"Remember, this industry is just looking for a chance to completely dismiss you and your music. And once you cancel a gig with a promoter or club and try to re-book later, you might as well be a lesbian trying to get into Oral Roberts University." - Danielle Egnew
So here we are, all of we right brained random people called musicians, in a sea of art that's wrapped in business. And just how inconvenient is that? Well, for most of us, it is like trying to take those droll Iowa fourth grade exams, where you have to sit in one place for six straight hours (a fourth grader's personal hell) and fill in that little oval bubble with a No. 2 lead pencil in reference to a mathematical story problem that rambles worse than this sentence.
The nuts and bolts, the crossed T's and dotted I's, the bottom line, the brass tacks, the … okay, I'm out of clever euphemisms for "boring but necessary items needed to run a band well." But all of those skills are what breeds the longevity that equals success for a band or a solo artist. Yes, I am a romantic, and yes, I believe very much in fate and in a higher power guiding us, and in raw pure talent knocking the socks off of Jaded Joe A&R guy.
I've messed up enough in some pretty basic areas to know that in fact, diligent work is what separates the really successful projects from the non-successful. I'm not talking about back-breaking hard work. If you have to work that hard to get your project going, or to maintain it, then the universe is trying to tell you something. Like, you can't push a river, and maybe you're better suited for something else. What I'm talking about is adhering to some basic disciplines, which translate into protocols that must be executed in order to reasonably move your project where you need it to be. In other words, I've pinpointed five No-No's to avoid so that you don't sink your art because the boat had holes. You want that art out there, in spite of your go-with-the-flow artistic nature. Ya know, the reason you put out CD's and stuff. That wacky thang.
Mistake Number One is the subject of our fair article, and is a dreadful one indeed. I am completely aghast at how many artists actively execute this No-No on a regular basis, even here in the highly competitive LA market, thinking no one will hold it against them later. I call it the "Weiner Rule," otherwise known as Gig Cancellations. Now before many of you roll your eyes and think I am a heartless evil middle-earth troll, know that there are always extenuating circumstances. Like your lead singer is killed, or the Bush administration mistook your tour minivan as the one in the satellite photo belonging to a Democrat, and the rest of your band mysteriously disappears.
What I am referring to is the ever-present "something unforeseen came up" excuse that artists will use when they, well, just don't quite feel like doing it after they've booked it. Maybe because a girlfriend is mad about her honey missing an anniversary. Or a spouse is upset about a gig that falls on a child's birthday. I agree that events such as these are extremely important to attend. That's why an artist needs to be a responsible adult and get their calendar in order, deciding on their priorities before booking a gig. There's nothing wrong with declining an offered gig with a reasonable explanation. But what happens, you ask, when you just forget, or book the gig without the dayrunner? Well then, you play the gig. It is not the club or the promoter's responsibility to cover your last minute change of plans, or the gig double booked. Remember, this industry is just looking for a chance to completely dismiss you and your music. And once you cancel a gig with a promoter or club and try to re-book later, you might as well be a lesbian trying to get into Oral Roberts University.
I'm here to tell everyone: No matter how morose you sound, how convincing you think you may be, NO ONE in the industry believes the famed Brady Bunch "something came up" excuse. I 've had the privilege of getting to know many wonderful promoters and club owners here in Los Angeles, and unlike the urban myth that all club owners and promoters are the scourge of the earth and are too low to even be accepted into law school (and certainly some are), there are many that are terrific. And sometimes you don't know who is who until you've worked with them for a bit. Here's how it all works: When an artist cancels, the promoter is then forced to hustle around and fill the vacant slot in order for them to honor their agreement with the club. That not only dishonors the agreement that the artist made with the promoter, who was the entity that put it's reputation on the line for the night and gave the artist a chance to play live at a great club, but it forces the promoter to slap another artist into the canceled time slot at the last minute. That last minute artist doesn't have time to promote the show, so they usually have little to no crowd draw at the show that night. This not only shoots the promoter and the club in the hiney, but it really shoots the other bands on the bill in the hiney, because every other artist's draw are new faces that each other artist gets to play for.
Respect in this industry is fairly easy to earn, thanks to a staggering number of weirdoes and flakes that will not come through on their obligations. But respect in this industry is almost impossible to regain if lost, and thanks to entertainment's fickle nature, it only takes once to lose it. It's hard to play shows when you're sick and you're barely firing on all cylinders - I've done it with mono, with walking pneumonia, after being up all night with food poisoning, with cramps that would drop an African elephant in it's tracks - not that a dork like me is any sort of super-hero; I'm not. I just wasn't willing to completely compromise my band's reputation for 45 minutes of discomfort, and my pride being hurt because I didn't sound my very best. But the clubs, the promoters, and most importantly, our fans who came in from hours away, were all very glad that we played.
As a matter of fact, we played a gig where I was approached afterwards by a gal who told me how much she liked our band, signed up on our mailing list and then went on to explain that she and her group of six friends had driven in from Las Vegas to L.A. to see a particular band they'd been following who was supposed to play before us-but had canceled, and not notified their mailing list. Needless to say, she was very unimpressed that they were a no-show after receiving countless e-mails from them promoting that show, even up until the night before. I felt awful for her, and later asked the in-house booker about it, expecting to hear some awful tale about a death in the family. The reason the band gave the club? "Unforeseen circumstances came up." Wieners, wieners, wieners.
Think of the industry as a kindergarten. If you say you are going to do something, then do it. Don't cop the wiener attitude that "other people are doing it." C'mon, if everyone else were jumping off a cliff… you know the drill. And certainly don't sell yourself on the idea that this nasty-tempered industry is sitting around waiting at your convenience for you to feel up to honoring your agreements. Um… it's not. Our virtual society has bred a lot of individuals who do not feel that they are accountable for their obligations or their actions. And as we say in my home state of Montana, that's just horse crap. Wiener horse crap, actually. It is not necessarily the best in this business that get the record deals. But it is the ones who persevere, who show up, who can be counted on, who honor their word, and then - who are just good at what they do. Those are the ones who certainly have a much, much better chance at being signed, because those are the rare ones. In summary -- don't be a wiener.
Be rare. Be honorable. It's how you frame your art.
Check out next month's GoGirlsMusic.com for the No. 2 No-No.
