HENNING:
Pay to Play. Pay to Play. Do you folks out there in rockumentary
land know what that means? Pay to Play means that the four bands
scheduled to perform at the Webster Underground each pitched in
50 bucks to pay for the sound person and the door person. The
idea is that then we would split up the take at the door or the
sale of any tickets and recompensate ourselves that way. The way
these things tend to work out, though, is that hardly anybody
shows up and the bands end up paying 50 dollars for the priviledge
of playing to an empty room (or in this case a room of 15 other
musicians who are all waiting to play for you.)
It's a sad state of affairs and it's really nobody's
fault other than the bands. Of course, coming from out-of-town
we had no idea what to expect of the Webster Underground. Although,
Jason of the Heros did let out a little harumph when I mentioned
playing there.
The Webster Underground is the exact opposite
of the Space. The Space has a supportive and inspiring atmosphere
while The Underground lives only to beat you down.
Located in a depressing neighborhood of boarded
up buildings and honking cars, at first the Webster shines like
an oasis, and perhaps for the national acts that play in the theatre
proper it serves as one also. The connected smaller club known
as the Underground, however, opitimizes everything that leaves
a bad taste in my mouth in the rock world.
Stale beer smell, old smoke, black walls, ripped
apart furniture, angry owner, loud angry music, no sign of any
imagination or inspiration, a few beer signs on the wall, a pool
table too close to the walls to play, restrooms with open doors,
and the little bottles of spring water cost $2.50, not a smile
in the house.
The plusses were this, the sound person Casandra
was nice, the sound quality was actually pretty good, and the
Screwdrivers were good (the band, not the drink, I was conserving
my king's-ransom-costing water, sipping gingerly.)
We played our half hour show to hardly anyone
and then we got off the stage. Max and Brian took off immediately
and Tony and I stayed behind to enjoy the Screwdrivers. There
was another band before them that fit into the Webster Underground
perfectly. I didn't really talk to any of the band members and
I don't remember one thing about their music. However, their manager/promoter/lawyer
was unforgettable. As the band played, she scampered around the
room while badgering folks to sign their mailing list, talking
up the band to everyone, explaining certain songs ("during
this song, everytime the singer says "sorry" you are
supposed to do a shot), dancing and cheering. She was a beacon
of enthusiasm and a chapter straight out of a "so-you-want-to-promote-a-band"
pamphlet, which was wonderful, I wish I had that much energy...ever.
But, in the long run she upstaged the band, it really should have
been her on the stage, I bet she would be perfect as a performer.
The Screwdrivers played a nice set of musical
music. They have some really good songs and each time I see them
their arrangements get a little bit tighter and wilder. At one
point, during a psychedelic freakout, they broke into Omnivore
for a few bars. Pretty funny. As soon as they were done, Tony
and I grabbed our stuff and got-the-hell-out-of-there.
Pay to play this, Webster. We won't be returning
to that pit of despair any time soon.
|
|