As I sit on the tarmac leaving Las Vegas, I’m thinking about what this city taught me about live performance.
Vegas understands marketing. It creates categories and dominates each one.
Premium shows for big spenders. Budget entertainment for the rest of us. And every category delivers on its promise.
Here’s the lesson for musicians: if you can’t dominate an existing category, create a new one. When you define the category, you automatically become the leader of it. Vegas doesn’t have “the best show.” They have the best acrobatic show, the best magic show, the best residency. By creating specific categories, everyone gets to be number one at something.
I watched two old guys with drums prove this better than any music industry seminar.
One night we caught a variety show featuring two older musicians. Just drums. No production. My immediate thought: “This is going to suck.”
And honestly? Technically, they probably weren’t that great. But they weren’t trying to compete with arena acts or virtuoso percussionists. They knew their category: scrappy, funny, interactive variety show drummers. And they dominated it.
They used comedy. They engaged the audience. Within minutes, they had the entire crowd doing the wave over something completely ridiculous.
That’s when it clicked: you can be technically inferior and still win your category if you understand what it actually requires.
Those drummers knew their audience didn’t come for technical perfection. They came to be entertained, to feel something, to be part of an experience. So that’s exactly what they delivered.
Too many bands make the opposite mistake. They try to be the best musicians in the room while forgetting what audiences actually want: connection.
I’ve seen incredible players bomb because they focused on perfection over presence. Meanwhile, mediocre musicians who understand engagement pack rooms.
Stop trying to be the best band. Start being the best at your specific thing. Are you the most energetic punk band in your city? The most intimate acoustic duo? The most interactive party band? Define it. Own it. Deliver it.
Know your category. Understand what it requires—not what you think it should require. Then dominate through authentic delivery.
Technical chops? Production? Sure, they matter. But understanding your role and connecting with your audience? That’s what fills rooms.
It doesn’t matter the age, looks, or even skill if you learn to dominate your category. I’m gonna be the old fat guy that smiles while playing journey tunes. Lol. Cheers.
As I was sitting here at Annies resturant in Enterprise (Great food BTW) doom scrolling, i figured there was no better time to start writing an article.
If you are like me, how many times have you scrolled through Facebook and seen a video or photo of a band at a gig and thought, “Wow, looks like nobody showed up”? Worse yet, maybe you thought, “That band must not be very good if they can’t draw a crowd?” (you can bet venue owners are thinking it).
Here’s the reality: as musicians, we can’t always pack the house. But what we can control is how we present ourselves. With some smart choices about photography and video, you can protect and elevate your image—literally—regardless of the size of the crowd.
The thing is, every band needs great photos—they’re your visual handshake with potential fans, venues, and industry folks.
However, the environment you choose and how you frame your shots can make the difference between looking like seasoned pros or just another bar band. And if you’re a solo artist, these principles apply just as much to you—perhaps even more so, since you’re the entire brand.
This Is Marketing, Not Deception
Let’s be clear: being selective about your visuals isn’t dishonest—it’s marketing. It’s putting your best foot forward.
Examples: Apple doesn’t photograph iPhones in the factory.
Just like restaurants carefully plate their dishes to create that premium visual experience (check out Annie’s for a perfect example), the photos you choose are strategic decisions about which moments best capture your music’s essence and energy. Every successful band understands this—it’s about visual storytelling that represents who you are.
Annie’s Quesadilla Burger. Notice they took the time to plate it and make it look more presentable. Rock on. It’s things like this that win Best burger 13 years in a row. Remember kids: People hear with their eyes.
P.T. Barnum said it best: “Without promotion, something terrible happens… nothing!” You can be the most talented band in your city, but if you’re not presenting yourself well, you’ll stay invisible. But here’s the catch—the wrong promotion also leads to nothing.
Learn from What’s Around You
Look at the successful bands in your area versus the ones grinding for years with little growth. Often, the difference isn’t the music—it’s the image. Those stagnant bands might be incredibly talented, but their social media screams “meh” with poorly lit videos and distracting backgrounds. Meanwhile, bands moving up have cohesive, professional content that makes bookers take notice.
Perception shapes opportunity. Something as simple as upgrading your image could be what’s holding you back.
Know Your Environment and Plan Accordingly
Playing next to the bathrooms? Got a Bud Light sign dominating the background? These details tell a story—and it might not be the one you want. If you’re positioning yourselves as a premium act, be selective. Scout angles that showcase your performance without broadcasting every detail of a less-than-glamorous venue. Sometimes the best shot focuses tightly on the band, using creative framing to eliminate distractions.
Take Advantage of Every Opportunity
Sometimes the best opportunities are the ones you have little control over. Opening for a bigger band? Sure, nobody’s actually there to see you—but that room is packed, the lighting is professional, and the stage setup is premium. Get those shots. Your impact of playing your music is the same regardless of why people are there. All those people are experiencing your brand, and you’ve got the visuals to prove you can command a real stage. Beats playing next to the bathrooms, doesn’t it?
These moments don’t come often, so when they do, capitalize on them. Have someone ready with a camera. Capture multiple angles. Get video. This is the content that elevates your entire promotional presence. Even if the audience is there to see someone else, take advantage of it—you’re on that stage, and you earned it. (and don’t let the other musicians who want to be on that stage try to minimize what you have accomplished, they are jealous)
Let me show you what I mean using Rock Mob’s performance at the National Peanut Festival last week. The two images below tell completely different stories about the same night. Even though 18,000+ people were there and heard us play, these photos create two distinct perceptions of the show.
Quick reality check: no band playing a fair like the National Peanut Festival should assume most people showed up specifically for a cover band—that’s just not realistic. But capturing killer content from that opportunity? That’s smart business. That’s what professionals do.
Example 1: Taken from the front where people walk in between the stage to get to the fair (i.e. street you don’t block).
Example 2: Taken from a standpoint behind the crowd… many in line to get a corn dog. Thank you Corndog Man.
A Professional Perspective
Savanna Kirkland of Embrace Photography / 247 Rockstar Entertainment, a local band photographer who knows a thing or two about capturing the energy and excitement of live music, says:
Capturing live music is about more than just photographing a band. It’s about capturing the energy and emotion that fills the room when they play. If anyone is looking for a band, the pictures/videos they present should show the intensity that a band could bring to their event. Each image should tell the story of the music, being a musician’s wife helps me appreciate the music first and my pictures are proof of that. The goal isn’t just to document the moment, but to let viewers feel it, as if they were standing right there in front of the stage or in the back enjoying the music with the rest of the crowd. Anybody can take a picture but it takes knowledge of angles and how to frame the shot to elevate the band’s image. It’s the art of using stage lights and angles to make the smallest stage appear as big as a festival hosting thousands.
Get Creative with Your Angles
Whether you’re playing to 10 people or a thousand, perspective is everything. Shoot from behind the crowd—even a small one. Getting low and shooting from behind a few people creates the illusion of engagement and energy. Those silhouetted heads in the foreground, the band lit up on stage—that’s the money shot.
Play with different heights and angles. Get down low. Shoot from the side of the stage. Capture moments between songs when band members interact.
Video: The Same Rules Apply
If there’s nobody in the crowd, don’t pan to the empty room. Keep your video focused on the band and the performance. A tight shot of your guitarist’s solo or your vocalist connecting with the mic is compelling content. A slow pan across empty tables? That kills momentum.
This is marketing fundamentals. Keep your video content focused on what matters: the music, the performance, the energy you bring.
The Bottom Line
Great band photography and videography is about being intentional. Be strategic about your environment, creative with your angles, and remember: you’re not just documenting a gig—you’re building a brand. That’s just good sense—putting your best foot forward.
Listen up, you self-deprecating shits. Yeah, you—the one who just played a killer riff and then mumbled “it’s not that good though.”
You know what? Cut that shit out. I get it, you are managing your expectations and not wanting to be “that guy”… but there is a difference between confidence and arrogance. This article dives in with a deep raw uncut rant.
I’ve been dragging my old fat bones through this music scene for 30+ years. Three decades of sticky floors, broken strings, and promoters who “forgot” to bring the cash. And you know what pisses me off more than a drummer who can’t play to the room?
Musicians who destroy themselves before anyone else gets the chance.
The Great Neutering of Modern Music
We’ve somehow created a generation of musicians who think excellence is embarrassing. Like being good at your instrument is something shameful you need to apologize for.
“Oh, we’re not that good.” “We’re just a local band.” “Sorry if we suck tonight.”
Bullshit. You spent 10,000 hours learning those chords. Own it or go home.
The Pre-Game Surrender
True story: There is a battle of the bands coming up, I’ve spoken with 2 of the bands entering the competition. Both told me they “probably won’t win” before they even got on stage.
That’s not humility, that’s musical suicide. It’s like showing up to a knife fight and immediately stabbing yourself to save the other guy the trouble. The other option? May be fear of succeeding. Not knowing how to receive accolades from hard work. Why even enter the contest?
Here’s what the participation trophy generation taught you:
Being confident = being an asshole
Practicing your ass off = being a “tryhard” (what the shit even is that?)
Doing things to get paid as a musician = “selling out” (says the guy living in his mom’s basement)
You know who spreads this bullshit? Failed musicians working at Guitar Center telling you how they “could have made it” while they ring up your picks.
The Brutal Truth Nobody Wants to Hear
Picture this: You need heart surgery. Doctor walks in and says, “I’m probably not that good at this, but let’s give it a shot!”
You would disperse like a crowd when the band plays that B side from some metal album.
So why the HELL would you get on stage—where people paid actual money to see you—and essentially tell them they made a mistake? That’s not being humble, that’s shitting on everyone who showed up.
What Your Weak-Ass Attitude Actually Does
When you apologize for existing on that stage:
You murder the entire vibe. Nobody came to your therapy session. They came to forget their shitty life for a few hours.
You’re basically telling the venue they’re idiots for booking you. Nice way to never get invited back, genius.
You’re pissing away every hour you practiced. All those calluses, all those late nights, all so you can verbally shit yourself in public and for the people in your band that are not pussies, they are ready to quit.
The Hall of Fame Doesn’t Have a “Sorry” Section
You think Hendrix got on stage and said, “I’ll try my best guys”?
The Beatles said they’d be bigger than Jesus—not “bigger than the church choir, maybe, if we’re lucky.”
Kurt Cobain didn’t apologize for destroying hair metal. He just did it.
Every legend you worship had balls of steel before they had a record deal. They knew they belonged before anyone else did.
Let’s Clear This Shit Up Once and For All
CONFIDENCE: “I worked for this. I earned this. Watch me prove it.”
ARROGANCE: “I was born amazing and everyone else sucks.”
See the difference? One’s earned through sweat, the other’s just being a dick. If you can’t tell them apart, you’re probably the second one.
The Professional’s Equation
Here’s the secret sauce, you beautiful disasters:
Pride in your work + Respect for the journey = Actually making it
You can be proud without being a prick. You can destroy that stage and still buy the sound guy a beer. You can know you’re good and still practice tomorrow.
Real confidence says: “I busted my ass for this moment.” Real humility says: “And I’m grateful you’re here to witness it.”
That’s not contradictory—that’s professional.
The Circle You Keep
Stop hanging out with quitters and losers. You know the ones—they gave up and now spend their time explaining why you should too. They’re musical vampires, sucking the ambition out of anyone still trying.
Find the killers. The ones who practice until their fingers bleed and then practice some more. The ones who see your success as motivation, not competition. The ones who’ll tell you that you played like shit tonight, but also how to fix it. The ones who are doing the things you want to do.
The Bottom Line
Every time you walk out there apologizing for your existence, you’re not being humble—you’re being selfish. You’re making the night about your insecurities instead of the music.
The audience? They WANT you to melt their faces off. The venue? They WANT you to pack the place next time. Your bandmates? They WANT you to believe as much as they do.
The only people hoping you’ll fail are the bitter has-beens at the bar who gave up on their dreams and need you to validate their chickenshit cowardice.
Your Wake-Up Call
Your music deserves better than your bullshit insecurity. Your bandmates deserve better than your pre-emptive excuses. Your audience deserves better than your apologies. And YOU deserve the success that comes from your hard work.
Next time you step on that stage, don’t shuffle out like you’re asking permission to exist. Stride out there like you’re about to show these people some shit they’ll tell their friends about tomorrow.
Because here’s the thing—if you made it onto that stage, you’ve already beaten 99% of the dreamers who never even tried.
So stop apologizing. Stop explaining. Stop diminishing.
Start owning your shit. Start believing you belong. Start playing like the person you watched in the mirror when you were young (you know you did this).
P.S. – To all the “humble” musicians who think this is too harsh: Good. Stay mediocre. More gigs for the rest of us who aren’t afraid to strive and accomplish something good.
I get asked this question often from venue owners, bands, musicians, and the general public. Although the answer has a wide range, it’s typically constrained by what venues can afford to pay. While the data shows industry averages, it’s important to note that exceptional bands who develop a superior product—whether through exceptional musicianship, showmanship, or unique entertainment value—can often command rates well above these standards. However, even these standout performers are ultimately bound by the fundamental economics of live music venues and local market conditions.
Instead of me giving my personal opinion, I set out using AI and other tools to do research on the subject for the U.S. What Do Cover Bands Get Paid in 2025? Here’s what the research shows.
So, how much?
Cover bands performing at US bars and clubs today typically earn $50-200 per musician for three to four-hour performances, with most falling between $100-150 per person. Total band payments usually range from $300-650, though premium venues occasionally reach $700-1,200. Regional variations are significant: Nashville pays around $65-120 per hour including tips, while New Jersey maintains a $300-500 per night standard for established acts.
For many musicians, this means a typical Friday night gig might net them $100-120 for four hours of performance—about the same hourly rate as a skilled retail worker, but without the benefits or guaranteed weekly hours.
The inflation reality
Research shows cover bands earned approximately $50 per person in the early 1970s, which has risen to roughly $100 today. However, when adjusted for inflation, that 1970 wage of $50 equals $415.72 in 2025 purchasing power. Current $100 payments represent just $12.04 in 1970 money—a substantial erosion of earning power over five decades.
This wage stagnation occurred while equipment costs, transportation expenses, and living costs increased substantially. As one veteran musician noted: “The guys playing in the 60s and 70s who are still playing today tell me the pay has stayed the same—they haven’t gotten a raise in 40 years.”
Consider this: a guitarist’s amplifier that cost $300 in 1975 would cost over $1,600 today, yet that same musician might earn the exact same $50-75 per gig they made five decades ago. No wonder you would hear people saying they’re essentially paying for the privilege to perform.
The payment hierarchy
The cover band ecosystem operates on a clear three-tier structure that every working musician learns to navigate:
Bars and clubs: $50-200 per musician, constrained by thin profit margins and volume-based business models. Venues operate on 10-15% margins for small venues. A venue must sell a large number of drinks to offer live music (see the calculator), meaning they need substantial additional customers to justify live entertainment costs. According to the National Independent Venue Association’s 2024 State of Live report, 64% of independent venues operated at a financial loss despite generating $153.1 billion in economic output nationwide.
Regional festivals and private parties: $300-600 per event for local bands with well known regional tribute acts reaching $10,000
Weddings and corporate events: $300-500+ per musician, sometimes reaching $25,000 for elite acts. High-stakes events justify premium pricing where quality trumps cost.
The stark reality is that many cover band musicians rely on the wedding and corporate circuit to subsidize their passion for playing bars and clubs.
Beyond the money
Given these economic challenges, why do musicians continue pursuing cover band work? Research reveals several key motivations that go far beyond the paycheck:
It’s Fun: Simply put, playing music can be one of the most exciting and invigorating experiences imaginable. The rush of performing live, connecting with an audience, and creating energy in a room provides a natural high that many musicians describe as unmatched by anything else.
Professional development: Cover work provides intensive training that’s impossible to replicate elsewhere. Musicians might perform 50+ shows annually while original acts struggle for monthly bookings, creating invaluable performance experience and crowd-reading skills. No wonder you would hear people saying that playing covers taught them how to read a room, when to push the energy up, when to bring it down, and how to keep people engaged for four straight hours.
Community building: Cover bands serve as cultural preservationists, keeping classic songs alive while creating shared experiences in local venues. There’s something magical about watching multiple generations singing along to classics with equal enthusiasm, bridging age gaps through the universal language of music.
Networking opportunities: Musicians report that cover gigs provide access to venue owners, sound engineers, and industry professionals while building relationships that support broader musical goals. The sound guy who mixes your cover band on Saturday might engineer your original demo on Tuesday.
Sustainable creativity: Rather than competing with original artistry, cover work often funds it. Musicians use steady income to invest in recording equipment and marketing while maintaining financial stability.
The complete picture
Cover band work operates as a complex ecosystem where financial necessity intersects with professional development, community connection, and artistic growth. Despite wage stagnation, musicians have learned to maximize value beyond direct compensation: skill development, industry networking, creative funding, and community engagement that supports long-term musical careers.
While financial compensation hasn’t improved significantly in decades, musicians have evolved to extract maximum benefit from every aspect these gigs provide, revealing cover bands as strategic career builders rather than simply performers accepting low wages. They’ve learned that sometimes the real payment isn’t what’s in the envelope at the end of the night—it’s the experience gained, the connections made, and the joy shared with audiences who just want to hear good music played well.
In an era of digital music and virtual entertainment, cover bands remain one of the last bastions of authentic, human musical connection. Their persistence in the face of economic challenges speaks to something deeper than financial motivation—it’s about the irreplaceable value of live music and the community it creates.
You’ve spent enough time playing in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror and checking out the rock moves you plan to make when you get on stage (we all do it, don’t lie). You’ve got the calluses, a dozen songs, and the deep-seated need to make noise with other people. You’re ready to join a band.
It’s an idea we all romanticize in our heads, but the reality is, it’s hard—like really hard. Finding the right people is part magic, part luck, and all about chemistry. Think of it like this: if it was hard to find a girlfriend or boyfriend, now multiply that by 100 because of the drama and dynamics multiple humans bring to the table.
So, What Is a Band?
Forget the mystique for a second. At its core, a band is a small, dysfunctional, co-dependent business where no one is really qualified to be in charge and the product is audible emotion. It’s a relationship. It’s four or five people agreeing, for a little while, that the thing they build together is more important than any one person’s ego. When that chemistry clicks, it’s magic and one of the best feelings you’ll have in the world. It’s an unspoken conversation in the middle of a song—it feels like riding a wave and asking yourself if you’re actually doing it. However, when it doesn’t click, it’s just an expensive, time-consuming argument that can make you despise other humans and rethink why you wanted to be in a band in the first place.
That’s why getting yourself in a band—THE RIGHT BAND—requires that you’re armed with knowledge and doing the right things to stand out.
Getting Your Foot in the Door
Here’s the deal. You can be the best musician in the city, but if you’re not seen, you’ll stay in the bedroom or become a solo act. You have to put yourself out there for people to know you. You have to be seen to be seen in the scene. See what I did there? LOL.
Show Up. Go to shows. I’ve beaten this horse to death and I’m still beating it. Go to open mics. Be a face in the scene. Musicians tend to recruit people they already know and can stand to be around. Be one of those people. You’re not just auditioning your skills; you’re auditioning your personality. No one wants to spend ten hours in a van with an asshole, no matter how well they play.
Have Proof. Get a few simple, clean videos of you playing. No one’s expecting an edited masterpiece, just something that meets the expectation your mouth just sold. Just prop your phone up, make sure the sound isn’t a distorted mess, and play something that shows what you can do. It’s your musical resume. Make it easy for people to say “yes.”
The Audition. Learn the songs they send you. All of them, note for note. Not just the fun parts. It’s better to play something simple cleanly than to fumble through something complex. Be on time. Tune your instrument before you walk in the door. These small things signal that you’re a professional, not a hobbyist.
Network Like a Human, Not a Bum. Don’t be the person who only talks to musicians when you need something. Support other bands’ shows, buy their merch, genuinely celebrate their wins. When someone sees you being cool to others, they remember that. The music scene is smaller than you think, and word travels fast about who’s worth working with.
Learn the Local Scene’s Unwritten Rules. Every music scene has its weird quirks and politics. Maybe the sound guy at the popular venue hates when bands are late, or maybe there’s a musician everyone avoids. Pay attention, ask questions, and don’t step on landmines other people can help you avoid.
Bring Something Extra to the Table. Maybe you’ve got a truck that can haul gear, or you have a rehearsal place, or you’re decent with social media. Being a good musician is the baseline—what else do you offer? Bands remember the person who makes their lives easier, not just the person who plays their parts correctly.
A Field Guide to Annoying Behaviors and NOT Being That Guy
Getting into the band is one thing. Staying in it, well, requires a level of self-awareness that many musicians mysteriously lack. I’d say more than 50% have one or more of these characteristics.
The “I’m Sorry” Late Guy. This person is always, always late. Not five minutes, but twenty. Thirty. An hour. It’s the most purely disrespectful thing you can do. It sends a clear message: “My time is more important than all of your time combined.” It’s a band killer. I’ve personally heard excuses as wild as “My guitar flew out the back of the truck and I had to go back and search for it”—creative. LOL.
The Slacker Guy. This person treats practice like a personal study hall. They show up having clearly not touched their instrument since the last time you were all together. A rehearsal is for tightening the songs and working on dynamics, not for watching one person slowly remember the chord changes. It grinds everything to a halt and breeds resentment faster than anything else.
The Important Guy. This is the player who can’t seem to grasp that they are part of a whole. They talk over people, their amp is always a little too loud, and they treat constructive criticism like a personal attack. They see the band as their backing musicians. This attitude is exhausting, and its shelf life is incredibly short.
The Drama Guy. Look, everyone has a personal life, and sometimes it’s a mess. But rehearsal can’t become a weekly therapy session. Bringing a constant stream of personal drama into the creative space poisons the well. The band is an escape from that stuff, not another venue for it.
The Superiority Guy. These people will argue about anything to try and show some level of intelligence or superiority, even when they have no clue. The Dunning-Kruger effect is high in these folks, and it doesn’t matter if it’s Alabama football or complex theory on global macroeconomic networks—these folks want to make sure they have the last word and will argue for it. Band killer.
The Gear Snob Guy. This person can’t play a note without a twenty-minute dissertation on why their vintage whatever is superior to everyone else’s equipment. They spend more time tweaking their tone than actually playing, and they somehow always need “just one more pedal” to sound right. Meanwhile, their actual playing is mediocre at best.
The Flake Master Guy. Different from the late guy—this person confirms they’ll be there, swears they’ll be there, and then texts thirty minutes after practice started with some elaborate excuse. They treat band commitments like people treat coming out to shows.
The Negative Energy Guy. Everything sucks to this person. The songs suck, the venue sucks, the sound guy sucks, the other bands suck. They drain the life out of every creative moment and make everyone question why they’re even doing this. Playing music should be fun, but this person seems personally offended by joy.
So, you’ve hooked one, they have asked you to join. What’s next?
The Awkward Conversation
This is the most important part. You have to be brutally honest about your expectations from the beginning and ask the band what expectations they have. It’s an awkward, un-rock-and-roll thing to do, but it will save you from a world of pain.
Goals: Are we trying to get signed and tour the world? Or are we trying to play the local bar once a month and have a good time? There is no wrong answer, but if one person is googling “tour bus for sale” and another is just looking for a Friday night to get away from their spouse, you’re doomed.
Songs: Are we playing for our own enjoyment or looking to play what others want to hear? Are we doing covers or originals? What genre?
Availability: Be specific. “I’m free most nights” is useless. “I have work until 6 on weekdays, and my kid has soccer on Saturdays” is information people can work with. Honesty about your real-life commitments is a sign of respect.
Money: Talk about it. Now. How do you pay for rehearsal space? Who pays for gas? If you get paid $400 for a gig, how is it split? Agreeing on a system—any system—before money is even on the table prevents it from becoming the thing that breaks you up.
Creative Control: Who writes or picks the songs? Who gets to veto a terrible idea? Are we a democracy or a benevolent dictatorship? Some bands work best with one clear leader, others function as a collective. Figure out what works for your group before someone’s feelings get hurt because their three-minute bass solo got shot down.
The Exit Strategy: Nobody wants to think about breaking up before you’ve even started, but having a mature conversation about how to handle it if someone wants out saves friendships. Will you give two weeks’ notice? A month? What happens to the songs? It’s like a prenup, but for musicians.
Social Media and Image: Decide early who’s posting what and where. Nothing kills a band’s momentum like conflicting messages online, or worse, one person making the whole band look unprofessional with their drunk Facebook rants. Designate a social media person, or at least agree on some basic guidelines about what represents the band.
Hopefully this article will assist you in finding the perfect band and bandmates. It’s frustrating, it’s difficult, and it requires a shocking amount of patience. But when you find the right people, and you all hit that downbeat together, the sound that comes out is bigger and better than any of you could have made alone. Check out Pro Tip#1, all the way back in 2019 for more detail on selecting members. https://liveatharlows.com/pro-tip-1-have-the-same-commitment/
At the end of the day, I guess I could have just written the entire article by saying “Be a good human.” Rock on.
