Unheard Of!

This column should feel like a goodbye, but it doesn’t.

Even though these are the last words I’ll ever have attributed to me in the pages of WEEKEND, and even though I’ve written for WEEKEND since about a week after I arrived at IU as a freshman, there’s no finality here.

Some of that is probably about the mutability of the newsroom experience, about the great friends I’ve made, about all the things these three years of reporting, writing and editing have taught me.

More of it, I suspect, is about the fact that I’m not leaving Bloomington.

The official reason I’m staying is a pretty good one: I got a job with the distribution wing of Secretly Canadian, Bloomington’s acclaimed indie record label.

The real reason is a little more complex. I came to love the Bloomington music scene so much during college that I made a conscious effort to do everything in my power to stay.

I spent the first half of college plotting my escape route to London, Chicago or Toronto, thinking that the bigger the scene, the happier I’d be.

Meanwhile, I was spending just about every weekend seeing buzzy national acts brought to town by Spirit of ’68 Promotions, falling in love with local bands such as Stagnant Pools and Racebannon, listening to albums mixed at Russian Recording, browsing the endless racks at Landlocked Music and bumping into the people who employ Bon Iver at the Bishop.

It’s a wonder it took as long as it did to hit me.

Bloomington is as underrated a music city as any in the world. Despite its small population and lack of a marquee act — even my hometown of Dayton, Ohio, can claim Guided By Voices — every night here is another chance to see a great live show and chat with people who care deeply about music.

What makes Bloomington’s music scene so special isn’t just how surprisingly robust it is. It’s also because of how knowable it feels.

I spent last summer in London as an intern for the Quietus, and I went to quite a few record stores, concerts and music press gatherings in my capacity there.

After three months, I had hardly met anyone more than once, I had never been to any venue twice and I didn’t really have a grip on what the London scene was like — if there was a cohesive one at all.

Bloomington isn’t like that.

The same guy you see in the corner booth at the Bishop is playing bass with a band there a week later and thumbing through hardcore seven-inches next to you at Landlocked the week after that.

Maybe you become friends. Maybe you don’t talk.

But you’re aware of one another, and there’s an inclusiveness in that that’s hard to find in New York or Los Angeles.

Long story short, this final column won’t mark my ride into the sunset.

If you want to jive about the new Spiritualized record (it’s fucking amazing, right?) or the Pitchfork Fest lineup (ended up being pretty good, didn’t it?), just swing by Secretly Canadian HQ. Or the Bishop. Or Landlocked. Or Tracks. Or Russian Recording.

I’ll be there.