Organising My First Gig
Sub-Editor's Intro: dirty from Cardiff has proven that just because you're in high school doesn't mean you can't put on a gig with bands all the way from America. She's a shining example of how age needn't be a barrier to achieving great things, and we at CLIC salute her for it.
Also: you really need to read 'Halal Punk Rock?' before you can fully appreciate this story. It's a fascinating article and well worth a read.
In the space of six days I went from being a promoter booking an international band to a scared kid, staying up all night over nerves for results day. Looking back, I’m not sure how I pulled it all off.
A few years ago I wrote an article about taqwacore, the Islamic punk rock scene, for theSprout. Very few people had heard of this movement and the article – entitled ‘Halal Punk Rock?’ – got attention not only within theSprout, but from a local university wanting to feature it on their website to demonstrate what their creative writing graduates were capable of. But they were mistaken: I wasn’t a university graduate. Far from it; I was a fourteen year old kid still living at home with her mum.
I found out about The Kominas on the back of the book Blue Eyed Devil, by Michael Muhammad Knight, that a friend had lent me.
“I know you aren’t really interested in Islam," he said. "But by the time you finish this book, you’ll be hooked.”
I laughed it off in my cynical early-teenage way that kids do, but he was right. Within two months I had the album, and I had moved onto his first book, the Taqwacores. People read the book and started the movement, disappointed that none of the bands or people he wrote about (all Muslim punk rockers of some sort) actually existed.
The story has been told so much that it’s become semi-mythological, spawning a documentary and a feature film. Through taqwacore I met a multitude of friends: I met an Indonesian-Australian girl in Australia, Muslim punks in Europe, and a variety of people in the US. I’m still friends with them to this day, but taqwacore unfolded for us like the opening of a letter from an envelope.
We weren’t the people writing the letter; we were reading the words after the events had happened. In some ways we were connected, in some ways we were so far from connection. Those of us on the fringes weren’t there when the Kominas crashed their van or Al Thawra made it to the Sundance Music Festival. We saw it happen on Twitter as vans crashed and instruments were played.
The Kominas had hit London the year before, Bristol too, but it coincided with my exams. I didn’t get to see any of them on that first UK TaqwaTour. In a way, I was excited to bring this American semi-mythological movement to the city I grew up in. I tried last year, but nobody would take me seriously as a sixteen year old girl wanting to hire out venues. This year it happened, with the backing of a promoter (who later pulled out, and totally left me in the ****). Here's the story...
Panic
Friday 12 August. I’d counted down to it. I’d knocked off days as they came, waiting for Friday to come. I’d done everything I could to kill the time: I’d cooked in bulk for one of the bands playing that night... I’d even cleaned the house, like a student avoiding revision.
It was all going well, except for one thing: my boss. He did everything he could to make this as difficult as he could for me. Although the gig was my idea, he stepped in as the sole promoter: he said he'd take charge of the organisation and particularly the venue, as booking a venue was where my age (and lack of money) had stopped me last time. He booked the band, and therefore it was his financial backing that would see us through if we didn’t make enough money on the door. I’d just put up the posters.
Although he booked the bands and sorted the venue, he refused to pay for promotion costs, leaving me to pick up the tab for all the posters and flyers. He was difficult, angry, intimidating and often rang members of the support bands to say that I wasn’t doing my job properly. This made it hard, but I persevered.
And then it was the day of the gig. I set out early to get to the venue for 4pm. Doors didn't open until 7, but bands would be coming early, setting up, and generally just kicking back to celebrate that it was happening.
This was happening, right?
Soundcheck was ready to begin and there was still no sign of my boss, who wasn't answering his phone. The soundman got wind of this developing situation, and threatened to pull out and take all his equipment with him.
A nightmare? Yes. It got worse. Without my boss showing up, he didn’t bring people to do the door, and I couldn’t ask people who had paid to get in to do the doors, could I? He didn’t bring ‘float’ money, either. Float money is when you have a certain amount behind the door so people can give you change for when you enter, just in case you don’t have the right amount of money to pay exact door entry.
Eight o’clock. An hour after doors and I’m sitting outside Koko Gorilaz with the punks who’d shown up. We had Gung Ho (link contains swearing), a hardcore group from the valleys, and Godbomber from Swansea. There were also a load of people who actually wanted to see the gig, but seeing as the Kominas hadn’t shown up, I wasn’t sure how I felt charging people money to see a headlining band that hadn’t shown up yet.
I didn’t have their number, and my boss still wasn’t picking up his phone. I’d worried he’d cancelled The Kominas to spite me for some reason, and leave me in the lurch like this. People were asking me questions I couldn’t answer, and to reply, “Ask my ****ing boss, this is his show, not mine. I just put up posters and flyers and promoted it online,” seemed too rude, even for me.
Nine o’clock and The Kominas showed up. The relief was indescribable! The following hour flew by in the blink of an eye. And that's when things started to fall into place.
Some kind soul lent me float money. I told all the bands what was going on with my boss, and they all helped out. Godbomber and Gung Ho, if you are reading, I am eternally grateful. People took turns doing the door, as I couldn’t do it myself. The boss was in absentia so I stepped in. I couldn’t be doing the door when I had everything else to check. This was now my gig.
It happened. I forgot that a gig is never as straightforward as it seems on the surface, and being the self-appointed stage manager brought with it a whole new set of shenanigans to deal with... Boris, a member of Gung Ho, had his drink taken off him, and Lewis, the drummer, tried to get it back. When it wasn’t received, Lewis stole a birthday cake off an unsuspecting family and threw it on the ceiling – and no amount of prodding with a broom would get the cake down. Everybody went wild while I tried to calm the situation. I think that was the point I might have actually gone crazy.
Eleven o’clock came; The Kominas’ set. Everybody knew the score with how badly this gig started out, so for it to go ahead was a miracle. Perhaps this riled them up more, but I’ve never seen more energy in that attic room of Koko Gorilaz. Unlike London, taqwacore has barely touched Cardiff, thus The Kominas pulled in more of a specific crowd in London owing to its cosmopolitan atmosphere compared to Cardiff.
Tell me, what do Polish skinhead ska fans stage-diving, punks starting small pits and regular Muslims on the side singing to Bollywood have in common? A love of the Kominas. Or taqwacore. Or, who knows, maybe both?
The Aftermath
And then it was over. There was a brief ‘after party’ which consisted of a room filled with various punks and drunks, all chatting to each other. A friend and I led The Kominas to the junction they needed in Cardiff East to get back to London to catch their flight, and we departed ways at 2am, with their flight at 7am.
Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The night went badly, that I know, but in a way, I’m glad. If I ever decide to do shows again, I’m prepared for anything that might happen. We didn’t make enough money, my boss pulled out, we almost got our electricity cut because we went dangerously close to crossing the venue’s live music laws and it started three or so hours late.
I lost on the night, and I didn’t even book the venue or the bands. I got none of the money or time that I'd invested back, but we managed to meet everybody’s basic costs: petrol, cars and such. That’s what mattered the most to me, I didn’t mind losing, but I couldn’t bare it if I couldn’t pay people for the time they’d given us all. Alas, but we did it. It took a lot of us, and a lot of stress, but it happened. To all those who provided their support, their time to do the door, their time to promote: thank you.
The next day, morning came screaming through a pinhole. And a few days later, I picked up my college results. ABB, an A in Religious Studies at a surprisingly 94%, and Bs at 75% in French and Welsh. Just like that I’d gone from semi-booking and pulling off an international group in my hometown, to being a seventeen year old kid again.
I start college again in a week’s time. People are telling me I should put on more shows after pulling that one off, but I think I’m still recovering from my first one.
Editor's Note: The Kominas got up on stage and personally thanked dirty, appreciating the hard work she had put in, and got the whole audience to cheer her. Despite (or maybe because of) the chaos it was an epic gig, and I for one will definitely attend her next gig if she decides to try her hand at organising one again.
2 Comments – Post a comment
National Editor
Commented 56 months ago - 23rd September 2011 - 14:11pm
Go on dirty - and I thought organising theSprout's Official Launch was stressful!
If you can get through this you can get through any gig organising stress. Keep us posted on the next one!
Scattered
Commented 56 months ago - 23rd September 2011 - 14:12pm
What was your boss' excuse after?!