A professor of mine once told me a story of when he saw a famous jazz artist perform at a club in front of four people. He described the experience before posing a question: does the lack of a crowd invalidate the artist’s music and performances? While I’m nothing close to a jazz legend, it’s a question I wrestle with as a rapper at Wesleyan.

The first time I ever performed in college was on October 3rd, 2022. Music House was hosting their first open mic of the year, and nervous as ever, I walked into a room full of faces I didn’t recognize and rapped for three minutes. While the crowd was full, a feeling of judgment washed over me as soon as I nervously muttered “thank you” and walked off stage. No matter how many hours I put into my craft, they didn’t “get it”. However, I learned quickly that maybe I just needed a change of scenery.

Mic Check Wes was started by Leevon Matthews (’23) in the spring of 2022. His mission statement is simple yet effective: “an experience articulated through the spirits of R&B and Hip-Hop”. As a lover and student of Hip-Hop, I made it my mission to check out every event they put together during my freshman year. Their first event of Fall ’22, Mic Check IV, was in Movement House and was completely packed. I was blown away by the energy in the room and the passion put into the performances from Mic Check regulars like Nolan Lewis, DBA, LorWood, and Link Dog. However, as I continued to attend shows, I started to notice something that I was doing differently from most people in the room: staying the entire time. As each artist performed, crowds would get smaller and smaller. As someone who’d gone to plenty of shows in high school, this was strange to me. In my mind, you go to a concert to stay at said concert and experience the music. I’d always stay late, appreciate each performer, and take notes because one day I wanted to be on the Mic Check stage.

Throughout the Summer of 2023, I focused on developing my pen game, and once I returned to campus, I signed up to perform at Mic Check XI. Walking into the venue, one thing became extremely apparent: the crowd was much smaller than in previous years. However, I wasn’t going to let that dampen my spirit, and I performed my first set to massive applause. During this time, I also joined the band Black Raspberry and started my own band, MARSEATER. I felt on top of the world, so when I signed up for a Music House open mic a year after my first one, I was expecting a solid crowd. The first band performed, and as soon as they wrapped up, something strange happened. Almost everyone in the audience got up and walked out of the building. I felt a little defeated but same as last time, I rocked the house. Soon after, MARSEATER performed our first formal show in The Workshop. Again, after the first band, everybody in the crowd leaves, leaving us to perform in a mostly empty room. It started to feel as if performing at Wesleyan was some sort of twisted popularity contest, where people had stopped going to shows to enjoy themselves, and crowds were now dependent on how large your clique was and who knew you well enough to show up.

It would be incorrect to say that I’ve never performed for a large crowd, but when you peel back some layers, you begin to notice a pattern in crowd size and behavior. Every time I perform as part of a band, separate from Mic Check, my crowds are decently sized, but when I rap, they’re small. I was quick to write this off at first. I thought my crowds were small because nobody knew who I was, and they’d get bigger as I grew. However, as I noticed something happening in predominately white music spaces, I became frustrated. I’d sit back and watch as bands would form days before a show, rehearse twice, and perform in front of a packed crowd. I’d notice how some bands would have massive crowds who only knew the lead singer, and didn’t shout for or acknowledge the rest of the people on stage. And recently, after taping posters to walls until my fingers hurt, and promoting Mic Check non-stop on social media, I performed for four people. At the moment, I was fuming, but I found myself thinking back to my professor’s story. I realized that at every small show, my music would reach somebody new. At my first show, it was the Mic Check regulars, who invited me into their family. At my following shows, it was my friends who became my most supportive friends. Eventually, I started performing in my hometown, where I was able to turn a few strangers into bonified Tiz fans.

And so, to the reader, if you’re a student at Wesleyan, I implore you to go to a show. An entire show. Dance, enjoy the music, and engage with the performer. If you enjoyed their set, tell them that. It may sound like a small, pointless gesture, but it means the world to people like me and so many others who put their hard work into performing a genre that so often gets pushed to the side to make room for our rockstar peers.

Emmett “Tiz” Favreau is a member of the class of 2026 and can be reached at efavreau@wesleyan.edu.