5/13/26
Last night, I packed my car full of music gear: two passive Peavy speakers, a Sound Tech floor monitor, a Behringer powered speaker, my 16 channel mixer, the 2x500 watt amplifier, a Shure SM58 (comedically deformed from countless mic drops), a Shure SM57, my PreSonus drum mic kit, an assortment of mic stands, and 3 tote bags full of power cables, XLR cables, 1/4 inches, speaker cables, an aux cord, and my laptop. Somehow, this eclectic accumulation of Craigslist purchases, FaceBook Marketplace offers, and trades between friends fit into my ‘05 Toyota Camry, with just enough room for me to squeeze into the driver’s seat for the next day’s activities. I got to the Meetinghouse early and unloaded all the gear into Shield’s Hall just before starting my 8am opening shift in the Market. The day passed quickly - making lattes and sandwiches, serving customers, helping people connect to the wifi, etc. makes the day fly by. A little after 4pm, I finished closing, locked the doors, and started preparing for the evening’s concert. With only two hours until “doors” opened, I had to move fast. Thankfully, I had the assistance of a high school volunteer looking to get some service hours for the National Honor’s Society - he and I speedily pushed chairs, unfolded tables, plugged in speakers, microphones, monitors, etc. A friend of mine named Monaco, frequent concert-goer and acclaimed performer, showed up to help, knowing we were short on time, and the three of us successfully turned the Meetinghouse’s Shield’s Hall - typically an art gallery - into a concert venue in just under an hour. 5pm - one hour till doors open. Conveniently, all three of the bands were running a little late. (Technically, they were right on time - I had told them to come a half hour earlier than they really needed to, counting for the usual lateness of young musicians) - so there was about 30 minutes to make the final stops. First, back home to pick up speaker stands (I always forget just one thing) and second, to pick up some pizza for the bands and volunteers.
There are a million things to cover when hosting an independent, “do-it-yourself” concert. For starters, it has to sound good, and something always goes awry with the sound, so I’ve learned to bring at least twice as many cables as I really need, and microphones, and a backup speaker, and a backup mixer too. With all this amplification, it’s going to be loud, and people always forget earplugs, so I make sure to get a fresh box to pass around. It has to look good - make sure the lights are warm, calming, and inviting, never turn on the overhead lights. Ensure the bathrooms are clean and accessible. Put little lanterns outside and signs pointing the way so people know where to park. There has to be space to sit, but more space to dance, space apart from the action if people need a moment away from the noise, space to mingle and meet people, space outside too, to get some fresh air. There needs to be crayons, sharpies, pencils and stacks of paper available for the artists among us (those stacks of paper are always filled up by the end of the night with beautiful doodles, poetry, comics, even folded up into origami sometimes). And finally - did you remember to print out little take-home flyers to advertise the next show? The thing about music is it’s perpetual - I don’t know where it started, and it’s way, way older than me. It’s way, way older than all the kids who come to these shows and get a chance to express themselves for the first time, and be weirdos and sing and dance and see their friends be weirdos on stage. To see people who look like them and have similar perspectives under a spotlight, with all eyes on them, and free. To dress however they like, to experiment with fashion and gender-expression, to be surrounded by supportive people in a supportive place. To dance with this eternal thing, this nameless thing that surrounds the air and lives just behind your smile - to loop a thread in this decades-long, centuries-long song-string. To dip their toes in infinity - to become fully submerged if you want to.
Oh yea, 30 minutes left. I’m on my way to get pizza for the bands. That's probably the most important part - pizza. Bands on tour need pizza. Volunteers working for free need pizza. I was hungry too. So Monaco and I were driving and talking about concerts at the Meetinghouse, and the effort required to make it happen. We got to talking about the people who come and how cool it is to see repeat attendees. Monaco said something that stuck with me, they said, very simply, “It’s nice. I feel free.” I laughed and said, “That’s the point!” then inside I thought, Wait, yes! That is the point! Suddenly any fatigue I had felt from the long day melted away. Monaco’s simple statement reignited my passion and purpose. Somewhere, there is an exhaustless source and passion is one tap we can use to drink deeply of that joyful essence. It just keeps pouring itself into and out of itself again and again, and it’s always available. . .
~
Since September I have been engaging with the Market at the Meetinghouse, Shield’s Hall, and the Meetinghouse’s Lower Level through various programs to experiment with belonging through third-space and music. I have always been passionate about organizing events and connecting people - but it’s challenging to find a reliable space to work out of. Do-it-yourself spaces for music are generally fleeting and dependent on numerous factors: too expensive, or located in a bar with age-restrictions, are some examples. At the Meetinghouse, access to space is only limited by imagination.
Having access to space and imagining the possibilities of its use is a very creative endeavor. Each room is teeming with its own personality, preferences, demands, and offerings. From its size to lighting, furniture, what’s in the closets, what’s on the walls, access to electricity, access to entry - every little piece of a space can be considered a part of the programming used in an artistic way to influence the atmosphere. More often than not, environment and atmosphere are neglected components in community events. But as the very first impression that is made upon the senses, and as a pivotal exposition to one’s experience, it must not be neglected. With the physical space I have the opportunity to use, my goal is to offer people the highest quality concert experience I can possibly give. Personally, I have extremely high standards for DIY (do-it-yourself) concerts. I compare the experience I am offering to my own standards in order to ensure the quality of the concert. When I attend a DIY show and the audio mix is hurting my ears, or the overhead lights are on and disorienting, or I feel uncomfortable or unwelcomed in any way, I will simply leave. When I am running a show I am concerned with perfecting the experience in every possible way for the purpose of generating a welcoming, positive, and enjoyable atmosphere. This begins with high quality sound and hospitality for the bands as mentioned above, warm lighting, starting on time, etc. All these puzzle pieces are only physical - which I believe is the medium through which I have the opportunity to achieve my other non-phenomenal goals which include the positive emotional and mental development of my community.
When I was growing up, the music scene was uncertain of itself and very much in the process of learning what it was all about. Now I am old enough to know what worked for me and what did not - and I have the unique opportunity to capitalize on what worked and offer that to my “younger self”, aka, every concert attendee and performer. I do this as a form of Karma Yoga, in an attempt to heal who I was in the past and to grow into the future in a positive community of seekers, together. From a metaphysical perspective, I am using my experiences and actions as a devotional method of coming into union with Spirit. It is an entirely selfish situation. I am using the experience I have the privilege to provide purely as an opportunity to work on myself. I don't kid myself into thinking I have any other right or responsibility. But I’m getting off topic, let’s return to the phenomena: Starting with Shield’s Hall!
Shield’s Hall has become the number one space for weekend concerts. It’s the perfect size for independent musicians to take the stage and experiment with their craft. Each night, concerts average about 25-40 attendees, with a solid 15 or so who attend every single concert. With an ever-rotating display of community artwork covering the walls, Shield’s Hall is the perfect location for a growing creative community to gather. I have had the amazing privilege to create a concert atmosphere that matches my own standards - as well as to be able to listen to the concert goers and shape the atmosphere to be more fitting for their own formational journeys and desires.
One example of shaping the atmosphere to the desires of the concert goers is the gradual increase in arts and crafts present at the concerts I host. It began with a single notebook and a little drawing I made to advertise future concerts, with a message offering concert goers to take one or many of the physical flyers I had printed. I had left the notebook and a pack of sharpies unattended… pretty soon a few attendees were all doodling together, taking turns drawing on the same piece of paper, and sharing colors. After the show, a few drawings had been left on the table, and I was astounded by their beauty, founded in impromptu collaboration, some featuring lengthy poems and others filled with seriously impressive portraits, creatures, and abstract patterns. So next time, I brought more paper and more crayons, sharpies, colored pencils. I created a few “stations” for arts and crafts and left a spread of different colors and construction paper at varying locations - some fitting for a group of three to four, another at the big community table where many more could gather if desired, and a little station in a comfortable corner available for an artist going solo for the night. At the next concert, which was on Halloween, I saw each of these stations being used and beautiful artwork being created - but even more importantly, I saw people connecting with each other and making friends over a shared experience. Sometimes a simple shared activity, or just having something to do with your hands is enough to prompt collaboration and connection.
I was curious to hear from some community members about their experiences at the Meetinghouse. I interviewed a wide range of individuals, all with their own unique involvement, experiences, and stories to share. I interviewed a frequent concert-goer by the name of Dexter to hear his thoughts on the experience of the Meetinghouse concerts and how they have impacted him. I also interviewed a good friend of mine named Monaco, a concert attendee, co-organizer, and performer. who I mentioned earlier. Here is their input:
Q: When did you first get involved with the Meetinghouse, and how has the space impacted you?
Dexter: “I first got involved in the Meetinghouse half a year ago in November. It was Roman's birthday, who I had met a few days previous at a show in Torrington, and they invited me to come along. I was rather terrified as I always went to shows alone, but I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone. The first thing I really noticed about the Meetinghouse is its location. A lot of the venues I went to at the time were in cities and more congested areas, but the Meetinghouse is located in a rural part of Ridgefield. I remember the first night I was there I looked up at the sky and saw the stars, something I don't often see at other venues. It was beautiful.”
Monaco described one of their first introductions to the local music scene at the Meetinghouse: “I had no prior exposure to an experience like this, but I became comfortable immediately. I got to talking to the person handling doors…. They spoke in a way that was soft and warm and welcoming. It was so easy to feel at home at the Meetinghouse from just that conversation, and it was so simple to thrust myself into this community that I was only just starting to become aware of.”
Something that is incredibly important to me is the fluidity and flexibility of the community to listen to and hear the needs of its members. Q: How has the community grown around you, and how have you grown around the community?
Dexter: “The community and I have changed a lot in the last 6 months, and I've found that it's somehow only become more friendly and welcoming to new folks. I'm personally quite scared of strangers but I've found even myself striking up conversation with unfamiliar faces, as being in an environment that's familiar to me makes me feel safer. Shows have become a priority for me, an essential part of my week that I look forward to, and our community has grown a lot! It's a major location for the punk scene and for very good reason.”
Q: How have you felt a sense of belonging, personal formation, or development in your own character through community?
Monaco said, “Over the summer, about a year ago at the time that I am writing this, I had experienced something traumatic that would change my life almost entirely. In an attempt to free myself of my anxieties, I threw my presence, my creations, my talents, out into the world. I networked for the first time, I spoke to every person that inspired me, and I managed to include myself in projects that had nothing to do with me.” Monaco and Dexter both echo a similar sentiment on the importance of community connections. Dexter said: “This community has made me discover a lot about myself lately. I am a very hypervigilant and asocial person, at least, I had always assumed I was. I have never fit in anywhere, but I feel like this scene is truly a place where I belong. I've made more connections and friends in the last half year than I have for probably the majority of my life, and I owe a lot of it to the Meetinghouse. I've become so much more confident in myself, I've been sober from my addictions, and I genuinely like who I am right now. I haven't been able to say that in a very long time.”
Two more spaces in the Meetinghouse have become central locations for the budding community of artists: The Lower Level and the Market. The Lower Level (and soon to be Upper Level) of the Meetinghouse has become the go to space for lowkey acoustic nights. With comfortable couches and arm chairs drawn in a circle, surrounding a rug with little tables and pads for people to sit, it’s the perfect place for a mellow, relaxing evening of acoustic music, folk singers, or jazz collectives to perform.
The first acoustic night in this space featured an eclectic mix of performers. It was my friend Cal’s album release show - he and I had been hard at work recording and mixing his first album titled “Ketamine Daydream” under his artist name Pigeon Vulture. It was truly a blessing to be the hidden microphone behind his powerful narratives and delicate guitar playing. My friend Monaco performed alongside Pigeon Vulture as a secondary singer - (together, they have since developed a new two-piece acoustic emo project called Whalefall, whose music has become a staple in the Meetinghouse acoustic nights). Opening the night was singer-songwriter K.J. Whitton, followed by soul-driven, explosive “camp-counselor” music by Margot Miller, and finally, myself performing a mix of slam poetry, guitar songs, and collaborative percussion. It was packed, with community members converging into one space. It was many people’s first time at the Meetinghouse, so I made sure to leave some chalkboard directions pointing to the lower level with Anna’s help, the events-coordinator and communications intern at the time.
This was Monaco’s first time transitioning from the audience-member role to the performer role, so I was intrigued to hear their thoughts on the overall experience of being not only a performer, but also a co-organizer, and a key community member who made this night possible:
Monaco: “This show meant a lot to a lot. It was huge to witness so many of my friends and family from different parts of my life mingling, and squeezed into that tiny basement just to watch me perform. But that is only a fraction of why this show was so impactful. The Meetinghouse has seen dozens of audiences, but this moment was truly separate. There was so much love emanating from our crowd, it could have been glowing (or, it was, once everyone took their phone flashlights out). A love for music, a love for art, a love for uniqueness, a love for being queer. A love for being accepted by those around you, because, just like you, at some point they had faced rejection only for being themselves. A love for love. It all makes me want to keep going with my work, and encourage others to do the same. This was my favorite of the memories that I have from the Meetinghouse. Though they are all looked back on with tenderness.”
A few weeks later, following the success of the first acoustic night, we had another performance in the Lower Level. This night was coined the “Tiny Barn Concert” and was Anna’s cumulative project for her internship at the Meetinghouse. Performers included her friend from Philly on tour known as Birch Bark, alongside Whalefall, Pigeon Vulture, and Anna and I’s project called Form & Essence. This evening featured more than just music - it was the first night sharply focused on community building and giving back. This took shape with our cohosts Humanitees, known as a community-first clothing brand built around conservation. Luke and Landon, current directors of Humanitees, are both sons of the original founders who started the brand in the 90s. Luke and Landon are now rebuilding it into “...something a little different. Every shirt funds verified conservation work through three nonprofit partners: Rainforest Trust for forests, Clean Air Task Force for greenhouse gases, and Bonneville Environmental Foundation for freshwater… The bigger idea is that the shirt is just the entry point. We're building a community of people who care about the planet and want to do something tangible together.”
Anna and I invited Humanitees to be an assistant organizer for the Tiny Barn Concert, providing us with assistance in promotion and marketing, in exchange for a table at the concert giving them the opportunity to speak with community members about their mission. I asked co-founder Luke Boylan for his overall thoughts on the experience. Q: What was your impression of the community at the Tiny Barn show, and how did you feel about the sense of belonging or development within the community?
“The Tiny Barn was one of the best nights I've had in a long time. The thing that stood out most was how comfortable everyone was with each other. It honestly felt like the room was full of friends I just hadn't met yet. There was such a wide range of people, a real melting pot, and some of my favorite conversations of the night came from strangers I'd just met. I also loved that the artists weren't separated from the crowd. They were just hanging out in the audience between sets, so you could go up and talk to them about their music and learn where they come from. That doesn't really happen at most shows. James and Anna did a great job setting up the space too. It was inviting and cozy and really fit the folk vibe of the night. The ambiance was amazing.”
I was thrilled to have Humanitees present at the Tiny Barn, and I am so grateful they allowed me the chance to experiment with different “mediums” of community-building and expression, and attempt to merge the two ideas, based on an inkling of commonality. Luke resonated this sentiment: “Humanitees felt like a welcome addition. So many people were curious about the brand and what we're building, and we ended up having a ton of great conversations and selling some tees. People weren't just being polite, they actually wanted to know more. That's the kind of room every founder wants to be in.”
On future collaborations, Luke expressed excitement about the mutual benefits of a third-space such as the Meetinghouse, and a clear and driven mission like Humanitees has: “The Tiny Barn night made it clear there's real overlap between the people who care about this space and the people who care about what we're building, and I think there's a lot more there to explore.”
~
Of all the spaces in the Meetinghouse that I have been engaged with, the Market is the most relaxed atmosphere, mostly due to it being an active cafe and only being available during daytime hours. The Market has become the primary space for gatherings during the daytime where coffee, tea, and sandwiches are served. I began with a weekly open mic series. Over time, I came to notice people were interested less in frequency / consistency and more in a structured, special event. This led to the once a month writer’s open mic, co-hosted by Poor Yorick, the collaborative journal of WestConn’s MFA program. Poor Yorick partners with Rainy Day Paperback, a second-hand book store in Bethel, CT. Nora from Rainy Day Paperback sets up a pop-up book store in the nook between the entrance to the Meetinghouse and the Market itself, so people entering can browse through a hand-picked selection of books fitting the theme of the month’s activities. Sara Risko, a valued member of WestConn's MFA program (Master of Fine Arts in Creative and Professional Writing) and community organizer, leads the monthly writer’s open mics at the Market, which have successfully drawn a large range of age groups and budding writers, from beyond just the MFA program to local families, youth groups, and Market regulars curious to listen.
~
Recently I was walking around my old campus and ran into one of my professors, Professor Mario Diaz de Leon, an accomplished musician, instructor, and mentor by all rites. I hadn’t seen him in quite some time since I graduated, and we got to talking in his office about music history and scene building. I told him all about the shows at the Meetinghouse and the budding community that was forming, and my excitement about its flourishing. With a knowing smile, he seemed to be reliving his own experiences as I described mine. He offered me a book to read, a book about his “scene.” Knowing he grew up in a little town in Minnesota, I was surprised that there was a whole book written about it. Taking a closer look, I noticed the book was about the 1990s hardcore music scene, nationwide. It wasn’t only his small town and personal community that made up “his” scene, but a wide and multifarious national network of musicians, all united by a single genre and its symbology. The way he said “my scene” was with ownership and pride and nostalgia, and I couldn’t help but become inspired by a sudden, almost shocking sense of limitlessness… the possibility that this small microcosm of an artistic community, in a tiny little town in Connecticut, could be a part of something much, much bigger.
The opportunity I have had to build a community at the Meetinghouse means so much more to me than words can describe. For years, I have been seeking this without even knowing it. I didn’t find it in adolescence - much too turbulent to find any footing. I didn’t find it in my college years, too fleeting and formational to last. But I think I am touching on it now - actual, real, tangible, calm, belonging. With my own footing found, I suddenly belong, in my own skin and in the role I have stumbled into. Here’s what belonging means to me: It’s a shattering of time. It’s a long, tense breath, finally being released into a perfect exhale. It’s falling asleep in the shade of an oak tree. Drawing a thread from the past to now - but whose past, and whose now? That part, that pesky identity, finally becomes irrelevant. Who is growing formationally, who is finding belonging? It’s us - we are. It’s eternal and nameless. Through the work I am engaged with I have the chance to consciously expand the boundaries of my own history, and offer my own calmness to the community that is beginning to flourish at the Meetinghouse. When that calmness grows, or my identification with it develops, not only does it affect me now, it affects all my past - every moment is redefined daily under the growing awareness of my consciousness.
Looking ahead, I plan to organize a community project in the Meetinghouse’s backyard. There are already architectural plans in place for the development of a community garden and it is my goal to turn the space into a thriving ecosystem where people can get some dirt on their hands and contribute to the physical development of the space that they are a part of. I introduced the idea of the community garden to Monaco and Dexter at the end of our interviews. Monaco expressed these conclusionary statements: “I am very interested in deepening my involvement in the Meetinghouse. I’ve had the fortune of seeing it grow these past 7 months, and it is nothing miniscule. Its future, in addition to a soon-to-come community garden, will flourish.”
I asked Dexter if he was willing to share any favorite memories from the Meetinghouse. Expecting a favorite concert or similar experience, I was touched to hear his favorite memory was a quiet moment of his own: “My most impactful memory of the Meetinghouse was a month or so ago when I was sitting in the hallway outside of the bathrooms with a small crowd of folks, some who I knew, some who were strangers. Everyone was just talking to each other and I sat on the floor and listened, and I suddenly realized that I wasn't tensing my shoulders. I've always had a habit of holding myself defensively, especially around people I don't know, but I for once wasn't doing that. I didn't even have to make myself still- I had automatically rested, because I felt safe. Even though I wasn't alone, and even though I didn't know everyone. It was extremely profound for me, and it's a memory I hold close to myself.” I thought back to when Monaco told me, simply, “It’s nice. I feel free.” Me too.