Walking around an empty club is a strange, solemn feeling. It’s that anticipation for the lights to dim, the guitarist to strum the first chord and the singer to belt the first word. Perhaps this is the single moment of solitude before tensions accumulate within the confines of the venue.
“For all they knew he was going to come on with this big, huge elaborate band,” and this is what’s taking so long, explains John Benetti, the production manager for The Beat Kitchen.
As he hustles to rearrange an entire night’s schedule, the artist races to make it to his sold-out acoustic set. Kris Roe of The Ataris finally pulls up in front, sprints to the back room, jumps on stage, plugs in and starts playing. The rowdy, anxious crowd had no idea they were at a show that almost didn’t happen.
Production crews are always thinking about anything that could go wrong, and it can happen fast. Always running around the club in race with the clock, it is their job to effectively communicate with the band to make sure the performance goes off as best as possible. If the band shows up without prior notice of venue regulations, things can get sour and the lack of enthusiasm can bring everyone down.
“Ninety-nine percent of the time things don’t go as planned,” asserts Bruce Finkelman, owner of The Empty Bottle.
Organizing as soon as a show is booked assists in a smooth process. The venue must contact the group to discuss payments, amenities and equipment arrangements. Plans vary on a show-to-show basis.
“Without that structure, it’s almost impossible to do the show,” Empty Bottle’s production manager, Ryan Rafferty, goes on to say. “It’s a bit of balancing a trapeze act sometimes.”
The Empty Bottle’s L-shaped corner stage leaves more room for the audience, yet presents a challenge for bands. Sound projects in two different directions, and the equipment is closely packed. The band must know these capacity features so they can plot their set accordingly.
Bands and venues both rely on promotions to spark crowd appeal.
“With this economy, people look for excuses not to do stuff more than ever,” Benetti reluctantly explains. Drops in attendance and ticket sales hurt the desirable culture of shows.
Phil Kosch, talent buyer for Double Door, believes when the venue feels psyched, the band gets excited. When the band is nice, the venue wants to work harder. When they collaborate, the fans will see the passion in the performance.
Kosch always asks himself, “How can I build a relationship with these people…so they keep coming back?”
After booking and then advancing the show, Kosch looks in his folder and repeats back an entire overview of the night’s schedule, from the time the musicians arrive to the amount they’ll get paid. He prepares a payment plan to guarantee national acts. In one case, Swedish metal band Lord Belial would not start their set at a sold-out show until they received the rest of their money.
“We could have figured out all of this way in advance if they would have said something earlier than the moment he was suppose to walk on stage,” Kosch remarks.
The staff collected all the money from the door and bar registers, made sure house expenses were accounted for, and an hour later, the band finally went on. If that’s what it takes for the band to play, the staff must make it happen.
Bands may request all sorts of things, from preferred alcohol to a newspaper next to the toilet. Most venues provide drink tickets and half-off meals. Green rooms, which usually aren’t green, can exude luxury and relaxation even when merely run-down and shoddy. The hospitality hopefully boosts some excitement and assists in the appeal of the club.
“I know what it’s like to show up somewhere and have people treat you like garbage,” Ronny DiCola, the stage manager for Reggie’s Rock Club and Music Joint on South State Street, notes. “Maybe they’ve just had the shittiest show of the entire tour the night before.”
Even when DiCola must continuously keep an eye on the operations of the venue, he still recognizes that the band’s comfort in the two-story, double-sided warehouse can transcend into the performance. He understands that uncontrollable incidences, including traffic and gear malfunction, can push back the play clock.
The staff prides themselves on being positive and readily available when the boxy white van pulls up and the band starts hauling in the gear. The initial greeting must be straightforward and welcoming. Whether or not it is a sold-out show for a well-known band or a quiet room with a new, local act, the staff accommodates the guests equally.
The venue understands the instruments are the musician’s pride and joy. Expensive equipment is reason enough to be particular about the arrangement. The old, black house cat at The Empty Bottle has claimed the stage as his territory. After catching a whiff of feline whiz, the staff must put the load on hold. The swiftest, stealthiest process is to backline everything on stage in the order of performers.
Sound check gives the musicians a chance to express their style to the venue. Members go about tuning and checking strings in their own little world. Each short test run keeps the mystery of the set list alive.
Most venues rent in-house equipment and hire outsourced audio companies, “because it’s once less thing to worry about and they do a great job,” states Benetti.
After playing for an empty club, it is now time to wait. The crowd begins to trickle in, and the staff gets a chance to relax. The band is stuck waiting fervently for that fleeting time of release. With all hands on deck, this is the best opportunity to maintain that mannerly character and support for the artist. The planning ultimately pays off.
“All the craziness and chaos that happened before has gone out the window,” sighs Rafferty with a bit of relief.
The chatter-filled room slowly fades, and it is time to get back to work. Staff, especially security, must play the bad guy sometimes to end the raucousness and get the band on their way. Venues abide by a curfew, whether it is during last call or an all-ages show. On the weekends, one show’s patrons and possessions might load out as another show moves in.
“It’s fun when you can take a step back and say that show went off without a hitch,” Benetti says as he slowly and steadily strides out with both eyes and smile half open. “We know all of this shit happened, and it was completely seamless.”
Inbetween
