Will I mourn the death of my guitar? Maybe not.
breaking strings, going solo, and adapting to the new realities of touring
A couple of weeks ago, I played my second show of 2024. Yes, second. Once upon a time, touring was my full-time gig. And I did it hard—like, play-25-cities-in-30-days-and-sleep-on-a-strangers'-floors hard. Now, I can count my annual shows with enough fingers left to anxiously twirl my hair while Googling "side hustles."
Touring used to be semi-reliable as a (barely) profitable endeavor. I kept costs down with DIY tactics: youth hostels, Taco Bell, forgoing a crew. I'd call it a win if I came back from a tour with enough to make a new record and start the cycle all over again. And yet, somehow, it's worse now. Covid didn't help. Ticketmaster never helped. And the slow death of music as a paid art form? That coffin's been nailed shut. So, unless you're a streaming sensation or headlining Coachella, touring without incurring debt requires luck, a miracle, or a trust fund.
I used to think that touring was validation that I was a professional musician. But then I turned 30, got sick, got divorced, and realized that the "rock 'n roll dream" kind of sucks when you need health insurance. I've got plenty of cred at this stage, but I'm still broke AF. So, I stopped touring for the sake of touring. No more band members. No more agreeing to lowball offers. If it costs more than it brings in, forget it. What's the result? Well, like I said: two shows this year. Thriving.
The first was in London, opening for Sofia Isella, a rising pop star who's young enough to be my daughter. There I was, backstage in a room covered with Sharpied penises on the wall (the universal sign of a quality venue), waiting to play for a sold-out crowd of kids who probably can't remember a time before YouTube. Looking in the mirror, I thought: "Am I too old for this? Or too old to care about being too old?" But how can I not think about it when this industry has been telling me I'm too old since I was 23? (That was the year a William Morris exec kindly informed me my days were numbered.) By those standards, I'm as good as dead now.
But here's the twist: despite the generational chasm between Sofia and me, that show was one of the most validating of my entire career. The audience was almost entirely girls —which has never happened to me before, and they weren't the usual chin-scratching, arms-crossed, "impress me" types I'm used to. They weren't there to judge; they were there for a shared experience led by someone they could identify with. They were cheering, staring in awe, and shouting words of encouragement. They wanted to hear my words. And that's when it hit me — I've been trying to win over the wrong people.
Gen Z and Gen Alpha don't seem to have the same snobby obsession with "authenticity" as their elders. They aren't going to concerts to pick everything apart as though it's a forensic exam. They don't care what you're doing live, as long as you're putting on a show and giving them something to believe in. They grew up streaming everything, getting their music through TikTok clips, and watching DJs headline festivals. Live instruments? Optional.
As a Millennial, I've always sneered at younger generations because of this. I've lugged my guitar around like it's some kind of legitimacy token, trying to prove myself as a musician. Female musicians have always had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously, and if you play guitar, expect double the skepticism. I've spent most of my career having to prove that I'm not "just the singer.” Audiences assumed the men I shared a stage with were the masterminds behind my music. Reviewers regularly attributed my writing and playing on my albums to the men in my touring band. When you're a woman, people are always looking for a way to invalidate your talent, eager to find a flaw they can use to prove you're not good enough on your own. The result? A boulder-sized chip on my shoulder and the constant need to affirm my worth.
I've always felt like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was born too late to be part of the Riot Grrrl revolution, but just in time to be influenced by those women. Unfortunately, by the time I started pursuing music and reached my prime "marketable" age, the industry was consumed by TRL trash. In the 2010s, my little indie rock aspirations were deemed "too 90s" by industry execs. And now that the 90s are back in fashion, I've long moved on. The timing couldn't have been more comically off.
From the beginning, my introduction to the music business was that of being the supposed "protege" of a male industrial rockstar. Which is a flattering way of saying I got pigeonholed into the wrong genre. No, I'm not industrial. No, I'm not goth. My influences are PJ Harvey, The Rza, and The Stooges, but because I fell in with a group of famous and semi-famous dudes, people assumed I belonged in their world. I was misbranded, misunderstood, and exposed to a (predominantly all-white and male) audience that had no idea what to do with me except objectify me or dismiss me. Opening for Sofia made me wonder how different things would've been if I had been "discovered" by a female musician who exposed me to her audience. Damn.
In 2023, Billy Nomates got ripped apart online for playing Glastonbury solo with backing tracks. The internet trolls went wild, calling her out for not being "authentic." But here we are a year later, and her approach is now totally normal. She was ahead of the curve. Isn't that how it always goes? Being first to break the mold comes with the risk of backlash, especially if you're a woman.
There's a misogynistic double standard at play. Hip-hop artists have rapped over tracks for decades, and no one's accusing them of being less legit. And don't even get me started on rock bands using tracks. Plenty of big-name dude bands do it—they've just got a goatee'd crew guy in cargo shorts with a chain wallet, hiding side-stage, running the ProTools rig. But their audiences aren't hopping on Reddit to tear them apart and accuse them of being talentless.
Side note: I saw the Rolling Stones play recently, and bless their hearts, they were 100% live. Sloppy, raw, perfect in all their glory. But here's the thing—they can afford it. Most of us can't. Rolling Stones money isn't a thing for 99.99% of musicians. Being in a band and splitting the money with four or five people? Financial suicide these days.
Last year was the first time I made a significant profit touring due to being able to keep the meager fees all to myself and selling a ton of handmade merch. I opened for The Dandy Warhols and The Black Angels with no band, no crew, just a rented two-door Mustang, my boyfriend providing a helping hand with production, and a lot of goodwill from friends who let us crash at their houses. I would've lost thousands if I had a band on that tour. So, for now, it's just me. I sing, play guitar, and mess around with a mini synth live while the rest runs through a MIDI footswitch. Honestly, this is probably more than I did when I had a backing band.
I do grieve the lost camaraderie and energy shared with other people onstage (I reeeeallly miss my bandmates on stage). Also, it sucks not having other musicians to mask my fuckups with their noise anymore. Which brings me to my latest show. I broke a string during the first song, and every other string went out of tune in solidarity. Instinctively, I tossed the guitar aside, forgetting I was the only guitarist on stage. Oops. The set was too short to bother with string changes, so I grabbed the mic and started singing. And in that moment, I realized this is what I've been chasing all along—an audience that's really listening to my words. Maybe this is how I find my true listeners, people who care about what I'm saying. I'll always be a guitarist; it's woven into my sound and an extension of my voice. But I don't want to be tethered to it anymore or feel like I have to rely on it to verify my musicianship.
I picked up the guitar for one of the last songs, delivering the most out-of-tune, chaotic cover of Bruce Springsteen's "State Trooper" the world has ever heard. It was...avant-garde at best? Meaning, it sounded like absolute crap. But it was real. Authenticity doesn't mean playing every note perfectly —or at all. Tracks or no tracks, I'm still up there playing my songs, sharing my lyrics, and connecting with people. And that's the point, isn't it?
Adapt or die. Break a string, set the guitar on fire, and keep going.
By the way, the third show of the year is on October 21st in London, opening for Dhani Harrison. Come hang out.
c u next tuesday.
XX CARRÉ
PS: please heart, comment, and share. your engagement makes a tremendous difference on this platform and determines my mood for the rest of the week.
PPS: if you wanna experience my ADHD in real time, join this month’s group chat (but don’t be annoying unless you want me to ban you —yes, I’m talking to you, “Quinton”):
Powerful text as always, I really love your writing so much you have a great style and way of putting things into words.
I am not a man but I also never came for any men, to be honest you were the only person I was interested in. Usually I have my favourite people in most bands, it's not always the front person, but with your performance it was all about the energy and lyrics for me and I am very much a "lyrics-person". I have friends who are mostly paying attention to the melodies, or the guitar solos but I often am into the words.
I am a fellow Millennial but what I recognised at your shows was that people were so stiff sometimes. I thought it was the German people because we can be a bit stiff here. But I looked around and I got the feeling that the thing was what you said indeed. There were a lot of "Indie-Millenials" who seemed to be more interested in themselves looking very cool than giving some energy back, I mean the crowd was not huge so I was like "Okay let's go harder since we are not that many" but people were so...well ... self obsessed or something? It really made me angry that night 🤣 I wonder if I maybe do some people wrong and they were just shy, but sometimes it just feels like it's not that but people just being snobs. Really happy to read the younger folks do better. That's awesome!
Honestly, Carre ... you are SO courageous. I can't believe anybody has the guts to get up on stage in the first place, but for you to do it thru all the hateful rejection opening for NIN .. and to keep on going despite your "advanced" age ... and opening for a young pop singer... I just have TOTAL respect for you. I think your point of finding your authentic audience was really profound. You are an artist and a music warrior and I'm just insanely proud of you.