The Future of Live Music Post-Pandemic

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The geography and experience of Baltimore’s DIY art and music scene have always reminded me of the area of Shida Road and Gongguan in Taipei, Taiwan, where I lived before moving to the US. From the Station North area, up through Old Goucher, Charles Village, and Waverly, establishments such as True Vine, Metro Gallery, the Copycat building, The Crown, the Red Room at Normals Bookstore, the Ottobar, and others are fixtures of the fluctuating scene. Over in Taipei, there’s the Revolver Bar along Roosevelt Road towards Guting, the WWR Record Store, Riverside Music Cafe, and Witch House, hidden in the alleys, the Wall Live House, and other staples of the Taiwanese indie music scenes.

These venues typically offer vigorous and sometimes overwhelming lineups, especially during their peak seasons. And although the pandemic has devastated music venues both in Baltimore and in Taipei, the latter was at least able to reopen halfway through last year, while Baltimore venues have remained mostly shuttered. In the past year, the American live music industry’s desolation has been witnessed all around the world. In December 2020, the magazine Pollstar reported that the industry projected a historic $30 billion loss in 2020, which is estimated to grow in 2021. 

The music industry in Taiwan, by contrast, hasn’t been completely hampered, partly due to the country’s control of COVID-19. With a population of more than 23 million, the country has recorded only 967 confirmed COVID cases as of March 7, 2021. Long before the worldwide outbreak of COVID-19, Taiwan implemented strict public health measures, informed by its prior experience in responding to SARS. In addition to the necessary travel ban to foreigners and restrictions on large events in the first half of 2020, a lot of events in the second half of the year were able to continue after the lockdowns were lifted, and Taiwan’s live music scene was blooming until the end of the year.

KK Yeh, a record store owner in Taipei, shared with me a recap of LUCfest, held in Tainan at the end of November 2020. The audience packed every show. To those of us in the United States who have been living entirely in a cocoon due to the pandemic, with no shows to attend, the live music scene in Taiwan is like a parallel universe.

Tecla Tesnau, who took over ownership of the Ottobar in 2019, was preparing to book all of the shows for 2020 with event planner and talent buyer Todd Lesser, just before COVID-19 changed everything. Now, after a year of hibernation, the Baltimore art scene is beginning to reopen (with capacity limits, masks, and other safety precautions). Art and culture venues in Baltimore are figuring out how to make this return work for them and their community. 

Ottobar is just a drop in the ocean when considering all of the independent businesses and artists in the industry across the US suffering the effects of the pandemic, with insufficient support from the government. In March 2020, the National Independent Venue Association (NIVA) was established to help venues pursue federal support such as business recovery grants. In the second half of the year, Baltimore’s Metro Gallery used NIVA’s Save Our Stages fundraising project for help. In November, Ottobar launched its “No Stage Diving” mixtape, cooperating with many Baltimore musicians to raise funds through digital compilations on Bandcamp. As 2021 begins, the recovery of the indie music scene in Baltimore is still an unpredictable road. 

Cover for Ottobar’s No Stagediving Fundraiser on Bandcamp

As the scholar and promoter Robert Cluley posits, “a promoter is an engineer of aesthetic experiences, who uses forms of networking or branding to create ties among the creative communities and offer experiences that cultivate charisma and social capital for the city and its people.” I have always believed that independent music promoters and venue operators are specialists who need both a fighting spirit and a strong will to dare to take risks. In addition to creating beautiful moments through live events, they add cultural value to their city and create occasions for different generations to meet through live music.

The aura of live shows, however, belongs to the performer and the audience. What connects these two and makes flow the supply and demand of live music are these incubating vessels which we call live music venues, and the promoters that facilitate the steady stream of opportunity for people to come and share in a cultural experience. Without them, it is nearly impossible to make these music communities cohere.

To gain a clear perspective regarding the state of live music in the face of a global pandemic, I interviewed three promoters who are driving forces in their respective music scenes. KK Yeh operates a record store and label, White Wabbit Records (WWR), and co-founded Taiwan’s P Festival and LUCfest (along with Weining Hong). On the other side of the world, here in Baltimore, there’s The Ottobar owner Tecla Tesnau and promoter Todd Lesser. Both venues, The Ottobar and White Wabbit Records, have operated for more than 20 years. Yeh, Tesnau, and Lesser spoke with me about the importance of a robust local music industry, adapting during the pandemic, and deeply missing the visceral experience of live music.


LUC Fest 2020

Jaddie Fang: What kinds of fallout are you expecting due to the pandemic? What are the difficulties you expected to undergo during COVID-19, and what were some unexpected challenges?

KK Yeh: Let me start with WWR Record Store. Before the pandemic, about 50 to 60 percent of the customers were foreigners. Taiwanese spent less time in our store before the global outbreak. I was pretty confident that we probably would go out of business. To make matters worse, I had hired a person to help me plan live shows. I wanted William (the store manager) focused on the store, and the new guy could curate the shows. After the Lunar New Year, the pandemic began to spread and, as a result, the new guy had nothing to do. Under this severe situation, the number of customers has indeed decreased, but I found a very interesting spiritual phenomenon—the time people spend listening to music or digging for records has increased. 

Our record sales had to evolve into mail and online orders, but Taiwanese purchases of foreign records have slowly increased. Although we didn’t have any income from promoting shows for foreign bands in Taiwan in 2020, record sales have just about tripled. I personally think that one of the very important parts is that people predominantly stayed at home in the first half of the year, and they experienced music or reading more deeply and bought more records. As Taiwan’s situation improved, our record selling just continued to go up. In short, our record store was so amazing last year, not only to have just survived but to run as successfully as it has.

Todd Lesser: We are in a unique situation, more so than a lot of other venues in the country, because we had an ownership change just before all of this happened. Tecla took over a business of some 20-plus years and wanted to change the trajectory of it. She had a ton of plans, we had a real direction to take the Ottobar into a whole other realm of possibility, much like any new business owner would. And then when this happens, not only do you have to halt that plan, you’ve got to backtrack and figure out what core things you now have to fundamentally change about your business entirely. We went from really skyrocketing forward with all new projects and ideas to starting over weekly and taking a whole different path to batten down the hatches and hunker down to weather this storm. 

Tecla Tesnau: As a small business owner, I sympathize with anyone that can’t continue to maintain any realm of their operations in a profitable way. I believe really great cities are built on the backs of small businesses. There’s so many little poppy neighborhoods that are absolutely adorable, they become sort of a beacon for others, even for tourism, like Hampden or Remington. That’s a great example of how a neighborhood or collection of small businesses can help galvanize a city. And in the middle of a pandemic, when we’ve seen or heard horrible news—this place shuttered, this place closed, or this place is not opening up again, it’s this whole litany of closures—one can only wonder what that means for our city in the future. I like to look on the bright side of things, but you also have to realize that it’s going to take some time to try to gain back that momentum.

Tecla and Todd, you started to do fundraising for the Ottobar by selling compilations and merch on Bandcamp. How has that gone so far? 

TL: We started months before then but we didn’t go live until November. It was two months of planning and explaining to the bands what the project was, the premise of it, and the benefits of doing it, and getting everybody on the same page. We felt that it was important we try to give back to everybody in the scene that had lost so much along with us. 

TT: A lot of the musicians have been out of work for the better part of a year. Right now, venues are getting a lot of the spotlight but musicians have been left in the dark a bit. We are trying to share the spotlight with them and help them out. I feel it’s been a tremendous success. We’ve been able to put a little money in the pockets of our local musicians and cheer them on, helping everybody try to keep treading water for as long as they can till we can get back to some sense of normalcy again. The Ottobar wouldn’t be anything without the musicians. It truly is like any group endeavor and is not just the venue or the venue owner or the staff, or the promoters, or the musicians. It’s all of us. It’s everybody working together in conjunction to make something memorable happen.


The Ottobar, photo by Josh Sisk
One of my biggest fears was that the pandemic was going to stifle people and the creative nature of this city. But that hasn't happened. If anything, it has made us more resourceful.
Tecla Tesnau

This moment that we are currently living in is not normal. As a venue owner/promoter, what are your views and overall attitude about the situation?

TL: This happened to us and to the world, it happened specifically to our industry, and then trickled down to the Ottobar. I can’t imagine a business anywhere on the planet that feels that they should not follow in accordance with common sense and health standards and the law. I know it’s terrible for business owners to be in that position. But the greater good is to actually get past this and move on. Locally, there’s a lot of people who are very understanding of the situation. It’s unfortunate that they see so many different industries and businesses are affected by this, but no one doubts why this is happening. So we’re all kind of waiting for that pause button to be hit again, so we can pick up the pieces and move on.

TT: One of the inspiring things that I’ve seen happen is how musicians, venue owners, independent promoters, and so many others in the industry pivoted and tried to do something else, to help the industry out by getting involved in lobbying on behalf of our cause. Some of them completely pivoted 180 degrees where they’re working in the nonprofit sector now, trying to do other things that might be music industry-adjacent, but not actually performing or putting on shows. So, for me, the absolute banana nature of the situation that the pandemic has put us in, is it has kind of squeezed some creativity out of people. That’s been a silver lining for me.

Do you see changes that are happening just in Baltimore, or have you seen or overheard people talk about shared experiences in the music scenes of other cities?

TT: Honestly, I was a little worried that the pandemic was going to just squeeze the life out of the Baltimore scenes, or scenes like it all across the country. We have a veritable kaleidoscope of music; we have so many different types of music and artists, and we’re really at the forefront of some cutting-edge talent here. One of my biggest fears was that the pandemic was going to stifle people and the creative nature of this city. But that hasn’t happened. If anything, it has made us more resourceful. Baltimoreans have a lot of grit. And we’ve been able to weather this so far. 

When Typhoon Nari in 2001 severely damaged the WWR Record Store, which was at that time still located in the basement of the ZG Live House in Taiwan, only a few CDs on the shelf survived. As an independent business, WWR has been going for more than 20 years. Even when you encounter operational difficulties, you still try to organize and expand the form of live shows. Do you think there is any correlation between selling records and promoting live shows? 

KKY: Both are a way to listen to music, but the meaning of the activity is quite different; the former is to listen to music in a personal space, and the latter is to enter a public space to listen with many people. In Taiwan, they generally don’t overlap. In the early days of operating the record store, we said that the record buyers should also be the audience and go to see the live shows. Couple of years later, we hoped that the music festival audience, or those who go to live shows, would also buy records. If we are talking about a Taiwanese band, there may be more people who participate in the two because of their loyalty to the band. But to me, both groups are basically buying music.

Artists and the music industry at large survive from selling records and performing or promoting live events. In a time where all spaces are open and operating normally, how do you see the music culture and community take shape? 

KKY: The ways that curating shows and selling records form a community are different. For live shows, I feel that the audience’s loyalty to the organizer is very low. The audience is willing to see their favorite bands perform in places they have never been before. For example, Sorry Youth performing in a stir-fry restaurant in Taipei is actually very fascinating and attractive; its focus is on being in a non-live music venue. This novelty is very exciting for fans. As for the record store, since it is a fixed space, the loyalty of consumers tends to be higher. In terms of selling records, the record store is a bit like a bar or a living room in someone’s house, where everyone gathers to listen to music and chat. For live shows, I think the audience follows their favorite artists/bands and they will be willing to follow them anywhere. And while the band’s community base is formed more through social media, record stores like ours are more diversified, where interaction exists in the local and physical space and not just online.


Gus Dapperton, photo by 林嘉愛 CHias Photography
Under this severe situation, the number of customers has indeed decreased, but I found a very interesting spiritual phenomenon—the time people spend listening to music or digging for records has increased. 
KK Yeh

How do you think this pandemic will affect independent music venues across the United States? And what are your thoughts on a venue’s chance of survival with so many small businesses closing? 

TL: One of the big concerns that I have is towards our patron base and the fan base that comes to their show. They’re affected by [job losses and economic hardship] as well. When we do open again, what will be the financial situation of all of the people that used to come regularly and see shows or come to the bar to see comedy-themed nights and dance parties? In times like this, I think many people are probably struggling financially, and it causes one to reevaluate their spending.

TT: I think during the pandemic we, as a population, have been so deprived of connection and live music for so long. I remember when we had Super City come into the bar to film a couple of songs, and to have them in the bar, to have music in the space… I didn’t realize how much I missed it and how huge the vacuum was. Economically, people currently are and will be for a while in a kind of precarious situation. But I do think people will make time and spend money to see a show.

Except for the suspension of live shows in Taiwan in the first half of 2020, do you think that because of the pandemic, the form of live music events will be altered or adjusted in the future?

KKY: Taiwan has been able to do shows during the pandemic, and the ban was almost completely lifted in the second half of the year. Every venue would require guests to wear masks, measure body temperature, and sanitize hands with rubbing alcohol. These are basic rules for epidemic prevention. Most of the venues are still in operation, and they all want to make a profit since they didn’t make any in the first half of the year, so the event schedules of many venues were very intense [when they reopened]. We as the audience were pretty confused because we could see the same bands wherever we went—without foreign artists, it really lacks a bit of freshness. However, Taiwanese bands, whether it is for their own curated shows or shows planned for them by others, I find that everyone has presented and improved all aspects of their performance with such exquisiteness due to this explosively competitive time. If you don’t do it this way, there’s no chance of attracting people to buy tickets.

Big promoting companies/venues like Live Nation got quite a bit of COVID relief money from the federal government, but many smaller venues received none—for whatever reason, they didn’t qualify. Other campaigns, like Save Our Stages, have helped some small venues in the US. Would you like to see the Biden administration get more involved in directly helping smaller venues? 

TL: I think it’s already starting to happen. We’ve already seen some federal movements made to assist the industry itself as well as the state of Maryland coming through to help as well. Obviously, the government needs to step in and help everybody survive, because what’s happened has nothing to do with us, unfortunately. So it’s a step in the right direction. In my opinion, the biggest concern really is eradicating COVID-19. We can’t fully come back until we get that under control.

TT: The industry itself is extremely independent, and I kind of like it that way. But at the same time, maybe there should be some societal safety nets put in place in case there is going to be any sort of upheaval because it really is an instrumental part of our economy. No pun intended. NIVA, the National Independent Venue Association, a lobbyist group that didn’t even exist until March [2020], was able to petition the government and highlight where and how important this industry is. I hope that it has garnered some attention and changed the perspective of politicians. All of these industries that we took for granted are crucial to the fabric of our economy and need to be supported. I don’t think people in leadership have realized how ubiquitous and yet important we are. I’m hoping the importance of smaller businesses and gig economy workers has become something people recognize. 

Regarding Taiwan, if we took the fourth edition of LUCfest held in Tainan at the end of last November as an example, are there any changes in response to the pandemic?

KKY: After LUCfest, the bands usually ask us for a group photo of the audience with all band members on the stage. After going through all the group photos, I just cracked up and laughed so hard, because everyone in all the photos [last year] was wearing a mask. In addition to the rules of epidemic prevention as mentioned before, there is also a “rationing system” for entry to the show. We would require personal contact information for each attendee. If an outbreak occurs during the event, we will hand over the relevant information to the Health Unit. 


Founders of LUC Fest KK Yeh and Weining Hung (center)
Live performances are irreplaceable. Watching online concerts just makes us more eager to be in a live concert.
KK Yeh

Taiwan will still be able to do various cultural events going into 2021. If other countries are continuously locked down, many music festivals will be impacted, and there will also be issues concerning epidemic control that prevent inviting foreign artists to Taiwan or even Taiwanese bands going abroad. Under such circumstances, KK, are you worried that this year’s LUCfest may face greater challenges? And what do all of you feel are the benefits and the shortcomings of the online concert compared to live in-person music?

KKY: Last year’s LUCfest had two delegates from Europe. They were willing to be quarantined for 2 weeks, but they inevitably became so bored that they became very emotional and fragile during the quarantine. I think people in the music-related industries usually are adventurous, so it is painful to be isolated for 14 days. But if they have enough time, people still would be willing to go for it. The biggest difference between online concerts and live shows is that there is no audience to watch [laughs]—we go to a show to see the audience as well. The energy and atmosphere of the scene are different. Usually we determine the energy of a band based on whether the live performance can affect the whole space. It is really difficult to judge just by watching a video because you can’t grasp the reality of the scene, whether it is good or bad because of bad filming or recording. Live performances are irreplaceable. Watching online concerts just makes us more eager to be in a live concert.

TT: I do not think that live streaming is an equal substitute for the live music experience. I think it’s a completely different artistic expression. And while I’m 100% for all artistic expression, whatever form it takes, live-streaming music is not my favorite. It’s interesting as an art form, but as a substitute for the live music experience, I think it falls really short. Even if I cast it to my television and I turn down all the lights and turn on the mirror ball that’s hanging in my living room and dance till I’m sweaty, it’s still not the same thing. Watching the band on-screen as opposed to being right there in the thrust of it, you can’t convey those kinetics. There’s that barrier with the static cathode ray tube, when the kinetics are just not there. It’s absolutely a vacuum.

TL: I agree 110%. The reality is, with so many people locked up at home or working from home, we’re spending so much more time in front of the screen than ever, and I understand the creative process to want to still provide content for an artist’s fan base. You lose a lot of the aesthetics watching a two-dimensional television program, for lack of a better term, on a screen. I know that after a day’s worth of staring at a computer screen, I don’t entirely feel like watching a 90-minute performance that in many cases was pre-recorded. Live music and live venues by definition are communal. People come together to see you perform. It’s a recital, if you really want to think about it.

A live streaming show doesn’t make sense to me physically in comparison to being in a space, but it has been a huge trend during the pandemic. What’s the difference between the two for you?

TL: When you think of live music, it really is a bunch of pieces put together to make a whole experience. Everything from being carded at the door, to getting a beer at the bar, to looking at the tour shirts at the merch table, to also meeting up with your friends, or just standing there watching the band play; there are a lot of individual pieces that make the experience. Then you think about watching a live stream on television, even if it’s live, consider all those other pieces to the puzzle that you aren’t getting. You’re sitting there, you could be with other people in your household, but you’re not in a group full of fans of the band. You can’t feed off the energy of the crowd. It’s a band-aid, but it’s not a real thing.

TT: I call it “Wire Mommy.” You’re familiar with the series of experiments in the early ‘50s where they had a monkey and they had a stuffed mommy and a wire mommy [giving the monkey a choice between two different “mothers”]? In my opinion, live-streaming is the wire mommy, and we’re not going to survive on that. We’re going to falter on that. We need the “real mommy.”


The Sword, photo by Shane Gardner, at Ottobar

The economist David Throsby wrote that the notion of value connects the fields of economics and culture as an expression of worth, and in the case of culture, value subsists through specific aspects of cultural phenomena, such as the value of a musical note or the value of a color in a painting, etc. How do you think of the social and cultural values attributed to live music?

TT: In its essence, I think music is an abstract form of communication. It has preset rules, foundational rules. For instance, this is how you play a note on a guitar, this is how you play a beat, and that’s the foundation of what you do from that point as a musician, right? It’s one thing just to be playing alone in your room, but if you come together and share your music with others, the value in that is immeasurable. Can you put a dollar sign on a conversation? But we know those conversations can lead to ideas that lead to innovation and genius. Sometimes it’s like teaching, where you’re communicating an idea to a student and the student benefits from it. When I go to a show and I’m experiencing someone’s music that they’ve created, that is absolutely visceral for me. It’s a trope—music speaks to us, music moves us, so of course it has incredible value. And to be able to experience that as a phenomenon and recognize that as something of value is absolutely why I’m doing this as a venue owner.

TL: When you think about the cultural and economic sense of it, the local scene of music or the arts in general is what defines the sound and shape of the culture of a city, its art. When there’s a strong cultural fabric, the city supports itself, and then other people come into town, and they experience it and tell other people about it. And then venues and galleries and things like that flourish, because they’ve got this groundswell of support. You have acts from other cities, towns, and countries that care about that strong scene in that city, and they want to come to town, so they go on tour and they hit all these strong venues in strong cities.

The value of it is really all about the people and the performers in the town, all creating their own support system that translates internationally from there. Not only does it speak of cultural strength, but it also helps provide economic strength, too. When no one can go on tour because there are no venues and there are no venues because people can’t leave the house, then you can see the chain reaction. It’s a fragile thing when you think about it, and you can imagine the huge economic failure.

Super City at Ottobar


If 2021 is truly the post-pandemic era, what are your thoughts on maintaining a music venue or a record store?

KKY: I think the number of venues may be depleted, with venues of poor “physique” eventually shutting down, leaving strong ones to continue operating stably. I hope this attracts outsiders to invest in the scene. Record stores all over the world are already considered a tourist attraction. As long as you are moving between cities in different countries, you want to visit record stores. But the most important practical thing, at the moment, is to find a way to survive the pandemic. I mentioned that WWR made a good profit last year, but overall the market has been shrinking. At the beginning of 2020, foreign records took several months to ship, if the label didn’t just decide to postpone the release. In the second half of the year, more Taiwanese bands were releasing new albums, holding concerts and other events. But initially almost nothing happened. 

TL: We’ll all get back to normal, but it’ll be slow-going to erase what we’ve been through. Our goal is to get back to those original plans that Tecla had when taking over the business, and as quickly as possible, but in small steps. And it’s not because we need to take small steps. The big picture is that the world needs to take the small steps first. We can’t jump too far ahead of ourselves, because the government and society, locally and globally, are not ready for it yet. Eventually we will, and we’re looking forward to that.

TT: I think, as owner and promoter, we’re probably taking a more measured response and approach than I think some of the bands and talent agents and whatnot might. I might be exaggerating a little bit here when I say people are fighting to try to be some of the first people back on stages. The post-pandemic world is where we can’t take things for granted. The phase of how operations are going to happen, I think, post-pandemic is going to be a lot different, a lot more measured than when I first took over.

In New York Times’ COVID-19 economy debate last year, the panelists said that it is unlikely that the United States will hold any physical concerts until the fall of 2021. Do you think that the lack of foreign musicians coming to perform in Taiwan will have an impact on the Taiwanese music industry?

KKY: I think the current situation is that the competition for live shows in Taiwan is really fierce. Besides, Taiwan is really not big geographically: if domestic bands want to run an album release tour, they really have to rack their brains. With the absence of foreign musicians, all line-ups look very similar, and it makes people wonder, “What is the difference between going to this festival over that festival?” Artists in other countries [that are shut down] are currently facing barriers between the audience and themselves. Relatively speaking, Taiwan is more fortunate. After all countries open in the future, I think everyone will need time to restore the scene.


I Mean Us at LUC Fest

Throughout the Ottobar’s long existence, it has held all types of events and added cultural value to Baltimore. As for Taiwan, since the establishment of WWR in 1999, many impressive live shows have been held, and almost all of them are artists who have never been to Taiwan before. Promoting shows and events has never been easy, but what are your biggest motivations for continuing this and keeping the music scene alive?

KKY: I think the hardest challenge was promoting the Nils Frahm show 2014. He is a total gem, and look how popular he is now. But when I invited him to Taiwan in 2014, there were not so many people in Taiwan who knew of him. I thought: How could no one like him? His music is so cool! But it was really too early to have him in Taiwan. In terms of losing money, it turned out to be very painful for me. In terms of the boldest show we’ve ever done, it would be Nils Frahm. The equipment he needs on stage is very complicated, including customizing a stage for him in the venue where rock music shows are usually held. No one had done it in Taiwan, but curating his show was very fun in every way.

The motivation to continue promoting live shows is actually the same as the audience’s motivation to continue going to shows; I think seeing this show happen in Taiwan with my own eyes is much better than flying abroad to see it by myself. At this stage, because of the pandemic, I can’t invite any interesting foreign artists to Taiwan, so I’ve shifted to Taiwanese bands. I think the best way to pass the pandemic, while all of the domestic scene is full of Taiwanese bands competing with each other, is to keep improving. 

TT: When we are kids we get asked this question: What do you want to be when you grow up? And I would never have been able to put it into words that I want to do this. I want to be able to offer a platform and a venue for people to be able to experience and communicate their artistic expression. For me, art has always been a major motivator. As an artist, I like to build spaces and create environments and communicate with people. What I recognize in music is that it is absolutely an artistic expression and incredibly personal and yet shared. It is something that I think a lot of people are extremely passionate about, whether you play music or just like to enjoy music. I couldn’t put it into words when I was five, but this is what I want to be when I grow up. It really is a lot of work, and it is blood and a lot of sweat and tears. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

TL: I think both of us, when we started, we saw early on what the value of a venue, and a communal space where people could come hang out in, was all about. It was a bar, but when you put them on stage, it turned into something completely different. When it was open, it opened at a good time and we were able to really find our space and our niche in the Baltimore scene. Twenty years later, we’re still trying to evolve and bring in new acts, flourish new local talent, and also still be that communal space that people want to come out to. It’s more than a bar and a venue, it’s also got a lot of history. We don’t want to give up on it. We’ve got a twenty-five-year anniversary coming up, and that’s what we intend to celebrate.


I Mean Us at LUC Fest 2020

Header image: I Mean Us at LUCfest 2020 in Taiwan.

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