Ottawa musicians livestream for tips during shutdown
Ottawa musician Shawn Tavenier usually thinks of St. Patrick’s Day as the start of the busy season for live entertainment, a time when bookings ramp up in anticipation of spring concert dates and summer festivals and fairs.
Not this year.
With the coronavirus pandemic prompting the shutdown of bars, restaurants and the entire liveevent industry, Tavenier is one of countless independent musicians whose schedule has been wiped clean for the next two or three months. For someone like him who plays four to six gigs a week, the loss of income is likely to be close to $5,000.
So, instead of heading out to play for a pub full of green beer-drinking revellers on March 17, he invited a couple of musician pals, Nick Gauthier and Dave Ledoux, to his apartment and set up a camera in his living room to stream their performance. His girlfriend, Emily Scantlebury, monitored the comments.
“We were all wound up and jittery, the way everyone is feeling about this uncertainty,” said Tavenier in an interview. “But afterward, it was the same release as playing a live show. We felt great and the feedback was overwhelming. What we got out of it was that everybody is feeling the same way, and people are missing the music and specifically the interaction.”
Inspired by the reaction, he decided it was the first of the Silver Lining Sessions. More than 200 people watched the St. Paddy’s show live on Facebook, and thousands more tuned in to replay it over the next few days. What’s more, there were tips, ranging from $5 to $100, as viewers contributed to Tavenier’s PayPal account or made e-transfers to show their appreciation.
While it wasn’t the $1,000 offered to musicians under the National Arts Centre’s #CanadaPerforms livestreaming initiative, it was almost as much as they would make on a regular night, after taxes, which made him realize two things:
It’s possible to generate revenue online in the absence of live entertainment, and
People value live music as much as he loves playing it.
“Nobody is expected to put a tip down,” he says. “Even though that is one of the objectives, it’s not the primary objective. I want to do it because I love playing music for people, but people have really shown us that they value music and don’t mind paying for shows if the option is there.”
He’s careful to use the words “tip” or “contribution” instead of “donation” to describe the financial support.
“I don’t think it’s charity,” he says. “A bar doesn’t donate money to me. We’re professional musicians sitting at home doing what we do, which is providing a service.”
The creativity of isolated musicians has led to a wide range of streamed entertainment, which is also becoming known as cyberbusking, including wacky ideas such as Jamie Douglas’s twice-daily Karaoke With Puppets and John Carroll’s Live from the Apocalypse series, which may include morning children’s stories, 2:30 a.m. lullabies, a Night Ride-style drive around the city or colour commentary while watching frozen blueberries thaw.
Carroll, who’s a regular performer at the Château Lafayette, says he started livestreaming out of boredom. “Just as it got to be a clean sweep,” he says of his gig schedule, “I found myself with a bit of free time. Livestreaming was a reaction to the shock of the situation, a cathartic thing to do. It was fun. It helped buffer the entry into the new situation for me, and hopefully for a few people.”
He wasn’t intending to collect money, and still doesn’t for what he calls the “weird stuff.” But he offered the option to tip for a recent musical performance, and was encouraged by the $200 or so that came in. Although he says he’ll be fine living off his savings for a couple of months, Carroll is the father of two school-age children that he co-parents with his ex-partner, a musician and server who’s also out of work.
Despite the uncertainty, both Carroll and Tavenier are more concerned about the plight of others. Tavenier has decided to donate a portion of revenue generated from livestreaming to a charity, starting with $172 to the Wabano Centre for Aboriginal Health.
And Carroll, who lives in the urban core, worries about the homeless population that depends on the handouts of passersby.
“I’m not the worst-off of people I know,” he said.
“This is an opportunity to pay attention and find creative ways to make sure people don’t fall through the cracks.”