Broken Stage Lights

An interaction between a musician and the owner of a bar.

It was the sixth floor up on a high rise but it didn’t matter much. The view was disguised by the city lights and the darkness setting in. It smelled of spilled booze and cigarettes and the inside of the bar was dimly lit for a reason. There were only ever one or two servers working at a time and the owner was the bartender. The stage was not lit very well, most of the stage lights had broken and there was only one working now. The only people who came in were either old or were trying to make their way as musicians, although the music was never amazing, every now and again someone would come in and surprise the crowd. Tonight was one of those nights.

The musician singing tonight was not very technically gifted on his guitar, but his voice was in perfect balance with the warm air of the night and the attentive crowd that had gathered around him. He had been playing for about forty-five minutes and each song was given a louder applause than the one before. The musician walked up to the bar.

“Do you guys have a water or Cola?”

“Well, yes… but you do know that anything is free for anyone willing to play here?”

“Yes I know,” He remarked as he took a sip from the sweet flat drink, “But I’m already enjoying myself, the crowd is lovely aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are.”

“And you are enjoying the music as well, are you not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then I don’t think drinking would make my playing any better then.”

“You’re probably right.”

The musician finished his Cola and walked off to the stage to play for a little while longer. The crowd was thinning out and the energy was growing dull as the musician decided that it may be time to stop. The bartender came up to him as he was packing away his guitar.

“What do I owe you?”

“Oh�"  nothing, I am just glad to have the opportunity to play in front of these lovely people.” The bartender looked confused.

“But you have been up there for a while, I feel that you should at least get something out of it?”

“Yes, but I have,” He locked the guitar case, “I got to play my music in front of people who enjoyed it.”

“I know that but you must be tired and a bit thirsty, you’ve been up there for at least an hour, the least I could do is offer you a drink.”

“Well maybe, but I want you to know I am not accepting this as a payment, just as a kind gesture.”

“That’s fine, what would you like?”

“Whatever beer you like best”

The bartender walked behind the counter grabbed two glasses and filled them with an unmarked tap. He put the worn-out blue coasters down and pulled up two chairs by a high table. The musician sat with him. 

“I’ve never seen you stop in here before. Are you new in town?”

“Not really, I’m just passing through.”

“Then how come you don’t accept my money? What’s the point then?”

“I play to make people happy. To make people think. To make people reflect and to make people remember,” he sipped from the cold glass, “and to give me some sense of meaning.”

“But without the money there is no way to become bigger, no way to find new audiences. You’re stuck playing in dirty bars with broken stage lights. You can’t share your music with more people.” 

“That's true.”

“Then why don’t you accept my money?”

“Because, then I am playing for money, not for people.”

“But can’t you do both?”

“Maybe a little bit but it will never be completely for the people if you are getting paid after.”

The bar had cleared out, the other servers were collecting the final tabs of stragglers who needed to get a cab for the ride home, and the tables were becoming shinier by the minute as they were starting to close the bar for the night. 

“Well, I want to at least leave the money here on the table, please take it.” 

The bartender rose and took his half-finished glass and the practically empty musician’s glass. He walked to the kitchen and dumped the rest of the liquid down the sink. He was walking back towards the table coming out of the kitchen,

“You know, I really hope you do come�"”

The money was left on the table. The musician was gone as if he had never been there. The bartender knew that he would not be coming back. He picked up the cash he left on the table and pocketed it.

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Powerful work. Tremendous.

[George Carr]

Thank you!!!