

Even though I think that overall our social media and cell phone-obsessed culture has been a net negative, I also don’t necessarily agree with banning them. For comedy shows, I understand, but I always felt like Jack White’s insistence on locking up phones during a live show was a bit much.

That was all until I went to see Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit at Radio City Music Hall. I’ve seen Isbell and his band five times over the years, and I’ve never thought twice about whipping out my phone to snag a picture or a video.

The only time prior to this was when Isbell played a solo set at the Beacon Theatre last year, and during the preshow, the instruction was made that phones weren’t allowed. I saw a few folks take videos, and I saw them off to have conversations with security. I figured this was because he was playing unreleased songs from his then-forthcoming album Foxes in the Snow. Since it was an acoustic album where he could pretty faithfully recreate it live, this made sense to me. Did I still manage to sneak a few videos to use in my recap? Yes.

@jamespcrowley

James Crowley on Instagram: "Beautiful night with @jasonisbell.…

Since I hadn’t seen The 400 Unit in a few years, I figured that I’d make a recap video similar to that one. As I made my way to Radio City, I was filming B-roll. My fiancée at one point asked how I film things so often without feeling embarrassed, but when you put your life out there enough, you lose the shame.

During Alejandro Escovedo’s opening set, I snagged a few clips. I figured that I’d write three sentences to go over a short clip. After the set, I started mentally preparing for what would be a good song to snag some clips during (probably “What I’ve Done to Help” if they were playing it). Then, while we were waiting, an announcer came on and said that at the artist’s request, they request that no one take pictures or videos during the show. They also encouraged us to put our phones into airplane mode.

Despite the announcement, I was still doing my mental calculations for when I’d film. I was also scanning the rest of the balcony and trying to figure out if ushers were manning to see if people were snapping photos.

For some reason though, I didn’t even bother to look as the show started. The thought of snapping a picture or some short videos of the stage or the screens on the side of the stage crossed my mind, but ultimately, I opted to just enjoy the show. It was a weird Isbell set. I wouldn’t say that he played all the fan favorites or every deep cut that I’d hoped to hear, but I was still mesmerized the whole time.

This was probably the first time I’ve attended a show without snapping a photo or video on my iPhone since I’ve gotten one. I can’t even tell you what the last show I saw without a smartphone was (I think Ozzy Osbourne at MSG in 2010). I’ve attended shows where it’s been discouraged (LCD Soundsystem), and I’ve seen artists tell people to put phones away or not film things specifically.

Even though I never try to let getting footage dominate my live experience, it does create a bit of a barrier. It does cross my mind, especially as I start to mentally write out what I want to say in each video. Even throughout The 400 Unit show, I was going back and forth if I should try to sneak a video.

I try to be conscious about taking in more of a show with my eyes and ears than my screen, but it still crosses my mind as I’m filming. It also doesn’t account for when something spontaneous happens, and the journalist side of my brain forces me to need to document it.

This might have also been part of the fact that an Isbell crowd skews older to begin with. Even the people closer to my age and younger at the show may have old souls and are able to ignore their phones. As a teacher with phone bans beginning, I am surprised how many students aren’t fiending for their phones throughout any given day. I know that anytime that I haven’t had immediate access to my phone, I start feeling like I need to check and find out.

I also don’t think I’m saying anything profound when I say that unplugging for about two hours is a pleasant experience. I had my fiancée right beside me and nothing blocked off for the evening. It was the penultimate night of my winter break. I had nothing to worry about, and if I needed to see my texts, I could look.

While I’m sure that I’ll have my phone out to snap some photos and videos at the next show I catch, I think that I’m going to try to be less of conscious of when the best moments to snap a picture or video are. Simply try to enjoy the show, especially if there’s no reason that I should need to check the phone.

@radiocitymusichall

Radio City Music Hall on Instagram: "A weekend for the books. T…

Did anyone see the Kid Rock Halftime show performance? I was busy on Sunday night. I couldn’t tune in. I had to watch Bad Bunny. I saw a few clips. I wasn’t impressed. I don’t think anyone was. This is going to be a blip in the long history of the Super Bowl Halftime Show. In 4 years, someone will mention on a podcast, “Remember when Kid Rock did his Halftime show for republicans?” Maybe 20 years from now, some podcast in the same vein as American Hysteria or You’re Wrong About will mention that this was a thing at one point in time to drive home the point that we were divided over who would perform at the Super Bowl.

In 5-20 years, we’ll also probably forget that Green Day played a pregame kickoff for Super Bowl LX. That’s fine. While I think I could name every headline artist for the Super Bowl Halftime Show since 2000, I couldn’t name all the people that performed before the game. If I was 13, I probably would’ve eaten this up as an immortal performance. At 31, I realized that this was a performance simply for the moment, and like many others, I felt like Green Day didn’t live up to the moment.

I suppose part of growing up is realizing that in reality, Green Day probably had some contract that warned them against profanity or grand political statements. The Super Bowl doesn’t pay their Halftime performers, but I’m not sure if that same rule extends to the people who play before the game. I’m sure whenever the trio signed their contract, they didn’t know that I.C.E. would murder innocent protesters, and maybe they felt like it would be okay to skip out on the “MAGA agenda” line just one time. This was Bad Bunny’s moment, and Green Day were just the opening act.

Still, after seeing Billie Joe Armstrong speak so directly against I.C.E., Stephen Miller, and a bunch of creeps that went to Epstein’s Island, it felt so bland. It was so exciting to see Armstrong playing these intimate shows, doing his usual snarky delivery. Then, it felt like just going through the motions when they played the biggest stage. Sure “American Idiot” and “Holiday” are incredibly political, but Green Day hasn’t ever been the best about writing about politics.

It made me think about all the times that people dunk on people for being upset that Tom Morello and Rage Against The Machine “got political.” The point has come through so many times that I’m tired when people say “what machine did you think they were raging against?” I suppose the thing that people miss about RATM is that the songs aren’t always the most crystal clear. I loved those songs, but I didn’t always know all the lyrics, so even though the band have been very explicit during their onstage banter and imagery, I could also listen to “Guerilla Radio” and miss references to Mumia Abu-Jamal, because Zack de la Rocha’s enunciation isn’t always clear.

A lot of people misunderstanding what someone was saying both literally and poetically is part of why we get Republicans who think that “American Idiot” or “Killing In The Name Of” can also serve as right-wing anthems. I wish I could shake everyone that the “Another protester has crossed the line/to find the money’s on the other side” line is about capitalism fueling destructive systems, but I also know that most people aren’t going to Genius to dissect every little line.

In a similar vein, people were angry that Turnstile didn’t use their Grammy platform to speak out about Palestine or I.C.E. when they won the award. After winning, I felt like it was a nice touch for the band to include those in their statement. I suppose part of my frustration with this comes from the fact that I know many bandwagon fans that joined with Never Enough, who could care less about a band making a political statement. I’ve spent a fair amount of time watching videos of bands like Have Heart speak out about issues or hearing Inclination call out mass corruption at tiny shows.

@turnstileluvconnection

TURNSTILE on Instagram: "On Sunday our band won 2 Grammys for B…

Part of getting older is getting jaded by the powers at be. As much as we want to act like educating at a show about injustice can change the world, it’s frustrating to realize how many people just forget what’s said between songs as soon as they exit a venue.

Maybe I was in high school the first time that I read a Pitchfork review. That’s probably accurate for many people who have read the music review website across its 30-year span. By college, I was a regular reader, who at least checked scores on releases I was curious about. Even when I started writing my own reviews, I was still religiously checking that website. If I hadn’t yet written a review yet, I wouldn’t read what someone else had said, but I would check the score.

By the time I graduated, Pitchfork became one of my main news sources. I would check daily at whatever job I was working, just to see what was covered. My musical palette was still developing (still is), and I enjoyed hearing what people had to say about the albums I cared about. I also enjoyed seeing something that looked like it was entirely out there, reading a review, and then listening. Barring if I need to do something urgently, Pitchfork has usually been the first website I check in the morning. I want to see the news. I want to see which albums have been reviewed. Are there features and columns that interest me? I usually check a few times throughout the day sporadically.

In 2024, Condé Nast announced that Pitchfork would merge with GQ, which resulted in a round of layoffs. This came a few months after my big layoff. It also dashed pretty much any hope I had about possibly writing for Pitchfork someday. Maybe once teaching settles, I’ll try to pitch some reviews to them, but during my early post-grad years, Pitchfork was the dream job. Last week, Pitchfork announced that it would be introducing a subscription plan, and it’s just made me upset every time that I check the website.

This is the reality of consuming media in 2026. Back when I was listening to Chris Gethard’s excellent appearance on Good Ones, he mentioned that it’s much more valuable to have 1,000 fans who will send you $5 a month each rather than 100,000 fans who won’t pay at all. When Indiecast announced that it was shuttering, Steven Hyden mentioned that most outlets are looking for more reader quality than quantity, basically translating to the same thing.

Ultimately, they’re right. It’s good to pay for things that make you happy. I produce comedy shows that I ask people to pay for. Unfortunately, one of the hardest parts about pursuing a dream is funding the dream. I firmly believe that people should be able to make money by writing about music, and it was nice when the ad dollars were paying for it.

Now, the ad money is drying up. Attention spans are decreasing, and we’re consistently force-fed AI slop. As much as I’m complaining, I did purchase a Stereogum subscription last year. It felt like I was getting more bang for my buck, and I probably read more Stereogum than any other site (even if Pitchfork is still the first one that I check).

Maybe, someday, I’ll start paying the $5 or however much inflation brings it up for a Pitchfork subscription. I just wish that I didn’t have to. There’s nothing harder to pay for than something that was free. It’s disappointing to watch all of our shining streaming service TV need to have ads. I am going to be more selective about which Pitchfork scores I look to see for the time being, while also hoping that I can get more bang for my buck between my personal laptop, work laptop, and home desktop. I also can’t wait to see some 20-something dipshit rank a great album as a 0.3 review just to tank the user score that is going to show up, but I won’t pay to try to bring it back up.

“The city don’t care if you live or die
It’s just gonna grow, and it doesn’t care why.”
—Jeff Rosenstock, “Staring Out the Window at Your Old Apartment.”

I’m sitting in the office at my summer job, trying desperately to grab tickets to see The Front Bottoms at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. I seem to have grossly underestimated both how popular The Front Bottoms are and how small the Music Hall of Williamsburg is. The tickets are sold out nearly instantly, despite the fact that I signed up for a mailing list from the band—I think email, but it could’ve been texts now that I think of it. Occasionally, I saw that bands I liked would be coming through Brooklyn and playing MHOW, but this was the first time I ever tried to get tickets. As it would turn out, I wouldn’t end up going to a show at the venue until two years later when I saw Of Montreal there. It would become the first of many shows at the venue in the following decade.

Near the end of 2025, the venue announced that Bowery Presents would no longer hold shows at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. A few days ago, it was reported that the building had quietly been sold to a developer. While I certainly hope that maybe whoever bought the building simply wants to renovate and maybe change the name to something else, I can’t help but assume that it’s going to be changed into more luxury apartments for more rich people to continue to suck the life out of Brooklyn. I won’t have any reason to walk down North 6^th Street anymore, but maybe, someday, I’ll walk down that street and say, “Hey, I saw Jeff Rosenstock play Worry there.”

MHOW still has another year on their lease, and I believe that they have a bunch of shows lined up for the rest of the year. It also feels somewhat sad to mourn that a major company like AEG Live will no longer be booking shows at an intimate show, but if you love music, you do have to make the unfortunate compromise of buying tickets from some major corporation. Sometimes, you just need to be thankful that it’s not Ticketmaster.

Based on the current shows booked for the rest of the year, I don’t think that I’ll be catching anything at MHOW (maybe Armand Hammer, maybe Skullcrusher, maybe Spiritual Cramp, but nothing definite). It ultimately feels strange to eulogize, while also being aware that I probably won’t make it out to see anything there before it shuts its doors.

As the news came that MHOW would probably be closing, I couldn’t help thinking about all the shows that I saw there over the years, and it ultimately felt like a pivotal venue in my 20s. I think that Of Montreal show was one of the first shows that I saw with one of my best friends. Seeing Titus Andronicus there in 2021 was the last time I drank. I interviewed Zeal & Ardor there in 2018.

Ultimately, the show that ended up feeling the most impactful for me as an artist was shortly after shows started happening after the long covid wait. When I saw The Armed in March 22, it completely challenged my idea of what a show could be. I’d seen bands stagedive and climb on shit before, but The Armed seemed like their desire was to shake the audience into a new brain chemistry. There’s the Jeff Bebe quote in Almost Famous where Jason Lee says he finds the one person who isn’t getting off and makes them get off. The Armed felt like they were searching for the one person who wasn’t getting their shit rocked, and throwing them to the ground and wailing on them. Cara Drolshagen, Randal Lee Kupfer, and Tony Wolski were leaders in chaos, jumping into the crowd without care for what would happen, climbing on scaffolding, and screaming into the front row’s faces. As I would look up at the backing band too, I began to notice that there were different people playing each instrument from song-to-song, and I had no idea how this was even doable. I’d been backstage at MHOW, and I had no idea how they could fit everyone in those tiny green rooms. Even though the band had a setlist and some production to accompany their fantastic album Ultrapop, it also felt like they were completely out of their minds, trying to musically bring the venue to the ground. I wanted to start doing weird and wild shit on stage. While I still find it difficult to encapsulate just what The Armed did at that show, I also think that I do carry that unpredictability with me when I need to pivot or throw tinsel around myself on stage.

What ended up being the most consequential show I didn’t realize for many years. About a year after I graduated from college, some guy that I’d come to be acquainted with during my senior year asked if I was down to see Sorority Noise at MHOW. If I’m being frank, I was never a big fan of this guy, but I also thought it would be nice to have more friends who liked the same music that I did. I never got good vibes from him, but we’d never really had a problem.

We got drinks before the show, and like we were in college, I ended up overdoing it. I do feel like he rudely turned down some shots that I offered, but I also know at 31 that just because there are shots in front of me, it doesn’t mean that I need to take them. In turn, I don’t really remember anything from the show. I never did anything with that guy again. We ran into each other at shows, but in turn, I still had a bad taste in my mouth. He probably didn’t want to worry about if he’d have to worry about some drunk guy at shows. I feel like not becoming friends has been a mutually beneficial agreement.

I realize that writing about some show where I got drunk doesn’t really sound like it’s that consequential. It’s not even a show where I was drunk that I regret the most at that venue (that would be Phoebe Bridgers in 2018). This became the most consequential, because it was the first time that my fiancée and I were in the same room at the same time. As we were dating, shows became a very important part of our relationship. My fiancée had not been to nearly as many as I had, and when she listed the ones she’d seen, she mentioned seeing Sorority Noise at MHOW in June 2018. As we realized that we were at the same show, the conversation of “Can you imagine if we met that night?” came up.

I was very quick to mention that it was not my proudest moment, and ultimately, I’m glad that we didn’t meet. If we had, maybe our relationship would’ve progressed faster, but realistically, I don’t think she would’ve wanted anything to do with me. Even if it was all for the best, we can always wonder.

I’m not necessarily someone who believes in invisible strings, but I do believe in monuments. Were my fiancée and I fated to be at the same emo show about two years before we’d meet? I’m not one to say. That being said, I wish that I could preserve all the places where I feel like important things have happened. The restaurant we had our first date in has closed. The place where we accidentally first stood in a room together is going to shut down soon and likely become some rich jerk’s apartment. I could live with it being a new venue with a new name and renovations, but I hate the fact that it’s probably going to end up the home to someone with bad taste in music.

This is the crawl of time though, and eventually everywhere that felt important to me will someday be torn down and replaced. If you look on a calendar long enough, it’ll all be dust someday. Towards the end of 2025 (either right before or right after the lease announcement was made), my fiancée and I went to MHOW to see Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties play We Don’t Have Each Other in full. Around the time that I was trying to buy tickets to that Front Bottoms show, I spent most of that summer playing the first Aaron West album ad nauseum. Loaded up with heartbreak, that record made me feel seen, after spending a year sleeping on the couch in my dorm. Aaron West was an artist that I showed my fiancée as we were starting our relationship, and she came to love with me. If that ends up as the final show that we saw at MHOW, it feels like a real full circle moment for our relationship, and I can live satisfied that if I ever walk down North 6^th Street after it becomes some luxury building that I saw many great shows, and it was the first place that we were together, even if we wouldn’t know for a few years.

2025 began with anxiety. I’d been riding an anxious wave since August 2023, which morphed into a panic state in February 2024. As 2025 started, I continued my merciless job hunt. While so many of us end up on job hunts, I truly hope you never need to clock in at the dick-sucking factory that is searching for a job in the AI age. There’s nothing more disheartening than scrolling through mindless job listings, self-congratulatory posts, and hoping that you’ll get some email. As much as we all like to feel hopeful for the coming year on December 31^st each year, you end up feeling like you’re lying to yourself after you’ve spent every waking moment for the past 365 days searching for a job.

That job search was the thing that dictated the first half of my year. I’d wake up, apply to jobs, send out cold emails, talk to “people in my network” and eye the Triboro bridge. I’d break up the day by making videos, going for runs, writing “for myself,” and hopping on the phone with people. It was a lot of dead-ends. I don’t think I’ve ever been more miserable than the day I found out that a legacy publication passed over me for a job that I’m still sure I would’ve been a great fit for.

The year taught me that financial insecurity is all consuming. I know that I couldn’t have been the only person who felt like the walls were closing in as he searched for a job as it felt like I watched the whole industry that I’d established myself in collapsing. Anytime I swiped my card to ride the bus, get groceries, or splurge on myself, I felt like I was getting punched in the stomach, knowing that the money wouldn’t be recouped anytime soon.

In the past few years, I’ve kept meticulous records of every book I’ve read, every time I got on stage, each show I went to, each new album that I listened to. In 2025, those numbers are at an all-time low. I read less this year. I got on stage less this year. I listened to less music. I went to less shows. This all ties back to the job insecurity. I was so depressed that I lacked the energy to commit to the things that I wanted to do. The only things where the numbers were high were job applications and miles run. I think those get tied together as a yin-and-yang. The one thing that drove me insane, and the only thing that I got to do to keep my sanity.

Holding onto your hand
Said I ain’t died young, so I guess I’m no good
Yeah, my dad gave me a good life, and I wasted everything I could
You said the pain will find me
‘Cause my head don’t fit its socket right
Why waste my time with changing?
Baby, that shit’s overrated

In September, unemployment hit the highest point it’d reached in 4 years, according to Reuters. After President Donald Trump’s win in 2024, people told me that once he became president, the job market would get fixed. I have a new working theory that the best examples of broken promises come from just about any good thing that Trump said he’d do during his campaigns. It felt like anytime I logged into LinkedIn, I saw someone else at another outlet, some marketing firm, or another supermassive corporation sharing that they got laid off. After a while, I felt cynical anytime someone said they were “excited” for their next role, because I went from excited to desperate.

Through all of that, I had to be funny and excited. In the back half of 2024, Emmi and I got engaged, and we’ve had a wedding to plan. Sean Barry and I began Ugly Flamingo with hopes that maybe we wouldn’t need jobs if it worked. We still need to sell about 3,000 tickets per month to make a good living off of it. When you’re worried about the cost of living, it’s hard to find joy in the things that you should. It’s even harder to bring that joy. Our second flamingos show landed on the day where I found out that I didn’t get that job. Sean told me that in that tape you could tell that I was in a rotten mood. The wound isn’t fresh, but I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to remember how bitter I was.

Still, there were highlights. Weddings we had fun at. Running races. Hitting milestones. A few shows. Great Ugly Flamingos shows. I went viral, actually viral, for the first time. That also became a stream of income, and it taught me to better separate myself from my online persona. Unfortunately, anytime there was a good thing, it immediately got walked back with the reminder that I’d need to search for a new job in the morning.

@jamespcrowley

James Crowley on Instagram: "@kendricklamar shoulda included Me…

In the spring, Emmi told me about the NYC Teaching Fellows. I didn’t really think much of it, but what was another application? I got in, and I accepted. I won’t lie. I went kicking and screaming, but I needed a job. They can’t replace teachers with AI, not yet anyway. When summer came, I started going to classes to start grad school, and I got a crash course in teaching via summer school. Still, over the summer, I befriended the other future teachers in my school. I got into the groove. I realized that maybe the teaching wouldn’t be so bad. I lined up a job, and come September, I started a new career.

Teaching hasn’t been easy. It turns out all the things that they say about teaching being a hard job that doesn’t pay nearly enough is true, but it’s hard to beat getting out at 3 every day. There are a fair amount of days off, and even though right now I mostly use those to plan and get grad school work done, I think that eventually, it’ll be good for standup or making video content. It’s very important to me that I’m not putting my dreams on hold while trying to do the best job that I can. I am always tired, but there is still writing to be done. There are still jokes to be told. Maybe stupidly, I still believe in myself.

As we prepare for 2026, I feel glad that I am not going to enter this year in the same place that I entered 2025. There will still be work that asks a lot of me. Still, I know that the people that carried me through 2024 and 2025 will continue to carry me through the next year. Next year, we will also celebrate my love for the person who carried me through most of it, when Emmi and I get married in October 2026. There will be plenty of opportunities to celebrate, and hopefully, I won’t be stuck in the endless job search loop again.