Back in the late eighties, I managed to put together a band of amazing musicians in Victoria. Glen the keyboardist did jazz gigs around town regularly and was probably the most melodically inventive guys I've ever played with. John was a veteran drummer from Toronto and Vancouver circuits, and was constantly striving to distil his playing to its essential expressive elements. My old buddy Mike was on bass, and I had frontman/manger duties by default. After many months of effort, I finally managed to land us a gig at the highest-profile live music venue in town, Harpo's (no longer in existence, unfortunately). We were given an opening spot for a world beat band, and were to be paid the princely total sum of $75. I brought the news to the guys at that night's rehearsal. The euphoric reaction was dampened somewhat by incredulity. "Seventy-five bucks...for the whole band?" Glen asked, as though he'd been told his mother was really a man and the moon was made of mozzarella. At the end of the rehearsal, we chatted about the details of the gig - load-in times, equipment requirement, headliner, etc - and Glen asked again..."Seventy-five bucks...for the whole band?" Glen had a weekly jazz gig at a local Italian restaurant and played elsewhere around town on a regular basis, and he couldn't quite get his head around the whole band making less than half of what he typically made for himself per gig. Once more, as we were loading into Harpo's the next night: "Hey, Mike, uh, was that - seventy-five bucks for the whole band?"
Actually, the promoter stiffed me part of the fee, and we in fact got $50 - and the soundman tore a strip off me for not tearing down fast enough after our show.
I think at the time, I considered myself singularly unlucky to be at the start of a music career in that time and place. I just couldn't imagine my heroes ever being in such a demeaning situation.
Now, of course, I have some perspective and a little more knowledge of music history and know that that was nothing compared to the soul-crushing adversity that most musicians (better artists than I, at that) have had to face. Supertramp and the Police had audiences averaging about five people for their first few gigs; even a successful recording artist like Buddy Holly was freezing his butt off on a cramped tour bus during a midwest winter when he finally decided to splurge on a doomed private plane to take him to the next gig; Schubert, a chronically lonely 4'11" frizzy-haired, bespectacled composer of the early Romantic period was largely ignored until after he died, and his total assets were about 7% the cost of his funeral and final medical bill. He died at the age of 30 not from the Syphilis that was causing him agony and delusion, but by a perhaps merciful visit from typhoid fever; Charlie Parker got laughed off the bandstand and had to duck a flying cymbal when he first took the stage with a few of his heroes in Kansas City (and he died near-broke at 35); even Pink Floyd and Kiss suffered massive financial setbacks in the late 70's and early 80's respectively, mostly due to bad investments.
I just attended a weekend panel discussion on band touring, and all the panelists, especially Tyler Bancroft of Said the Whale, had a litany of amusing stories about the indignities of the music business and touring. Despite the accounts of stolen gear, money-losing touring, unscrupulous promoters and disastrous performances, all participants still seemed enthused by making a business of playing original music. Tyler's take on it was that it's worthwhile if you still live for those magic hours that you make your music onstage. If not - seek another career. I guess that's why the guys in my band are still at it after all these years, and hey - I've already outlived Schubert, Mozart, Bird and Buddy Holly, to name a few. Schubert did manage to be buried close to Beethoven, however - so even if I were to suddenly attain Schubert's genius, he'll always have me beat for location.
Actually, the promoter stiffed me part of the fee, and we in fact got $50 - and the soundman tore a strip off me for not tearing down fast enough after our show.
I think at the time, I considered myself singularly unlucky to be at the start of a music career in that time and place. I just couldn't imagine my heroes ever being in such a demeaning situation.
Now, of course, I have some perspective and a little more knowledge of music history and know that that was nothing compared to the soul-crushing adversity that most musicians (better artists than I, at that) have had to face. Supertramp and the Police had audiences averaging about five people for their first few gigs; even a successful recording artist like Buddy Holly was freezing his butt off on a cramped tour bus during a midwest winter when he finally decided to splurge on a doomed private plane to take him to the next gig; Schubert, a chronically lonely 4'11" frizzy-haired, bespectacled composer of the early Romantic period was largely ignored until after he died, and his total assets were about 7% the cost of his funeral and final medical bill. He died at the age of 30 not from the Syphilis that was causing him agony and delusion, but by a perhaps merciful visit from typhoid fever; Charlie Parker got laughed off the bandstand and had to duck a flying cymbal when he first took the stage with a few of his heroes in Kansas City (and he died near-broke at 35); even Pink Floyd and Kiss suffered massive financial setbacks in the late 70's and early 80's respectively, mostly due to bad investments.
I just attended a weekend panel discussion on band touring, and all the panelists, especially Tyler Bancroft of Said the Whale, had a litany of amusing stories about the indignities of the music business and touring. Despite the accounts of stolen gear, money-losing touring, unscrupulous promoters and disastrous performances, all participants still seemed enthused by making a business of playing original music. Tyler's take on it was that it's worthwhile if you still live for those magic hours that you make your music onstage. If not - seek another career. I guess that's why the guys in my band are still at it after all these years, and hey - I've already outlived Schubert, Mozart, Bird and Buddy Holly, to name a few. Schubert did manage to be buried close to Beethoven, however - so even if I were to suddenly attain Schubert's genius, he'll always have me beat for location.