Singer-songwriter Thomas John Cadrin is known to fans throughout the Northeast for his uniquely jazz-influenced take on the traditional folk genre. The Boston-by-way-of-Vermont artist will debut a full band set tonight at the Middle East Downstairs along with Jesse Hanson & The Foundation, AJ Edwards & The List, Red Tin Box, and Big Bad Wolf. Before you check it out, read Cadrin’s thoughts below on today’s all too connected show culture, and why we should  take a minute or two to put our phones on “airplane” mode and truly appreciate the artists putting it all on the line up on stage. 

Click here to grab tickets for the show in advance.

Extra, Extra! Calling all together for the Silent Revolution! The betterment of your Self depends on us all forfeiting The Buzz! We must stand together! We must observe! We must all let go! The Buzz controls our motions, dictates our directions, remembers for us, tells us all! We must come together for the Silent Revolution! We must all let go!  Lull The Buzz!

Or that’s what this would sound like from a soap box through a wooden mega-phone on a damp street corner with old newspapers rolling past, pushed along by the city’s breath steaming out of the sewer grates.

We’ve all been privy to and taken part in it: someone steps on stage with a guitar, they introduce themselves (or don’t) and start to play. There’s an initial lull in conversation out of respect from the crowd but eventually people start to talk, texts come in, Facebook updates itself, friends show up & people hang out, in person and in palm. This is The Buzz.

But remember that songwriter on stage? Where do they fit in? Maybe someone in the crowd will grab an Instagram shot mid-song. That’s awesome, because it’ll help people recognize the songwriter, or maybe they’ll see the post and follow a tag that links straight to the artist’s Bandcamp and check out the music, right then, right there. Instant.

But that person is here, before us, right now. Almost tangibly instant. They’ve got their songs, they’ve got their heart in hand, practically strumming the guitar with it. And we’re all here, standing all within the same room, you, me, and the songwriter, pretty much ignoring one another.

This room where we stand with the songwriter isn’t a subway car where (I guess) it makes sense not to talk to strangers because everyone’s mid-transit, not really connected by anything other than going somewhere. Or even a bank, filled with that awkward feeling of publicly handling money. But either of those places could be as this one is, a performance space, if we chose to view it as such.

Why then do we all fall victim to The Buzz when this proffering is right in front of us, in the same room, spilling between us an ether of humanity?

It’s something that’s been echoed time and time again in modern creation: silence. It’s jarring, especially for us city folk, to be surrounded by so much all the time and then there to be no sound. Immediately, I think of the 1952 piece by John Cage entitled 4’33. A piece that calls for any instrument or combination of instruments to sit still & silent for four minutes and thirty-three seconds. This silence is the music, with the idea being “that any sound[s] may constitute music.” Or maybe you’ve seen this Youtube clip of Jeff Tweedy, most famously of Wilco, convincing an entire theater to shut up for almost 15 seconds. Every time I watch this clip, the silence feels like a life time. I feel the weight of the moment, and I wasn’t even there.

What this awkwardness is exactly looks and sounds to me like a Self without The Buzz. Without the constant flurry of information and socializations that we bring into our worlds for distraction, or elation, or satisfaction, we are left simply sitting, all exactly the same, with nothing but our minds in our bodies floating through space. We are left with what’s actually there within ourselves, within each other, and that’s fucking terrifying.

Which is why that songwriter is on stage. Why that playwright writes plays. Why that painter picks up their brush. Why that writer their pen. Because we’re all terrified, and we’re all trying to figure it out, and that is beautiful. Because we’ve all the same plight and we must all fight together by letting go.

Maybe the next time you go to a concert, place your Self on airplane mode. Take in the offering from stage. Band together with those around you to actively participate by listening and being quiet, or allow there to be silence for just little a bit. Let the tug on the leash connecting you to your back pocket, to your purse, to texts, to Facebook, to insta-everything, to the world, let that pass. Maybe if we all do this together, we might get a bit further than if we went at it alone, or not at all.

We must come together for the Silent Revolution. Lull The Buzz, ladies and gentlemen.