By Alyana Vera, contributor

Extended Intermission is a new interview series that invites people within NYC’s music ecosystem to reflect on the year without live music. Coinciding with the one-year-anniversary of the live music shutdown in NYC, we’ll be sharing the perspective of bookers, artists, publicists, sound techs, photographers, and bartenders.

For this edition, we caught up with the people who make sure that shows sound and look great. Below, Somer Bingham, a sound engineer who plays in three different musical projects, and Jeff Peterson, a stagehand who’s toured with They Might Be Giants, open up about family, adjusting to change, and how much they miss live music.

As told to Alyana Vera

Meet Somer Bingham - Live Sound Engineer at C’Mon Everybody

Originally from Florida, Somer moved to New York in 2002 and got her start in sound production at SideWalk Cafe (RIP). Before the pandemic hit, Somer worked sound at Brooklyn’s C’Mon Everybody and Webster Hall. In addition to her work as a sound mixer, Somer also performs in the punk project Clinical Trials, the electro-pop duo MNR PLSR, and releases music under her own name. In this interview, Somer talks about how the pandemic has affected her life as a sound tech, musician, and mother.

The last show I went to was on March 11. I remember everyone talking about all the announcements being made between the sets. It was a weird night because Disney was closing, the NBA was canceling games, and Trump had announced there was a travel ban from Europe. I can’t remember the bands that were on that night, and I think it might have been a little eclipsed by everything that was going on. I haven’t seen live music since then, and I’m definitely feeling withdrawal.

We had already started taking precautions at C’Mon Everybody; wiping down tables, microphones, and equipment. We didn’t know how quickly it would spread and if it could sit on gear overnight and someone could use it and get sick. I definitely thought the CDC will take care of it and that it will stay contained. I never thought we’d shut down, and I didn’t think it would be for this long. That last night on March 11, we were starting to get cancellations from bands playing the next couple of nights and I was thinking if they’re finding it too unsafe to perform, then this is a turning point. It was kind of an end of the world in a way, for everything that changed so quickly overnight and for normalcy to disappear.

I have a friend whose sister works at The New York Times and she said, “We’re 10 days behind Italy.” At that point our numbers hadn’t been bad, but as soon as they started to surge I knew that she was right. I knew that this wasn’t temporary because Italy was still struggling so much and we hadn’t done anything to prevent what was happening here. I think the hardest part was the beginning. The mental strain of knowing other people were out there on the frontlines and there’s nothing I can do. You can tell yourself you’re helping by not leaving, but you still kind of feel guilty. The emotional toll of hearing sirens go by, having the fear that I’m going to get it, or my wife or my parents. I’m prone to depression, but I didn’t get that feeling. I just had the general sadness of losing those joys and little moments in live music.

From March until June we didn’t have any contact with people and we only went out for groceries. There was this sense of, at first, a comfort because we were at home and we were safe and none of us had gotten sick. For a really long time it felt like even though the world was falling apart, at least my family was safe. Our world has shrunk down, but in some ways it takes away some anxiety as a parent. I know where my kid is all the time, I know where my wife is--we’re home, we’re safe, and we’re taking care of each other. But for [my daughter] to lose school, playdates, and that social interaction was really hard to experience. We happened to have a fire in our building in August so we’ve been displaced since then, so she’s kind of gone through a lot. It’s hard to explain as a parent; one day the world is this and the next it’s completely changed.

I’ve been writing a lot and trying to get faster and more proficient at producing, songwriting, and mixing for other artists. I don’t have any schooling. Most of what I learned, not only how to play music but how to produce and mix it, was online on Youtube. I also get Tape-Op, which I always recommend to women who want to get into the industry. I want to do more sync stuff, so if any directors or people who are in that world want music for their films, then I’d be super open to that. I’m always excited to collaborate with people. I have a lot more time now, but it wasn’t that way at first. I have a daughter and I was the primary caregiver/teacher for a while. There would be these long days where I didn’t do any music or wake up crazy early and do it before she got up.

It was hard to listen to new music for a while. I read something that said that none of the top-streamed songs were new; people were going back. You wanted to listen to something you had stronger memories with. There was a turning point when things started to open up in the summer, and I was excited again for new music. I don’t think I’ve checked in on some of the bands that I listen to locally like Saint Mela or some of the women from Femme Jam [an all-female music night at C’Mon Everybody]. I think it’s still kind of painful because I know them from seeing them live and it might just be too much of a reminder at the moment.

In some ways, the longer you go without something, you think you’re getting used to it. Sometimes I don’t actively miss [live music], but as soon as something reminds me of it--could be listening to a band I ran sound for, seeing an old post on Instagram, or just talking to a friend about it--all of sudden there’s this heaviness. I don’t think that goes away. I think we kind of re-normalize the same way you would with grief. I’m kind of a hermit, but running sound was my community. That’s my social life. I miss my work. My fun, small talk with acquaintances, getting to see live music, my magical little moments with fans who are in the crowd. I like being that person in the booth, knowing I’m part of this show that is this super transcendent event.

Meet Jeff Peterson - Live Sound Engineer at C’Mon Everybody

Born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina, Jeff moved to New York 5 years ago after attending college for public relations and communications. His educational background landed him a job at The Bowery Presents, where he quickly learned that office-life wasn’t for him. Gravitating more towards venue work, Jeff eventually discovered that he loved working as a stagehand. Since then, he’s toured with They Might Be Giants and worked at venues like Bowery Ballroom and Brooklyn Steel. Now back at his family home in North Carolina, Jeff shares how the pandemic has interrupted his life and shifted his priorities.

The last show I worked was on March 11; it was also the day the first NBA game got cancelled from coronavirus. I’m sure that was a lot of people’s first wake up call. I was working the Dave Hause & The Mermaid show at Bowery Ballroom and I remember talking to the Bowery Ballroom crew and the band. We were all huddled together like, “This is intense, this might be the last one for a while.” We had heard of coronavirus and didn’t know much about it, and just to play it safe I remember getting alcohol wipes to wipe off microphones. It was very weird because nobody really knew the full scale of everything yet.

At the different venues I worked at, everything was being canceled one at a time until it got to the point where everything was canceled for the next three months. Brooklyn Steel, which is my main gig besides touring with They Might Be Giants, gave us paperwork saying that we were being let go for the time being. I was actually able to get on unemployment pretty quickly because music venues are pretty quick to cancel things. Seeing that paperwork and the company saying that this was serious was a big tip off that we weren’t going to have shows for at least a few months.

I flew back home mid-March because I had a feeling things weren’t going to be good. My return flight was in April, and my co-workers were like “that seems like a long time.” I went home for a bit to wait things out, and mostly because I wanted more space. I haven’t been home this long since high school. It’s still bizarre being in the bedroom I grew up living in. To be spending this much time here is very off-putting and confusing. I flew back to New York in October, mostly for the election and to spend time with my roommate. Being back in that small apartment was when I decided to just move back and be done with New York for a little while. When it’s finally safe to do so, there’s no way I could miss the first live show. I’ve made the joke a few times with family that it’s going to be like the Roaring 20’s after World War One.

I was expecting to be really busy in 2020 with tour and venue work. I was very comfortable knowing or thinking that I had plenty of shows to work; I knew I had a steady income. I was finally in a solid spot in New York City for the first time ever. Then the pandemic happened, and all that was gone. Before everything got shut-down, for a month or two I had been thinking of making a backup plan in case something happened because of the nature of my profession. Uncertainty is never fun and depending on an individual's mental health, that can lead to anxiety, which is something I’ve never dealt with before until 2020. I’ve had a lot of family and friends ask me what I’m going to do, and it’s just like, I don't know. There’s too many questions and not enough answers, so it was very overwhelming.

Most of what I identify myself with is on pause. There's finally a light at the end of the tunnel but nobody really knows how long that tunnel actually is. I miss being able to hang out with my crew, whether it’s my touring crew or the venue crews at any of the buildings I work at. I miss seeing a friendly face and being able to give someone a hug or a high five or a handshake. I miss that interaction and familiarity. Everything feels a lot more disconnected now, even with the internet.

I definitely have a lot more freetime, which has been a blessing and curse. It’s been tough to stay constantly productive and you’ve got to give yourself a little bit of grace with that the way things have been going. I've been studying for scrum project management certification, took the Production Academy audio class, and tried to relearn some German; but what I’ve been doing the most is helping with my parent’s church. I've created a stage plot, lighting plot, audio rider, labeled cables, generally tidied up, and mixed a few services, which is invaluable practice since I haven't tried front of house mixing yet. 

The thing about live music and venues is that it’s more than just our buildings. We bring so much business to any neighborhood that has a venue. Anywhere you have a show helps stimulate the local economy. I know a lot of people have heard the phrase that music venues were the first to close and will be the last to open; and that is tough for us, but not just us. It’s the ecosystem of businesses across the country. We’ll see music doing well when everybody else is doing well, and vice-versa. We’re all part of a community together and I don’t think the government has helped working people enough at all. I was able to get on unemployment pretty quickly by design, because I made a point to simplify the different places I work at and not as many 1099 gigs and freelance gigs. I was lucky, but I know a lot of other people weren’t. 

I know Live Nation started a grant program called Crew Nation and MusiCares has been doing grants for music industry folks that have been getting out of work, and they’ve been doing a great job helping get money to people who need it. I got help from both of them and I think that’s a testament to the music industry, because they’re really good at taking care of their own. For the most part, the industry hasn’t got a lot of help from the government. The National Independent Venue Association are the ones that really got the ball rolling on the Save The Stages Act. 

Mental health for me, and knowing the mental health of friends and family has been something to be more aware of, has been a silver lining for me. It’s not something I really had to worry about until this past year, so I’m glad I recognize it now and wish I’d addressed it earlier. That’s something everybody should be aware of, whether they think they’re good or not, it’s always good to check in on yourself or a friend. That and there’s always time for family time. When I was constantly touring, I missed quite a few holidays with the family. So it’s been good to be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas for the first time in a couple of years.