While many spots rely on recorded playlists to help set the mood, live music is taking center stage at local bars and restaurants.

Venues with live music include Mount Vernon’s The Prime Rib (where a jazz trio or piano player perform American Songbook standards), Hampden’s The Duchess (with its rotating lineup of local bands), and Highlandtown’s Motte (frequent jazz nights).

At Atlas Restaurant Group, live music is featured at 28 of their 54 properties. In fact, the restaurant group’s music program is so extensive, there’s even a dedicated entertainment director who books more than two dozen bands across the company’s properties on a weekly basis.

“We all subscribe to that belief that a dining experience is, of course, about the food,” says entertainment director Barrett Johnson. “The food is the foundation. But it takes more than a foundation to build a house. Offering live music gives you a full sensory experience.”

“It’s a real testament to the music community because it’s so diverse. You never know if the guy who is ripping the guitar at Admiral’s Cup is also teaching high-school math.”

Johnson knows a thing or two about hitting the high notes. She majored in music at the University of Miami and is herself a professional vocalist.

The songstress, who occasionally performs at the properties in a pinch, has booked many an up-and-comer, including jazz-and-blues powerhouse Carly Harvey, who had a two-chair turn on NBC’s The Voice and performed at the restaurant group’s Monarque in Harbor East, and pianist Eli Staples, who played at former basketball star Michael Jordan’s wedding and tickled the ivories at their Order of the Ace, also in Harbor East.

In addition, there’s also a steady roster of “regular” folks who perform by night but hold day jobs to help make ends meet.

“We book a great mix of people who have day jobs, including doctors and lawyers and occasionally servers and bartenders from our own properties,” says Johnson. “It’s a real testament to the music community because it’s so diverse. You never know if the guy who is ripping the guitar at Admiral’s Cup is also teaching high-school math.”

“I lived in Nashville for a year and this is better.”

Johnson believes that Baltimore has an incredibly strong arts community—and she’s happy about being able to provide artists a platform for their talents.

“Baltimore has such a thriving arts community, especially the music community,” she says. “I lived in Nashville for a year and this is better. I am proud to be part of this community of musicians and so thankful to be able to literally invest in them.”

Anthony Cushing Jr. walks into a bar on Thames Street. In his standard uniform—a black ballcap, an oxford button-down, silver rings on his fingers, a medallioned chain around his neck—he slips through the crowd, greeted by a seemingly endless procession of hugs, handshakes, and “hey, Tonys!,” before dipping into the service pass for a small pour of whiskey.

As the first band of the day belts out a rockabilly rendition of “Hit the Road Jack,” he checks the cash register, chats with his bartenders, then reaches through the draft taps to kiss the ring of an older patron.

For him, this isn’t just any bar. It’s his bar. And his father’s bar before him.

“I run the circus here,” says Cushing, 41, with a wry smile, talking a mile a minute while a motley crew of customers fills the wooden stools and spreads out across the standing-room dance floor of the Cat’s Eye Pub on this cool Sunday afternoon in June. Most are here to hear the music, which graces the small corner stage seven days a week, 365 days a year, holidays included. Others have simply stopped in to see friends and have a drink. Or three.

Near the front windows, beneath the ceiling’s upside-down Christmas tree and miniature schooner, preppy twenty-somethings take shots and watch the Orioles play between Barry Glazer commercials. Closer to the graffitied bathrooms and in the low-lit backroom, a few gray-haired barflies sip their pints or read the news.

All around them is a museum’s worth of memorabilia: fading photographs, oil paintings of Fells Point’s old working waterfront, flags from around the world brought in by visiting sailors, as the Cat’s Eye—located the flick of a cigarette butt from the Baltimore harbor—has long been the city’s salty-dog watering hole.

It’s the kind of place that today’s hipsters could only wish to emulate. “But nothing in here was bought at a store, or could be replaced,” says Cushing, pointing to the murals of Irish history painted by late local artist C.W. Newton, or behind the stage, to the “Wall of Fallen Soldiers,” hung with portraits of his dad, “Big Tony,” and his original co-owner, Kenny Orye, both of whom have long since passed away.

And boy, after a half-century, if these walls could talk, they would certainly tell some stories. Same goes for Cushing, who’s run the bar for two of those decades, alongside a tight-knit staff and the pub’s matriarch, his mother, Ana Marie. Not that he’ll necessarily remember, though.

“After 21 years? I don’t know what happened yesterday,” says the boyish barkeep. “It’s Groundhog Day in here. It all blends together … But I could be fast asleep, going full Weekend at Bernie’s, and run the bar just fine.”

Still, it’s honest work, and he’s proud of it—placing the orders, tending the bar, buying a round for birthdays, sending the last stragglers home with a bottle of water, keeping the 41 keg lines clean—especially as the neighborhood changes and other long-standing businesses call it a day.

“We’re the last of the Mohicans, the last of our kind,” says Cushing. “And we’re busier now than ever.”

When the Cat’s Eye Pub opened in the spring of 1975, Fells Point was reveling in a moment of rebirth. Residents had just stopped the highway from cutting through their cobblestone streets, and at the water’s edge, the docks still bustled with ships and tugboats. The neighborhood was founded as Baltimore’s first port of call, thanks to its deep harbor, around which blossomed a cultural crossroads of maritime activity. From the very beginning, it was a hard-living, heavy-drinking district, full of boarding houses, brothels, and, of course, bars.

By the middle of the 20th century, you could find one on every corner, many helmed by scrappy young owners—Leadbetter’s, Bertha’s Mussels, Turkey Joe’s, Pete’s Hotel, John Steven’s, The Whistling Oyster, The Horse You Came In On (purchased with winnings from the Pimlico Race Course)—and crammed with a colorful cast of working-class characters: sailors, shift workers, drunks, punks, poets, John Waters with his entourage of eccentric artists, and, of course, the Cat’s Eye’s Kenny Orye.

“The majordomo,” says Steve Bunker, owner of the old China Sea Marine Trading shop, who arrived on the Broadway Square in ’76. “Kenny drank too much and misbehaved a lot. But he was an interesting guy. And all kinds of crazy stuff happened around that bar back then.”

“WE’RE THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS, THE LAST OF OUR KIND. AND WE’RE BUSIER NOW THAN EVER.”

Growing up near Clifton Park, Orye dropped out of high school his senior year to work in the city’s booming steel industry until coming into an inheritance. Instead of using it for college, as was his old man’s wish, the 21-year-old opened up a tavern at 1730 Thames Street with Big Tony, a Texas-born, Europe-raised military brat whom he’d met through a mutual friend. “Liquor Board Growls, And Cat’s Eye Pub Winks” declared The Baltimore Sun within their first six months, after complaints from neighbors about loud music and lewd behavior well past last call.

“It would be open sometimes until sunrise,” says Bunker, 79, a former boat captain whose parrot was known to sit on Orye’s shoulder and curse at customers. “I’d be working late and walking home. The windows would be dark, but I’d hear people inside. I’d knock on the door and Easy Eddie—a Vietnam vet, with his big moon face, who ran the back—would open it and say, ‘Bunker! Come in, man.’ The marijuana smoke would knock you over and everybody would be there. The local beat cop, the state’s attorney, illegal Irishmen, Russian sailors who’d jumped ship, drinking free booze and playing cards and telling war stories. That would go on until Kenny fell asleep at the bar, at which point Jeff Knapp, the bartender, who many say looked like Abraham Lincoln, would rob the cash register to buy us breakfast at Jimmy’s. And then it would start all over again.”

From the beginning, it was an Irish bar, as Orye held a particular soft spot for the Emerald Isle, and the IRA. Many nights, string bands played rebel tunes and seaside ballads to a full house, with other genres eventually added: jazz, blues, rock-and-roll. Beer was cheap. Whiskey flowed freely. (The Cat’s Eye was named after a West Virginia distillery where they bought moonshine in the early days.)

“We had a real saloon society back then,” says Bunker. “So many brilliant people, so many talented people, and so many sad stories, too. But a real community, where an awful lot of people showed up for a second start.”

By ’87, though, they worried the party was over, when Orye died suddenly at age 33. At the time, Big Tony had moved to Florida, and Fells Point was in the midst of a newfound real-estate boom. Forgotten rowhomes were being renovated for families, while factories and warehouses got redeveloped into condos for yuppies. Soon enough, the tugs pulled anchor, and the last of the old guard left in Fells were a few oddball shops and those seedy bars, which were increasingly changing hands and sprucing up.

In fact, with Orye out of the picture, local realtor-cum-preservationist Lucretia Fisher wanted to turn the Cat’s Eye into a tearoom.

“Of course, Kenny wouldn’t hear of it,” says Bunker, recalling the barkeep once pulling out a pistol and blowing a neon sign to bits in the front window, just to quit hearing complaints from Fisher and her county cronies. “She really thought we ought to walk around in three-corner hats and be right out of Colonial Williamsburg. … But then all of a sudden, Big Tony shows back up, and everything changed.”

Anthony Cushing Sr. wore his nickname well. Tall, thin, with a tussle of dark curls, he was larger-than-life to those who knew him, whether gregariously greeting Cat’s Eye regulars—often helping them out during hard times, too—or taking matters into his own hands, tossing troublemakers out onto Thames Street.

“He was the king of leaning in real close and telling a story right to your face,” says Sam Sessa, former nightlife reporter for the Sun, who was told tall tales about tequila-drinking bikers and a rumored second-floor whorehouse from way back when. “He was a rascal, with this sort of devilish smile. Like he was always up to something.”

A raconteur and rambling man, Big Tony ended up in Baltimore by happenstance. After graduating from the University of Maryland’s Munich campus, he worked in publishing in New York City, which in some roundabout way eventually landed him in Fells. He met his wife at 28 and opened the Cat’s Eye with Orye a few months later.

“Neither of them had ever run a bar, but both men had a lot of charm,” says Ana Marie, who, then and now, at 75, handles the business’ books. “And after Kenny died, we did whatever was necessary to make it work.”

Back from Florida with a 5-year-old “Little Tony,” the couple pulled every penny to buy that circa-1810, two-and-a-half-story rowhome building from their retiring landlord. They cleaned up the bar and built a real stage. Friends chipped in. Drinks kept flowing. At one point during repairs, the upstairs fireplace collapsed onto the first floor, sending a plume of dust out the front door. After the last brick fell, they went back inside, topped off their glasses, and carried on their conversations. True to form.

“Ron Furman of Max’s Taphouse once told me that the key to building a bar’s character is to wipe but never scrub, and that’s the Cat’s Eye,” says Sessa, who wrote Big Tony’s Sun obituary, when he died of a heart attack at 62 in 2008. “It is a prism into the past, when Fells Point was full of these gritty bars with cold beer and live music every night. It was a bit like the Wild West back then, and so much of the neighborhood has turned over now. But 50 years later, thanks to the Cushing family, the Cat’s Eye is still there.”

Can Ana Marie believe it? After all, she knows many of the old-timers are either dead or no longer drinking, some now bellying up at the Daily Grind coffee shop next door instead.

“Well … yes,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Because we didn’t give up.”

On this late-spring Sunday, musicians shuffle in—past the Cat’s Eye’s turquoise façade and two Old English signs reading “No Drugs In” and “No Booze Out”—hauling their instruments toward the stage for the afternoon’s second set. Some call that small black platform the “litter box,” and over the years, its tight quarters have become a bona fide stop for not just classic cover bands but some of the city and region’s top talent, booked by the bar’s manager, Jenn Airey. Most of the time, there’s not even a cover charge.

“You’re very much right there, in the crowd, with no distance between you, which actually makes it a great place to play,” says Bud Tiffany, 63, a guitarist with The Kindly Strangers and co-owner of Peter’s Inn, up Ann Street, with his wife, Karin. “On our days off, we always stop in to see who’s playing.”

Tonight, there’s a memorial service for a longtime regular, with an accompanying jam session. Wearing a tie-dye dress and an electric purple hairdo, Kristin Corsi wafts around the bar and waits for her turn at the mic. The local singer has been coming to the Cat’s Eye since the mid-’90s, and loves it so much, she got married here, exchanging vows in the middle of a gig with her bandmate-turned-husband, Bill.

“It’s my church,” says Corsi, who lives a few blocks away on Bank Street. “Nobody cares what you do or where you come from. And that spot, over there, in the middle of the dance floor? We call it the nexus of the universe. I’ve met people from all over the world right there. They come back years later, like, ‘You’re still here!’ Well, I’m always here … In fact, I’ve been thinking about getting a bracelet made that says, ‘If found, return to the Cat’s Eye.’”

On weekends, you can often find “Bowtie” Bob Nelson bopping about, too. Many Sundays, and every St. Patrick’s Day, he attends Mass, then makes his way to Thames Street for his usual: a pint of Guinness and a Jameson, neat. He knows there’s been an influx of fancy restaurants and cocktail lounges around the neighborhood lately, but he likes the lack of pretension in this pub, where anyone and everyone can cut a rug, and the “only gourmet decision to make is if you get the plain or barbecue Utz.”

“The Cat’s Eye is something that Atlas will never be able to take over, because it just wouldn’t work,” says Nelson, 80, referring to the high-end hospitality group that’s gobbled up other stalwarts like the Waterfront Hotel and Admiral’s Cup. “You hope it’s going to be here forever.”

As the band launches into their first song, Little Tony bounces between the front and back bars, holding court beside a black-and-white photograph of him in here as a little kid, his head barely reaching the rail. In his grade-school yearbook, his dream was to “run a successful bar” one day. And by now, he’s had plenty of practice, dropping out of college to learn the ropes from Big Tony, then stepping all the way in after his father’s death.

HE LIKES THE LACK OF PRETENSION IN THIS PUB, WHERE ANYONE AND EVERYONE CAN CUT A RUG, AND THE “ONLY GOURMET DECISION TO MAKE IS IF YOU GET THE PLAIN OR BARBECUE UTZ.”

In one breath, Cushing says he’s got just under a decade left in him—and a recurring nightmare where he can’t catch up on drink orders. And yet, in the next, he’s reminiscing about his first shift, when he ran the bar all by his lonesome, then went home with a grand in tips and an adrenaline rush to last a lifetime, making it hard to imagine him anywhere else.

But sell it to some stranger with deep pockets? He’s clear on that one: “I’d rather burn the place to the fucking ground.”

Besides, he wants to finish his dad’s to-do list—the last item left being an enclosed balcony above the stage, where a 1920s pool table is already waiting. Not that there’s much time to make it happen. The bar doesn’t take a day off and slings some thousand drinks a week year-round. No matter that closing time comes early—the clock above the refrigerator is set 15 minutes ahead.

“I pay my doorman to kick me out, too,” quips Cushing. “I always thank him in the morning.”

Later, on the back patio, for a little quiet while the band grooves on, his mother straightens her blouse, sips a glass of white wine, and remembers that it’s Father’s Day.

Ana Marie still feels Big Tony all around. In fact, many believe that his ghost—along with Orye’s and that Lincoln-esque Knapp’s—still haunts the pub. Making it easy to wonder what he might think of the place these days.

She pauses, grins, then shrugs. “He’d be glad.”

Then Little Tony leans in, his eyes lighting up, just like his dad. “He’d say that we’ve done good.”

Last spring, a collective sigh of relief spread throughout the Baltimore music community when it was announced that the Ottobar, the beloved, rough-and-tumble rock club in Remington and a local institution for the past two decades, would be purchased by its longtime bar manager, Tecla Tesnau.

Just six months earlier, it went up for sale, leaving fans of all ages wondering what it would mean for the city’s cultural landscape if that small black room and dimly lit dance floor was no longer packed with sweaty bodies. Or worse, if the graffitied walls were painted over to become just another slick venue without the same gritty heart and soul.

Behind the bar since its inception downtown on Davis Street, Tesnau had seen the Ottobar through many changes over the past 23 years, from the digitization of the music industry to the gentrification of Baltimore—none of which would prepare her, of course, for what would arrive six months after she took over, when the novel coronavirus swept around the world and left a sea of shuttered concert halls in its wake.

“After I got handed the keys, we were running full tilt, 100 miles per hour, setting records left and right, the lineup was absolutely stellar—even my accountant at one point was like, ‘Good work, kid,’ which is high praise from someone who is usually all about the books,” says Tesnau on a Tuesday afternoon in late September. “Then, boom, COVID landed, and we hit an absolute cinderblock wall. We got knocked on our ass.”

Since early March, the Ottobar stage has stood mostly empty. No crowds have gathered beneath its sparkling disco ball. No feet have dangled from the second-floor balcony. No lines have wrapped out the door, down the alleyway, and around the corner onto Howard Street. The bar is tidy, the barstools tucked in, not a drop of liquor spilled on the floor beneath them for months.

Shortly after the first case of COVID-19 arrived in Maryland, Governor Larry Hogan announced restrictions on public gatherings, first limiting groups to 250 people—half of the Ottobar’s capacity—then 50, then 10, before a statewide lockdown. For most venues, the weeks that followed meant navigating the quagmire of canceled concerts, refunded ticket sales, unemployment applications, and gathering paperwork for the Small Business Administration’s Paycheck Protection Program.

“We were literally building the airplane as we were flying it, and are still continuing to do so,” says Tesnau. “The space feels so different now. It smells better, for one—I’ve taken to cleaning it a lot. But it’s cavernous, absolutely cavernous. I can’t tell you how much I miss having music in there. Honestly, if I had known that last show was going to be our last, I would’ve been in the mosh pit, too.”

Much like restaurants, the very existence of music venues—particularly small, independent clubs that don’t have the parent companies or shareholders of those in cahoots with conglomerates like Live Nation and AEG—was upended this year as, overnight, their entire business model became virtually obsolete.

Suddenly, COVID-19 made concert-going as we know it simply unsafe, with the virus spread through respiratory droplets, be it coughing or singing, plus close proximity and indoor environments increasing the risk of transmission. Tours were called off, and venues became some of the first businesses to close.

“No one knew then what extreme toll the virus was going to take on the music industry at large,” says Tesnau. “It has absolutely decimated and devastated the music industry. And it’s this massive trickle down.”

“A lot of people don’t realize how many people work in this industry,” says Abigail Janssens, owner of The 8×10 in Federal Hill. “It goes from the artists to the bus drivers who drive them to the tractor trailers who carry the equipment to the people who load the stage to the sound engineers, the light technicians, the box-office person, the security, the bartenders. It takes many, many people to put on a show.” (Not to mention that for every $1 spent on a ticket at independent venues, an estimated $12 is generated within local economies on restaurants, hotels, transportation, and retail.)

Janssens and her husband, Brian Shupe, took over their tiny Cross Street stage in 2005, breathing new life into the live music staple that dates back to the 1980s, when it hosted the likes of Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers before they were famous. The couple added multi-night residencies and cemented the venue as a hidden gem for both local and national rock-spectrum talent. Their last show was on March 12, the same day that Governor Hogan announced his first restrictions, causing them to cancel the final round of the Charm City Bluegrass Festival’s Battle of the Bands the next evening.

“We’ve been closed ever since,” says Janssens, who called off some 100 shows through September. “Our space is so small. There’s almost no way to socially distance, and I’d be devastated if anybody came in and got sick or spread the virus to other people. No way did I think we were going to be shut down for more than a couple weeks, a few months at most.”

“NO WAY DID I THINK WE’D BE SHUT DOWN FOR MORE THAN A FEW MONTHS AT MOST.”

It has now been nine months since her staff was laid off, joining the millions of Americans who went on unemployment this year due to COVID-19. And although she received the PPP and took out a small-business loan, she has still had to take another job in order to keep the lights on at The 8×10, which was already an uphill battle prior to the pandemic, as it is for many independent club owners.

“We’re definitely not in a business to become millionaires,” says Janssens. “It’s very, very tough. There are fans that come and go, there are bands that move on from a small venue—which is great for them. Being closed, we still have to pay $12,000 a month just for bills: rent, insurance, utilities, and all the other things that go along with owning a business. Now we’re almost out of the money from our loan, and it’s starting to get scary.”

The coming months will be critical for these clubs, with cold weather forcing the world back indoors, and spiking COVID-19 cases causing cities and states to clamp down again. It is estimated that 90 percent of independent venues will close permanently within the next few months without financial help from the federal government, according to the National Independent Venue Association (NIVA), a recently established advocacy group. They are currently lobbying Congress to pass the Save Our Stages Act, which would establish a $10-billion grant program for this portion of the industry.

Locally, Governor Hogan announced state-wide emergency funding for live entertainment venues in late October, with grants up to $500,000. But even with this vital aid, without a vaccine distributed widely in the near future, and with Maryland once again in a state of emergency, the situation remains precarious.

“I feel terrible for some venues who are struggling to decide whether they should get out now or wait,” says Janssens. “Luckily, we’ve been in business for 15 years. We have good credit and were able to secure a loan. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to make it either. I’m saying this hoping to be open by next spring at the latest. If it goes on longer than that, then we might be in trouble.”

So far, no Baltimore venues have announced permanent closure, but the two-year-old Soundry shuttered in Columbia in July, and the decade-old U Street Music Hall went dark in D.C. in October. Several spaces, like Joe Squared, a live music respite for 15 years on North Avenue, and The Sidebar, a veteran punk club around the corner from City Hall, remain temporarily closed. As does Rituals, a DIY newcomer that opened just last summer in the former Windup Space, whose owner, Émile Weeks, described the waiting game as “moving through stages of grief.”

“Seeing so many clubs teetering on the brink of bankruptcy breaks your heart,” says Sam Sessa, Baltimore music coordinator at WTMD. “These spaces are part of what makes Baltimore’s music scene one of the best in the nation. Their loss would be a huge blow.”

Without ticket sales, not to mention food and drink—an important source of revenue for many venues—some have been able to stay afloat through alternative outlets. The Crown in Station North has shifted operations into its secondary restaurant space downstairs, with the club’s bouncer, Tony MacDonald, still checking IDs, but now also temperatures. The Ottobar, with its alleyway patio, and the Creative Alliance, with its roving Sidewalk Serenades, were able to utilize the outdoors during warm weather.

Others have tried their hands at smaller indoor concerts as Maryland entered new stages of its coronavirus recovery plan this fall. At press time, however, Baltimore City has just reverted to Phase One, with venues now allowed to operate at only 25 percent capacity, including staff. This creates an economic pickle for smaller spaces who have to decide if those numbers make any financial sense.

“Fifty people doesn’t even begin to pay a band, and is it worth it for my bartenders to come in and possibly get sick for nothing that they’re used to making?” says Janssens, whose 8×10 typically holds 250 people.

“It’s going to help us maintain, but it’s still a very big challenge to keep hanging on,” says Adam Savage, music manager at Baltimore Soundstage, which launched limited-seating concerts at its downtown venue that typically holds 1,000 people. He also works at the Metro Gallery in Station North, which has remained closed since March, as it’s difficult to social distance in a 240-person room.

Still, it is uncertain whether or not audiences will even feel comfortable coming back inside. The Keystone Korner in Harbor East and Cat’s Eye Pub in Fells Point have already had some initial success—and Ticketmaster is now toying with the idea of verifying COVID test results and vaccination statuses before admittance to shows in 2021, which may be the way of the future—but for the time being, it’s not for everyone. “It’s unfortunate, but I don’t think people feel comfortable, and I don’t feel comfortable having a band on our stage, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon,” says Tesnau.

For that, there has been a sort of second digital renaissance within the industry. Several years back, albums moved onto the internet, forever changing the way we consume music. Now, artists themselves have shifted to social media, with virtual concerts becoming the new way for performers big and small to reach fans in the comforts of their own homes.

Every Tuesday since late March, singer-songwriter Cris Jacobs has taken to Facebook Live for at-home concerts, accepting online tips to support his family and out-of-work band and crew. Rapper DDm and indie-rockers Future Islands also released new records via video performances, while dozens of jazz and classical artists, like Warren Wolf and Lafayette Gilchrist, have beamed out sets via YouTube through Mount Vernon’s An Die Musik. And audiences are tuning in, not just in Baltimore, but from across the globe.

“There’s definitely a democratization that’s happened to performance during this pandemic, which is wonderful—we’re all competing for the same eyeballs,” says Josh Kohn, performance director at the Creative Alliance, whose Virtual Front Row livestream series, featuring local artists such as Lea Gilmore and Super City, has evolved into a hybrid in-person offering. “But it leaves the question: what is the role of a venue right now, when you can’t put people in a room together?”

“WHAT IS THE ROLE OF A VENUE WHEN YOU CAN’T PUT PEOPLE IN A ROOM TOGETHER?”

It also raises the question of longevity. Artists and venues are making investments into livestream technologies, like better sound and camera equipment, but most acknowledge the reality of screen fatigue, perhaps due in part to an increasingly technology-tied world in quarantine. Even more likely, it’s because online performances miss something harder to grasp or define—that kinetic electricity of a tiny room reverberating with sound.

“There’s just this vibration during a live performance that you can’t replicate in any other way,” says Kohn. “There’s an energy and a magic when something powerful happens in front of a group of people together. Personally, I came to the Creative Alliance because I love that room. I really miss it.”

Of course, the absence of venues has also had an immense impact on the musicians themselves, who use these stages to not only make a living but also hone their craft and feed off the exchange with a live audience.

“I’m used to it now, but the first few weeks, there was just silence after I played a song, which was really strange,” Cris Jacobs told us this summer. “Playing [virtual] shows made me realize just how much I do miss live music. It’s what I’ve done for so long. Until it’s gone, you maybe don’t realize all the ways it served you, and everybody.”

In recent years, one venue in particular, The Crown, has become a pivotal proving ground for a diverse array of DIY artists, with the small blue room and main red room serving as stepping stones to bigger clubs. This is where Abdu Ali started their iconic Kahlon parties back in 2013 that helped put Baltimore’s music scene on the map and launch the avant-garde rapper on a trajectory toward indie stardom.

“So many young, new artists come through there—it’s really one of the last underground venues in America, as gentrification has hit cities so hard so that places like The Crown literally cannot exist,” says Ali, who also tips their hat to Metro Gallery and mentions the important work that more venues need to do to nurture marginalized creatives. “It’s very important for artists to have the comfort of knowing they have a space where they can do their thing in their city, in their community, in their own backyard.”

For now, for the foreseeable future, most music venues will stay closed, as many states shut down, and the reopening of businesses remaining a point of national debate. In last-ditch efforts to buy more time, the Ottobar and 8×10 launched GoFundMe campaigns this fall, receiving an outpouring of community support, and perhaps a glimmer of hope.

“There is still a huge hunger for live music in people’s lives,” says Savage, who helped Soundstage put on drive-in concerts at the Frederick Fairgrounds this summer. “We’ve been gathering around drums in caves since the very beginning. Live music is part of human existence. It’s something we need on an absolute fundamental level. It just can’t go away.”

To attend this secret music show, all I knew was that I needed to be there by 8 p.m., and that if I wanted to be comfortable, I should bring a blanket.

When my friend and I walked into Vent Coffee Roasters, the Union Collective caffeine hotspot was stripped down even further than its signature minimalist vibe. With unfinished wood benches pushed to the side, the space opened up significantly, leaving the concrete floor as the lone seating option for the show.

A single mic stand artfully draped with a string of lights stood as a makeshift stage, seemingly fashioned after a summer camp talent show. The usual pre-concert chatter of which songs we thought the musicians would sing was replaced with energetic conversation between local strangers who had congregated to this secret destination in the name of loving live music.

Every Sofar Sounds show is shrouded with this same sense of mystery and simplicity, but don’t mistake its uncomplicated design for lack of professionalism. The program’s cryptic setup—with the venue’s address only revealed the night before via email and its three artists introduced on the spot—pays homage to Sofar’s humble beginnings.

What is now a 400-city global phenomenon started out as two guys in London who were tired of going to concerts and being surrounded by people who weren’t there for the music. So, like any good millennial self-starters, they took matters into their own hands and hosted their own small concert in their living room.

“For artists who are just starting out, it’s a great way to build your fanbase and try out new material,” explains Sofar Baltimore director, Christen Taylor, more fondly known as vocalist Christen B. “The setting is calm enough and more welcoming for things that you’re still trying out to get the buzz going.”

The company that transforms everyday places—from coffee shops to retail stores to even living rooms—into affordable and and intimate shows with as few as 50 guests, and no more than 150. And while there are tons of perks to those attending, performers also have a lot to gain from this underground experience, whether you’re a budding musician who applied for the gig and could really use the paid four-piece set, or a touring artist looking to fill in gaps between nights at the arena.

At the start of the show, Christen B., who is a Sofar artist herself and has been with Baltimore’s chapter since its inception in 2017, dimmed our lively hum into total silence with a boisterous yet warm welcome. As our host for the night, she informed us of the three rules of Sofar shows: Stay until the end, absolutely no talking during the performances, and always support the artists—whether it be through an Instagram follow or a merch purchase. And with the signing of this verbal contract, repeated back to Taylor in class-like unison, the night officially began.

To my surprise, the experience was about so much more than just the show. There’s a sense of community that is felt among everyone in attendance. This particular celebration swapped simple melodies with rapid-fire spoken word by Black Chakra, heated and theatrical “rants” to ex lovers from Theresa tha S.O.N.G.B.I.R.D., and the acoustic serenades of Wifty Bangura.

In learning about the experiences that breathed life into each artist’s performance, Vent Coffee’s concrete floor felt more like that of a childhood best friend’s bedroom, with the night spent cracking jokes and sharing secrets. Vent owner Sarah Walker first heard about the organization by word of mouth and, even without having attended any of their shows before, the allure was enough for Walker to offer up her space.

“Vent’s mission is to be a space where people can come, let out the worries of the day, and make it something better,” she says. “Sofar helps us further that vision. The diversity they bring means a lot to me.”

And while a connection between artists and the audience is all but guaranteed, Sofar’s spontaneous nature leaves no set formula for how show-goers will react. At Baltimore’s first show in October of 2017, brass band Rufus Roundtree and Da B’more Brass Factory had the audience up on their feet and dancing.

“You can’t have a preconceived notion of what you’re going to experience,” Taylor reflects. “It allows people to come and enjoy and be a part of something bigger than themselves in a way where they don’t have the ability to judge, or pre-judge because there’s no actual information given.”

Though Sofar shows take place in a couple-hundred cities all over the world, Charm City has a way of making events its own.

“Baltimore has a family,” Taylor muses. “What’s unique is that feeling of belonging, of being in a space that you never even knew existed and loving it.”

Valentine’s Day is upon us, and there’s no time to lose. Not sure where to start? We’ve got the down-low on today’s top dating apps and where to take your match. Whether you’re a tried and true dating app pro or you’ve had one too many mismatches, Baltimore abounds with date-night spots for every level commitment.

Best if you’re up for anything: Tinder

The O.G. of dating apps, Tinder is where swiping left for “no” and swiping right for “yes” all began. It’s the virtual land of possibilities. Just select your radius and get swiping. Find a match, send a message (or wait for them), and let fate take it from there! Perks: if you and your squad are looking for a group of new friends, just use Tinder Groups and match with others nearby.

Date idea: Drinks at a neighborhood bar—easy to ditch if the night goes sour, or end up out all night if you hit it off. Try Max’s Taphouse, Southern Provisions, or the upstairs of the Ottobar.

Best for easy conversation: Hinge

Known as a slightly more serious in the dating app arena, Hinge is all about connecting with people with whom you have actual interests in common. Set up your profile using your most authentically “you” selfies, and get honest about your hopes, dreams, or quirky stories with the app’s sentence starters. You’ll set your radius and have a pool of Hinge users to swipe. If you match someone, start the conversation or pass it to them.

Date idea: Happy hour trivia is a great way to see if your common interests have a spark. Try Five and Dime Ale House (Wednesdays), Sláinte (also on Wednesdays), and fun Birroteca theme nights (Mondays).

Best for daring women: Bumble

Women-forward and time-sensitive, Bumble is all about filtering out what isn’t meant to be. You each have your best selfies and most clever bios set, but the ladies call the shots—it’s up to the women to make the match and start the conversation within 24 hours. If it’s meant to be, you’ll both be chatting away within hours.

Date idea: Get out of your comfort zone with fun and unique dinner spots like Ekiben, the various food stalls at R. House, and bivalves by the dozen at The Local Oyster in Mount Vernon Marketplace.

Best for no-BS: Coffee Meets Bagel

Not into the whole meeting strangers in public thing? Coffee Meets Bagel pairs you with people with whom you have mutual Facebook friends. Men get 21 bagels to swipe through every day at noon and then the ball is in the ladies’ court. Women can only see a round-up of people who’ve already “liked” them and meet their set criteria. But, the catch is women only get five matches per day and have only 24-hours to respond. For same-sex couples, you only get to see one best match a day. It’s probably the most restrictive dating app, but it works for those looking for connections already close to their circle of friends.

Date idea: Seems a bit on the nose, but might we suggest these area coffee spots to start? Try 3 Bean, Ceremony Coffee, or Dovecote Cafe.

Best for women looking for women: Her

More than your average dating app, Her is a source of LGBTQ+ news and events designed for lesbian, bisexual, and queer women. Looking for a match? Simply select a profile and like. But the limit doesn’t end there, besides plenty of date potentials, there’s endless opportunity to find your community nearby.

Date idea: See if you two are musically compatible at these spots around town—Metro Gallery, The Crown, and Flavor (for Queeraoke Fridays).

Best for the missed opportunity: Happn

We admit that this concept is a little creepy, but Happn uses GPS tracking to show you various matches that you’ve crossed paths with geographically. Missed the name of the person you were chatting up in the grocery line? No worries. If they’re also on Happn, you yourself can align the stars.

Date idea: Clearly you both lead an active and cultured lifestyle, so why not check out our local museum guide and visit places like the Baltimore Museum of Art, The Reginald F. Lewis Museum, or American Visionary Art Museum.

Best for an instant match-maker: Plenty of Fish

A dating app that threatens to give matchmakers a run for their money, Plenty of Fish has people swearing by the solid connections they’ve made from this ope pool of matches. In-depth personality questions and chemistry assessments help to pair you up with your most compatible partner.

Date idea: IPA or Stout? You can learn so much about your date while tasting craft beers. There are plenty of places to try in town, but check out the fun events in the taprooms of Monument City Brewing, Charm City Meadworks, and Union Craft Brewing.

On a recent sunny Saturday afternoon in Fells Point, groups of friends enjoyed mimosas out on the sidewalk of Thames Street, dog walkers stopped to greet one another, and families strolled along the waterfront promenade. But the faint sound of a blues guitar drew us into Cat’s Eye Pub (1730 Thames St., 410-276-9866), just as it has been doing for decades.

Opened in 1975 by the late Tony Cushing Sr., the bar is now run by his wife, Ana Marie (who books the bands), and son, Tony Jr., who can be found working the main bar most nights. While there is no shortage of live music emanating from the bars in Fells Point, Cat’s Eye is one of the few places to hear a band every day of the week—including holidays.

There are resident bands like Nothin’ But Trouble, which plays its brand of blues many Friday nights; the soul and blues artist Ursula Ricks, who frequently shares her smoky vocals; and the rockabilly stylings of country artist Sean K. Preston, who occasionally drops in. The Saturday we visited, it was the Tony Denikos Band who took the stage at 4 p.m., playing twangy originals and covering artists that ranged from the Bee Gees to Bruce Springsteen to Tracy Chapman.

While the music is the main draw at Cat’s Eye, the bar also excels at a being just that—a bar. There’s the good-humored doorman out front and longtime bartenders Jen, Rob, and Terri providing some of the best service in town. It’s a shot and a beer place, to be sure, but the draft list is always excellent. We sipped on selections from regional breweries such as Dogfish Head and Heavy Seas while tapping our toes to the band.

And in case there’s any doubt that the bar channels the heyday of Fells, look no further than the recent passing of Tom Cooper, who owned the now-closed, iconic music bar Leadbetter’s. When Cooper died a few months ago, his friends planned a New Orleans-style marching band (or second line) for his funeral. The brass players trotted down the cobblestone streets of Thames in Cooper’s honor with one clear destination in mind: the stage of Cat’s Eye Pub.

Visual Art

Odyssey: Jack Whitten Sculpture
The Baltimore Museum of Art will introduce to the world 40 sculptures by Jack Whitten (1963-2018), the renowned artist who influenced the next generation of painters and passed away in January. As he was known primarily for his paintings and mixed-media work, this show, co-organized with The Metropolitan Museum of Art, marks the first of its kind. Sculpture mediums include wood, marble, copper, and bone, and the collection also features personal mementos, as well as Whitten’s Black Monoliths series, which reveals how sculpture influenced his paintings. April 22 through July 29 at the BMA, 10 Art Museum Drive. Free Opening Celebration, 1 to 5 p.m. April 22.

Bonnie Crawford Kotula
Baltimore-based artist Bonnie Crawford will show a series of drawings and sculptural works around the theme of sleep—and more specifically, insomnia—in an exhibit at Montpelier Arts Center. The body of work was inspired by Louise Bourgeois’ Insomnia Drawings. At an artist talk, there will be blankets and tea. April 7 to May 27 at Montpelier Arts Center, 9652 Muirkirk Road, Laurel. Opening reception from 2 to 4 p.m. April 8; artist talk at 3 p.m. April 28.

Music

Negative Gemini, Amy Reid
The Metro Gallery will host a night of electronica with a packed lineup of local and national acts. Negative Gemini will headline with her indie dream-pop dance beats. Also on the bill: George Clanton and two Baltimore-based artists, Amy Reid and Giddeon Gallows (Drew Scott). It’s a good excuse to dance and shake off those winter blues. 9 p.m. April 11 at Metro Gallery, 1700 N. Charles St.

Snakes album release show
Frontman George Cessna eases through each of Snakes’ dark and twangy rockabilly rides, creating a lo-fi sound while crooning out lyrics that have a timeless quality about them. The five-piece, which essentially started as a backup band for Cessna, released its second full-length record, No More Songs About Wildflowers, in March (with a cassette option, per tradition), and they’ll play their album release show this month at EMP Collective. Catch them before they hit the road this summer for an extended tour. 9 p.m. April 13 at EMP Collective, 307 W. Baltimore St.

Theater

Peter Pan, an original stage adaptation
Playwright Joshua Conkel (Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events) re-imagines the classic story of Peter Pan for a 21st-century audience in Single Carrot Theatre’s world premiere of Peter Pan. As part of its community outreach, the theater partners with people in Baltimore each year to create an original production. This one borrows stories and inspiration from local LGBTQ residents to present a Peter and Wendy who grapple with questions of gender and sexuality in Neverland. 8 p.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays and 3 p.m. on Sundays from April 27 through May 20. Pay-What-You-Can Previews on April 25 and 26. Single Carrot Theatre, 2600 N. Howard St.

Literary Arts

CityLit Festival
In its 15th year, CityLit Festival returns with a lineup so packed, it’s probably best to clear your whole day on April 14. The event includes workshops, readings, lectures, and panel discussions spanning multiple genres and local and international talent. The keynote author is New Yorker staff writer Philip Gourevitch, Yrsa Daley-Ward will give a master class, plus Elizabeth Acevedo and Joanne Gabbin will be speakers, among many more. Most events at the festival are free, but some require registration and/or small fees. 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. April 14 at William H. Thumel Sr. Business Center at the University of Baltimore, 11 W. Mount Royal Ave.

Fashion

MICA’s experimental fashion shows
Avant-garde and experimental fashion by MICA students will be highlighted during two shows this month. First, designs by 20 students in fiber, painting, illustration, fine arts, graphic design, sculpture, and other programs at the school will make their debut at Authenticity, the annual benefit show in its 25th year. Artists explore personality, social class, and cultural heritage through their work, reflecting on their individual as well as collective identities. Several garments will be auctioned off at the event. The second event, MEZZO: An Experimental Fashion Event, is by the Fiber Department’s Multi Media Event class and encompasses costumes, performance, puppetry, and sculpture by 12 designers. Authenticity is at 9 p.m. April 13 and 8 p.m. April 14 at MICA’s Falvey Hall, 1301 W. Mount Royal Ave., and MEZZO is at 5 and 8 p.m. April 21 at the Baltimore War Memorial, 101 N. Gay St.

Miscellanea

Refugee and Immigrant Arts Feast
Mera Kitchen Collective’s inaugural Refugee and Immigrants Arts Feast celebrates cultures from around the world through food, art, crafts, and music. The all-day event is free and family-friendly. 11:30 a.m. to  4p.m. April 28 at 2640 Space, 2640 St. Paul St.

#RiseBmore
April 19 marks the third anniversary of Freddie Gray’s death while in police custody. In commemoration, several artists will present a free event, #RiseBmore2018, that evening at Union Baptist Church. The lineup: Words by Abdu Ali, Erricka Wonder Voice Bridgeford, Brittani McNeill, Tariq Touré, and Shannon Lo Wallace, and music by Judah Adashi, Akua Allrich, Japheth Clark, Mark G. Meadows, Joy Postell, Letitia VanSant (leh-tih-sha), and Voices Rise: A Baltimore Choir of Hope.

On Drugs: Stories about dependence, destruction, and salvation
As the Stoop Storytelling Series so aptly puts it, elixirs have the power to both heal and destroy us. In a night of stories around this central theme of drugs, storytellers include a poet, a family medicine doctor, an independent drug researcher, a retired state police captain, and others. 8 p.m. April 19 at the Senator Theatre, 5904 York Road.

With outdoor venues opening up and warm weather slowly creeping in, spring concerts are back in full swing. Whether you’re young or old, into oldies (but goodies) or the hottest new track, there’s something for everyone with these upcoming concerts.

Milennial Mix

4/8: Big Sean
The Fillmore, 8656 Colesville Road, Silver Spring. 8 p.m. $50. 301-960-9999. This popular Detroit rapper comes to Silver Spring with his new album, I Decided.

4/8: Deadmau5
Merriweather Post Pavilion, 10475 Little Patuxent Pkwy., Columbia. 7:30 p.m. $45-75. 410-715-5550. This mouse-masked electronic musician brings his heavy house beats to the woods of Merriweather.

4/18-19: Explosions in the Sky
Rams Head Live, 20 Market Pl. 8 p.m. $30. 410-244-1131. Get lost in the grooves of this instrumental indie-rock band.

Guitar Gods

4/6: John Mayer
Verizon Center, 601 F St. NW, Washington, D.C. 7:30 p.m. $55-115. 202-628-3200. The guitarist dream boat is back on tour with a handful of new songs.

4/12: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Verizon Center, 601 F St. NW, Washington, D.C. 8 p.m. $52-102. 202-628-3200. This rabble-rousing rock band does not disappoint with its unique blend of funk and punk rock.

4/25: Steve Winwood
Modell Performing Arts Center at the Lyric, 140 W. Mount Royal Ave. 7:30 p.m. $48-83. 410-900-1150. This rock ’n’ roll legend puts on a star show featuring new songs and old favorites like “Higher Love.”

Classic Crooners

4/6: Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons
Hippodrome Theatre at the France-Merrick Performing Arts Center, 12 N. Eutaw St. 8 p.m. $65-191. 410-837-7400. Don’t miss this iconic 1960s quartet with lead singer Frankie Valli’s hallowed falsetto.

4/21-23: The Doo Wop Project
Joseph Meyerhoff Symphony Hall, 1212 Cathedral St. Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m., Sun. 3 p.m. $33-99. 410-783-8000. This New York a cappella group takes you back to the good old days with tight harmonies and a soulful sound.

Local Tunes

4/5: Baltimore Boom Bap Society
The Windup Space, 12 W. North Ave. 9:30 p.m. $7. 410-244-8855. This experimental music group hosts its monthly night of live improvisational hip-hop in Station North.

4/7: Cris Jacobs
Baltimore Soundstage, 124 Market Pl. 8 p.m. $22-25.30. 410-244-0057. One of Baltimore’s most active singer-songwriters takes the stage downtown.

4/8: Maggie Rogers
U Street Music Hall, 1115 U St. NW, Washington, D.C. 7 p.m. $15. 202-588-1889. Since becoming noticed by iconic beat maker Pharrell, this Eastern Shore songstress has skyrocketed to indie fame.

4/15: Great American Canyon Band
Ottobar, 2549 N. Howard St. 9 p.m. $12-14. 410-662-0069. This local indie-folk duo presents their Americana sound.