Stefanie Clark Harris tuned her guitar in Jenn Stockwell’s front yard and introduced a song she had written recently, during the Covid-19 pandemic. It was about “thinking about so much” with “nowhere to go — nothing to hide from or escape from, but left with yourself,” she said. “That wound up being pretty powerful to me and this is a song about it.”
There was a small PA system set up there, and a couple laptops on chairs nearby to help with live streaming the music. There were also about a dozen people there, practicing good social distancing; they clustered together with the people they came with and kept a healthy space from everyone else. But they were also close enough for it to feel like Harris had an audience. A few pedestrians walking by stopped to listen. The people in the house across the street had brought refreshments to their front deck to watch.
Brian Slattery Photos
Harris’s performance was the third in the Front Yard Series, organized by Christina Del Santo, Jenn Stockwell, and Margaret Milano of DrinkDeeply. With clubs closed, the trio set about finding ways to keep the music scene going by connecting musicians to audiences in a more informal setting — essentially a private party for the neighborhood that happened to be a live-streamed concert at the same time. It also happened to be Stockwell’s birthday, so Del Santo got pizza, wings, and balloons.
“We couldn’t go this long without live music,” said Del Santo, surveying the people who had gathered for the show. “Our neighbors said they tune in every week,” she said, motioning to the people across the street on the deck. “They refer to it as their ‘sky box.’ That’s why we do this in the front — we want to make this for the neighborhood.”
The first installment of the series featured Sean Conlon, who used his own gear. Last week’s show was with Nathaniel Hintz, with audio help from engineer Anthony DelOrfano, a.k.a Anthony Orangetruck. He had seen Conlon’s show online and contacted Del Santo. “Why didn’t you call me?” he said. “My PA’s been sitting in the garage for months.”
For the second show, there were a few technical problems to solve, like figuring out how to get the audio from the PA into the show’s livestream to improve the sound quality. But DelOrfano already had all the gear he needed to make that happen. He’s now looking into the possibility of getting a very low-power FM transmitter so that people could park their cars at the curb and tune into the show on their FM dial, like they might at a drive-in movie theater.
DelOrfano is using the opportunity to figure out these new ways of doing shows because “this is what’s going to be happening in our industry,” he said, as people settle in for what could be a long haul in dealing with the pandemic, social distancing, and shutdowns. “There’s a learning curve,” he said, but the series was “perfect training.”
“The audio industry and theater industry are known for their innovation,” he said. And “people want live entertainment. They need it.”
Del Santo said she donated money to the musicians so far out of the federal stimulus money she got. “I don’t need Stefanie Harris to get another job,” she said. “I need her to stay performing.” Harris, in turn, announced that she was donating her money to the New Haven Pride Center.
“It’s Bill Saunders-minded of me,” Del Santo said. “This is born out of the idea of Ideat Village.” Just as the Ideat Village — the brainchild of Saunders and Nancy Shea, which ran every summer from 2002 to 2012 — was a local alternative to the International Festival of Arts and Ideas, so the Front Yard Series is an alternative to the A&I’s Arts on Call series. The main idea, for Del Santo, was that anyone could do what the Front Yard series was doing — anyone can host a musician, invite a few friends over to hear that musician, and keep the local music scene going.
“The idea was to put in people’s heads that they can do this,” Del Santo said. “I haven’t left the house in three months. I’m getting everything delivered to me. Including my live music.”
“Feels good to be around familiar faces and friends, playing music,” Harris said, as she delivered a set of choice covers (ranging from Jenny Lewis to Gillian Welch) and originals. Harris asked the crowd if they wanted to keep it mellow, and the consensus seemed to be yes.
“You’re doing amazing,” someone on the lawn said.
“No, you’re doing amazing,” Harris said. “Everyone’s sitting and watching and socially distancing.”
A few more people arrived about halfway through Harris’s set and began chatting on the curb with acquaintances.
“Let’s pick it up a little,” Harris said, noting the size of the crowd. “I’ll play a little Nancy Sinatra, even though I’m not wearing my boots right now.” As the newcomers looked for space on the lawn, those already there reoriented themselves to make room. As Harris continued through her set, the lyrics she sang (“this prison where we’re living is comfortable and clean / are we really living if we’re not free?”) took on some added resonance to the situation. The end of her set was supposed to be a cover of the Traveling Wilburys’ “End of the Line.” By then she had been playing for a full hour, but nobody made much of a move to leave.
Del Santo suggested she play Radiohead’s “Creep.” Harris thought she might be joking, but Del Santo said she was “serious as a heart attack.”
Turning off the stream, Harris obliged, singing it a cappella. Everyone joined in, quietly. Again, the context changed the meaning of the lyrics: “what the hell am I doing here? / I don’t belong here / I don’t belong here.”
Harris smiled. “I love you,” she said.
