THEY’VE GOT YOU COVERED
These bands don’t get the glory, or a big payday, but they energize a room
What would lead a musician to lug their gear across town to play other people’s songs in a bar for little financial reward? As one regular of the Montreal cover-band circuit tells Adam Kovac, “We’re here to entertain the people.”
It’s an average Saturday night on Bishop St. and while the air outside is crisp, the people inside McKibbins Irish Pub are ready to rock moderately hard at a reasonable volume.
The small crowd applauds politely as the band takes the small stage. Unlike concerts at the nearby Bell Centre, there will be no buildup of anticipation and dimming of the lights before an explosion of sound. Instead, the audience is treated to guitars being tuned and microphone levels being adjusted. “Check. Check.” Finally, the band is ready to go. Vocalist Sergio Spiezia grabs the mic and his band eases into the jangly intro of U2’s One.
Spiezia is not Bono. The Irish megastar has likely not carried an amplifier up a bar staircase in close to 40 years, and is used to the finest private jets and tour buses money can buy. Meanwhile, Spiezia and his Jam Avenue bandmates are shlepping drums and guitar cases in their cars to some of the many bars that dot the city’s core.
“None of us live downtown; we live in the east end,” Spiezia says during a break between sets. “We bring more gear than any other band brings, unnecessarily. We do it because it’s fun. I was cursing like a sailor looking for parking, but we’re here now, having a good time.”
It’s not glamorous, but that’s life in the rock ’n’ roll trenches.
There is something undefinable about live music — an energy you just can’t get by plugging an iPhone into a sound system and letting a playlist loose. A song as hokey as Bob Seger’s Old Time Rock and Roll can become momentarily transcendent through the buzz of a few drinks and a voice telling you how much they enjoy taking those old records off the shelf, even if the owner of that voice works a day job down the street.
That’s why bar managers are still shelling out a few hundred dollars each Friday and Saturday night for real musicians to lug their amps and guitars up icy steps, plug in and play the hits.
“It definitely changes the atmosphere,” says Nick Bignell, an assistant manager at Irish Embassy who books acts for the Bishop St. bar. “Sometimes people might find it a little too loud, but I’d say it’s more advantageous than negative most of the time. I think just having bodies up there playing music automatically adds energy to the room that wouldn’t be there by somebody standing in a booth playing music off a playlist.”
Playing that music looks a lot easier than it is. True, there’s no arduous songwriting process where one member tries to convince the others that the sitar solo they wrote is vital to their creative vision. But there’s effort in finding committed musicians, learning hundreds of songs and just dealing with the day-to-day grind of organizing and playing three sets per gig.
Jordan Lazare is a singer/guitarist who plays in several cover bands and does solo gigs. That’s on top of a day job and trying to have some semblance of a life.
“The biggest challenge is, it just takes a lot of energy,” he says. “I have a day job — I work Monday to Friday and then I gig a lot — so it gets tiring. You’re working for many hours of the day. You’ve got to be willing to put the time in. You’ve got to hustle.”
On top of the headaches, playing in bars isn’t particularly lucrative: a member of a cover band can expect to make about $125 per night, Spiezia and Lazare say.
“Live bands are a dying breed,” Spiezia says. “There’s less and less bars to play (and) bands are still making the same money today they were 20 years ago in bars.”
That still beats being in a bar band that plays original material. While a quality group performing songs everyone knows can find itself in demand, those focusing on their own creations can find themselves losing money, playing to sparse crowds in the city’s payto-play venues.
Still, there isn’t that creative satisfaction for cover bands that comes with crafting your own songs. So why do it?
For Lazare, it’s about keeping his chops up until a new original project rolls around.
“It’s still good practice to play, even if it’s in a pub and it’s not your music. You’re staying in performance shape, instead of not playing.”
As for Jam Avenue, they have no illusions about ever quitting their day jobs, but they hope to one day move into the higher-paying world of corporate gigs. Just like their compatriots slogging it out in tour vans criss-crossing Canada, they’re paying their dues, albeit on a smaller scale.
“We’re here to entertain the people,” Spiezia says. “We’re here for them. There’s a million other songs I’d rather play than Old Time Rock and Roll.”
As the members of Jam Avenue enjoy their break, a college-age girl comes rushing up to them. She’s got a request: does the band know Bruce Springsteen’s version of Jersey Girl?
They don’t, but Spiezia offers up a compromise: Glory Days, the Boss’s cheesy 1984 tribute to lost greatness.
Appeased, the woman returns to her friends and their drinks.
“That’s what makes it worth it,” Spiezia reflects. “It’s that simple. If people get off on it.”
Then his inner rock star peeks through, if only for a second.
“If they’re pretty, it helps.”