Gentrification Blues
by Anonymous
Cierra, Bernardo and Robin
The scene was impoverished as ever yet we stood in its ashes and called ourselves punks, called ourselves artists, lived under the belly of the straight world for the real life of bands and bars. Ring the bells, lower the flags, three of the most dreadful denizens of such Appletown late-night haunts have split for terra incognita, so let us raise a glass to their memory and trudge their individualistic footsteps. Hail Robin, she of turquoise hair and violin, rippin’ tunes solo or with Cave Paintings, slingin’ drinks and NGAF what you think - off seeking fortune in the larger rust belt cities. Bernardo, the wild western musician, with style to match his substance - smoothly trading harmonica licks with local legends and contributing a just needful groove to bands like Sinking Lessons and Los Locales - a Dreamer denied; voluntarily exiling from our dysfunction and bigotry. Cierra, our den mother, the one you hoped would like your dress or feed you diet coke during your guitar solo; such unique presence, artistry and humor - we are riven and undone. It’s a lot to process, I know - how much less fun and cool does it make Appleton? Probably all the way, I mean, this might be the end of the classic “Reptile Palace/Missfits/Crankies/Study Hall/1st Gen MoM artists” period of the Fox Valley Music Scene and no one to mourn but a sad punk stumbling past slick Nashville operators turning all the cute boutiques into cheugy honkytonks, driving up housing with unholy gentrification like a dueling piano bar full of YOUR DAD. Save us from ourselves, can’t our streets be somewhat shabby yet thriving with underground artists like Bernardo, Robin and Cierra!
It sucks to be poor in America in 2026 but trying to put together a living and do art? GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK; it is a hustle to LIVE and EAT, you choose: paintbrushes or protein and that’s with zero healthcare, zero margin of error, dental deferment and debt - we live with pain, and work sick bc landlords and managers do not care if you have a chronic health condition. All three of our heroes had numerous run-ins with a failed healthcare system and took financial/personal hits that were unmanageable. And DO NOT FUCKING GET ME STARTED on a culture built around alcohol, demand for bars that serve until 2 AM and absolutely no concern for how people get home from the only game open after midnight - either keep public transportation open for the bartenders to get home safely or close the bars when the buses stop running - predatory officers parked along Richmond St. tells you who’s getting busted headed home from their job.
All over America, the greater population co-opts the dives and celebrates the quirks and totems of its music scene, while turning it into some Disneyfied corruption of itself - lookin’ at you Austin and Tulsa. Someday, when you can’t find any place cool in Appletown to take your date, think back on how much local band merch you bought and whether you caught Traveling Suitcase, Smoke Free Home or Shoobie at their peak. Young people need a rougher, sketchier place where the band drowns out that loud hard-working guy who might not be tolerated elsewhere. So, obviously we need artists and staff to enjoy these places: dark, funky and full of people you didn’t have the courage to become with your simple, safe life. When you want a walk on the wild side, and you’re stuck with Applebee’s, ask yourself how your town failed the artists and weep, citizen, there is no way back.
