When Monmouth Records appeared in Carrboro to milk what talent they could from the explosion of bands that followed the pioneers, the scene was in full swing but the best bands were gone. Home studios and family obligations took many of them. Changing tastes and audiences took the rest. For me, I can remember the night that foreshadowed the end. During the early '80s, the people who would come to hear these bands at the Cat's Cradle and the Station were generally not students. There were students among them but the fans were mostly young people who worked in restaurants, former UNC students who had stayed on to be artists or work wherever they could, some professionals, a lot of locals, and people from Greensboro and beyond who did not mind driving a couple of hours to hear good music. People danced and the bands played songs that kept them moving all night. The fans were not just listening, they were interacting and letting go and when the last song of the final encore was played entire crowds moved on to a spontaneous party somewhere to continue until the sunrise. In 1981 we played Purdy's on Franklin with the Raleigh band Nantucket who was a sort of local Boston-Journey arena rock band. We were surrounded by beautiful blonde students and their boyfriends and did a one hour set of the songs that would get the Cradle crowd out of the pews and onto the dance floor. But nothing happened. The audience clapped and nodded their heads and swayed a little to the music but merely watched us like we were a giant MTV. They did the same with Nantucket. We talked about it afterward and came to the realization that this new generation of music fans was different. You were not going to see the guys dancing together acting like Mick Jagger or playing air guitar and the girls laughing, dancing, singing along with their T-shirts and blouses clinging to them soaked with perspiration. As these students flooded the music scene shows became more like concerts than dance marathons. Sets got as short as the attention spans of the audience. Dancers were the minority instead of the majority.
I think for me the final nail in the coffin was at a show where Taz Halloween
was opening for yet another new Athens, Georgia band, singing her heart out to a crowd that was mingling on the fringes, showing little interest, waiting for the main act. The band from Athens had another surprise guest, a local 'poet' who got on stage after Taz, fired up a chain-saw and screamed the lyrics to 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida'. The crowd gathered around and watched and listened in rapt attention, fascinated while Taz was probably backstage packing her gear to go home. That night, at least for me, was the end of the era.