Everyone you loved in '99-'00, from Beck and Tori Amos to Huck and Mike Duffy
by the Phoenix staff

BMP will be the death of me

A recap of the evening's festivities, more or less
by John O'Neill

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Winners party and intro to the Best Music Poll

What a night it was. Every year (well, the past three -- before that, I was just an observer to the magic that's become the Worcester Phoenix Best Music Poll party), I've thought there's no way the blessed/cursed event could top the previous year's. But, happily, it always turns out better. Which says a few things, I reckon.

For starters, there's no doubt the poll is important to the local bands as well as to the readers -- you all take your music pretty seriously. Once again, a new record was set for total votes submitted, and we at Phoenix HQ are both stunned and a little flattered by the importance this competition holds. I think back when scene veterans would confide they never believed they had a paper on their side till the Phoenix landed in the seven hills of Worcester. For sure, that's been a motivating factor: we try to represent as many different folks as possible. No matter how punk or un-punk, cool or weird, loud or mellow, abrasive or beautiful your band were, chances are, we'd give it a shot. If we dug it, we wrote about it. Of course, we were just as likely to take a crap on it because, like you, we too take our music seriously. Along the way, I think, people appreciated the truth, even if it stung a bit.

Secondly, the scene, and what happens to it, is more important to us than we've ever dreamed. It's been an honest-to-goodness privilege to work with the different clubs, bands, soundmen, bartenders, scenesters, zine scribes, family members, deejays, and neighborhood bars that make up Wormtown. It upsets us when good bands break up; it bothers us when all-ages clubs go under because landlords would rather let space sit idle than attract kids with colored hair; and it mystifies us how the rest of the world hasn't discovered how damn good our bands are.

Maybe that's why the BMP party is so important -- it's us celebrating us. For five hours, we all get to hang out together, to lift a few drinks, and to appreciate each other for doing what we do.

Most important, I've never seen a music scene quite like ours. Maybe it's the self-deprecating attitude you need to last in this town, but hardcore Wormtown musicians are a rare breed. They don't ask for much, and they expect even less. They're all, almost down to an individual, the funniest, most unassuming, and nicest people with whom we've hung out.

May 12, the night of our awards party, the Lucky Dog's dance floor was full of happy bands, happy fans, and a happy Phoenix staff. But the real action was in the men's room. Every time I stopped in to take a leak I got into a conversation about the scene: what people liked, what people think we're missing, but most of all it was guys cracking jokes and holding up the line. Even those bands who didn't walk away with the top prizes were cutting loose and having fun. And, why not? We've earned it.

Every year, a handful of lucky dopes with names like Goslow, Kanaracus, Fluckinger, and O'Neill moans about putting the BMP together (writers aren't the most ambitious bunch when it comes to doing the extras). And every year, right after last call is yelled and we pack up to go home, we can't wait to do it all again. When you're in love you do crazy things.

-- John O'Neill