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Charlie Hole (aka Thomas Porter) is signed to Dew Process and was supposed to have his first gig in December. Photograph: Jessica Hromas/The Guardian

‘I’m terrified’: music’s ‘Covid babies’ take to the stage for the first time

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Charlie Hole (aka Thomas Porter) is signed to Dew Process and was supposed to have his first gig in December. Photograph: Jessica Hromas/The Guardian

Their rise occurred in bedrooms during lockdowns, but music’s new breed now have to perform

“Flying by the seat of my pants.” This is how Sydney pop artist Thomas Porter describes the lead-up to his first ever live show.

The 24-year-old musician signed with independent label Dew Process just as the pandemic hit, released an EP on Friday and has no idea if he’s going to be able to turn his bedroom music into a live show – or if anyone will come to hear it.

“I’m terrified,” Porter says.

“There’s been two years of hype at this point. I’ve never performed any of these songs.”

Porter is one of the musicians dubbed “Covid babies” by the industry. They were signed or got big during the pandemic, but are lacking that live performance experience most up-and-coming acts have.

Some artists – like pop musician Flynn Sant, who goes by Flowerkid – even have millions of plays on Spotify and YouTube and tens of thousands of engaged fans on social media.

The Warner Music signed 20-year-old is on the bill for Splendour in the Grass and this week performed his first ever live show at The Great Club in Marrickville.

He says it’s weird “being online and being recognised as a musician”, but not having the live music chops to back it up.

Flynn was so nervous before going on stage that he threw up. But the butterflies didn’t last.

Flynn Sant known professionally as Flowerkid was discovered through the Triple J Unearthed competition. Photograph: Carly Earl/The Guardian

“As soon as I got out there and started, I was like ‘yep, this is where I’m meant to be’ and I just kept going no matter how many little things I stuffed up,” he says.

“I didn’t care as much for this silly little details, but rather the vibe and it felt great and everybody was cheering. It was incredible.”

Canberra rapper Seaton Rogers, who performs under the name YNG Martyr, also got his first big live moment earlier this month.

“It was a 50-50 mix of ‘this is happening’ and then ‘oh shit, this is happening’,” he says, still buzzing from the set days later.

After years of making music and practising it at home, the 22-year-old Wiradjuri man is finally getting his chance to see if his success online was going to translate in real life.

Rogers had moderate success until right before the first lockdown of 2020 when his song Nike Ticks “literally blew up”.

He watched the number of listens tick up from his bedroom and wanted to get out there and perform.

“There were points where I tried to launch tours, I was so, so set on it, tickets had been sold. And then it was, ‘nup, borders are closed, everything’s off’,” he says.

He tried to make the most of it, knowing the ears and eyes on him online presented an “insane opportunity”.

“I had to figure out ways to capitalise on it in my bedroom,” he says.

And he did – with about 1.5m listens on Spotify each month and tens of thousands of followers, he worked on his image and marketing, and kept his fingers crossed that when he was able to go on stage, there were people on the other side listening.

YNG Martyr (Seaton Rogers) performing at the This That festival. Photograph: Lightline @xlightline (Oliver Watson & Samuel Gordon)

“It was so hard for me to see that what I’ve done online could translate into real life because I physically never got to see it, never got to play a show or meet up with fans,” he says.

“I was sitting there like I have online buzz but where is it? I am still living in the exact same way. I felt like I had this thing but it was just out of reach.”

He bought a cheap mic, plugged it into his computer at home and had been practising for whenever the moment came – which it did at This That festival in Queensland.

“It didn’t really click in my head until like an hour before I was performing that this was gonna happen, there’s no way out of this now, but it was great,” he says.

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“It’s a lot different when you’re out there and jumping around and there’s a massive stage. It’s starting to finally feel like a real tangible thing.”

For Porter, the wait is still on. He had a show planned for right before Christmas, but it was cancelled – like so many others – as Omicron kicked off.

He hopes to book another show to celebrate the release of Manic Pixie Dream Girl. But with two years of postponed shows across the city, finding a spare stage is proving tricky.

Dew Process A&R manager Harry Young says it is becoming an issue for lots of the artists in the same boat.

“Tours have been postponed so much and there’s lots of smaller acts that are crying for those same venues,” he says.

“A lot of venues are talking about how they are already booked the whole year.”

Young has always used social media as a way to find new talent but without then being able to go watch people live as well, it has been harder to work out who has what it takes to make it as a performing musician.

“You can have millions of streams on a song but some things don’t transfer as well to a live show,” he said.

“You can’t see if people can connect to your songs the same way when it’s not live.”

And for most artists in Australia, performing live is incredibly important to make it a viable career.

“We make music for the passion of it, but I’m in my 20s, I do need a bit of money if I want to pay my rent,” Porter says.

“Not having that is really, really scary. It’s the difference between me living a very tenuous life and barely keeping my head above water versus being a proper flourishing creative.”

Porter knows he has a tough road ahead but he is excited.

“There’s really no substitute for having time in front of crowds,” Porter says.

“I want to dance. I want to jump around or roll around. I want to go into the crowd. I want to do everything.”

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