It's Friday evening, and you fancy yourself an after work drink. A specialty beer or two, each of which is nearly the price of an entire six-pack. You'll meet up with a few of your buddies and satiate your slight dependency on alcohol together in a setting that makes this feel normal. On a whim, you agree to meet downtown at a small taproom you've heard so much about.

Everything is swell, the fourth round is en route and Harold hasn't said anything racist yet. Jared, remarkably, has begun to entertain the idea of taking a cab, although everyone knows he'll just wait until everyone is gone before driving himself home, "taking the backroads." Even Barry, who complains about everything, has complimented the selection of sours on tap. Alas, this is when the situation itself turns sour.

A sole artist with an acoustic guitar, a harmonica, three tambourines, and a harp wedges themself into a corner of the bar onto a makeshift stage whose existence went unnoticed until now. What camaraderie you've established is now interrupted by this act that demands your attention and the conversation switches from agreeing that Levi's are the strongest jeans to how distracting of an event this is. The night isn't ruined, but it isn't the same night.

Personally, as divisive and bold of a statement as this is, I like music. However, I'm not a fan of dropping into a place where I expect to catch up with some friends only to find out that my attention is drawn everywhere except my table. I’m also not sure how many more times I can hear a cover of the song “Santeria” by Sublime before it competes in my brain with the alphabet for most easily recited tune. With utmost confidence, I can say I’ve heard this song covered far more times than I have heard the original. Please stop.

Now, this isn't about large bars where music is advertised and to be expected. After all, no one goes to the Pickled Parrot for stimulating conversation. I'm talking about sit-down bars or breweries, whose seating is already severely limited, setting aside precious drinking space for any person with an instrument to demonstrate that they do, in fact, know how to strum at least a handful of chords on the guitar.

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I could very well be in a bitter minority here, but does every small bar and brewery need live music on the weekend? I don't want to hear some guy in flannel singing his rendition of "Hallelujah" while I'm desperately trying to catch a buzz off of my fifth $7 craft beer. I want to crack jokes and argue politics with my friends, not feel like I am a head in someone else's crowd.

At best, live singers and musicians of this sort, at these types of establishments, end up being something you enjoy, but likely did not come for. At worst, they are highly obtrusive acts who divert all attention toward them. Most of the time, though, they are white noise turned to just the right volume where you have to repeat yourself to the person sitting across from you every few sentences.

What was that? You think this music sucks? Me too, let's go to another bar.

Nerpel lives in Fargo.