Here’s a list of artists who I listened to who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’m noting the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Vandana Vishwas (Missisauga) – I can imagine lying back in the grass on a sunny August day while this music washes over me, and while I feel like it’s a bit too mellow for our festival, it is totally lush and lovely.

The Belle Game (Vancouver) – I feel like their sound is a bit ubiquitous right now, but they do it very well, so that’s not really a bad thing.

The Pining (Toronto) – Holy lead vocals! That voice is haunting and a bit threatening, and I really like how they use it. Regardless of how good they are, when I see their name, I always read it as ‘The Pinning,’ and for some reason that always cracks me up.  Terrific website.

Kevin Myles Wilson (Toronto) – He’s an odd mix of almost radio-friendly country-folk and the sparse, broken-hearted singer-songwriter tradition that I love, and he pulls it off remarkably.  But no website?! You’re killing me, dude.

Dinner Belles (Hamilton) – I seem to have hit a run of country-folk here, but I can’t deny that this is exactly the sort of band I’d like to be listening to while drinking in a small venue.

Three Little Birds (Ottawa) – A trio with pretty harmonies, interesting lyrics, and a nice poppy feel.  They make it look easy to take serious subjects and make catchy, singalong songs out of them without sounding preachy, which is a miracle in itself.

Fanfarniente della Strada (Quebec City) – Even stronger than my almost-unnatural love of banjos is my love for big, bouncy, Eastern-European style bands with lots of brass and loose rhythms and skirling woodwinds.  When done well, as it is with these guys, it will never fail to appeal to me.

Dawn and Marra (Dundas) – Am I just a massive sucker for harmonies? Maybe.  But these women are young, and while I’m not endorsing everything they’re trying on right at the moment, I think they’ve got the potential to blend experience with talent and end up with something magical.

Don Amero (Winnipeg) – The first time I heard Don was years ago at the OCFF conference’s ‘Hey Big Ears’ session; I commented that there was too much reverb on his vocals, and that I wanted to be closer to the voice, and he piped up from a few seats away that I could get closer if I wanted.  Since then, he’s done really well, and gotten really polished, and his website is gorgeous!

Triple Gangers (Toronto) – I kind-of wanted to hate this, initially, but as much as it is hyper-self-aware and sort-of smug, I can’t hate it. I can’t quite love it, either. But I think I like it. Good enough, yeah?

Coole & Downes (Toronto) – Clawhammer banjo and spot-on vocals. Pretty much made for a sunny afternoon stage, and pretty much made for me.

Jenn Rawling and Basho Parks (Portland, Oregon) – I like the spareness of some of the recordings, and the vocals, and the use of horns.  There’s a wistful sweetness about them that really appeals to me, and seems tailor-made for a sit-down, listening festival. Again, no website?!

If you’re interested in my immediate reactions and thoughts while I listen, you could follow along on my Twitter account, where I mostly bitch about the things that artists do which are driving me crazy as I see them over and over again.

While we’re on the subject, I have a page of Resources for Musicians which contains a lot of info about approaching bookers and promoters, and in particular, I wrote an article called 10 things I want musicians to know, which does what it says on the tin.

Here’s a list of artists who I listened to today who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’ve noted the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Tops (Montreal) – Though their photos kind-of make you want to do something to crack that hipster facade, and their sound took me about 10 seconds to adjust to (in a sea of acoustic entries, your ears just aren’t accustomed to that much synth/electric), I really like Tops’ sound and

Fort York (Toronto) – It’s the track ‘Mary’ that particularly caught my interest, but that maybe because I have a thing for banjos. I think these guys would be terrific live, in an intimate venue.  Solid band; useless website.

Joal Kamps (Calgary) – Joal’s an artists who seems tailor-made for folk festivals – he has a sound that would work on an outdoor stage, and rhythms that are going to work for the low-chair aficionados/tyrants as well as for people who want to get up on their feet and dance. And his website is gorgeous.

The Tequila Mockingbird Orchestra (Victoria) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Aside from great musicianship and a strong sense of songwriting, can I say that artists who include a stage plot in their EPK make me happy? When I’ve booked them and they’ve forgotten to email it to me, I can still find out what our sound techs need to know. I’m not implying that these guys, or any artists, ever forget to send that to festival ADs, of course. Anyway, I like this band.

Dear Sister (Toronto) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – A roots trio (sort of?) with great lead vocals, lovely harmonies and solid musicianship (and a banjo. Did I mention I have a banjo thing?).  A sound that would be as sweet in a tiny club or a festival stage.

Kelly Sloan (Dartmouth) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Her sound is a little more slick/polished than my usual taste (that seems to be an East coast thing), but her vocals are great, her songwriting is great, and the musicianship and instrumentation on all of her tracks is like, perfect (that’s also an East coast thing).  And a quick Youtube search reveals that she’s just as good live (and that she shares a name with Miss South Carolina 2009).

Nick Ferrio and His Feelings (Peterborough) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I’ve known Nick for ages, and it sure has been nice to see him find his own voice and settle into it so beautifully. Great songs, great players, and a really strong sense of self, which makes him stand out.

Orchards (Toronto) – I can’t tell if I really like this band or not. I like a lot of things about this band, but I feel like maybe they haven’t quite settled into their final sound yet?

Silvergun & Spleen (Cantley, PQ) – Something about the guitar on ‘Kiss & Tell’ and the general arrangement reminds me of stuff I listened to in high school in the best way.  The rest of the music I heard didn’t light my head on fire, but they’re a pretty new band, and there’s lots of potential there.

Sarah Jane Scouten (Montreal) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I like her voice, and her lyrics, and the instrumentation. While listening to her songs, I was picturing her on the main stage at Shelter Valley just before sunset on a warm Summer night. Golden.

When I was in high school, the advice, invariably, was to go to university. For what, to what end, and how you were going to pay for it didn’t matter; you should go to university, case closed.  If you did, you’d be set for life.  No one seemed to have any information past that, but it was confidently stated, and since they seemed so certain, it only troubled me occasionally. It was my plan: Step 1, get a B.A. Step 2, apparently set for life.

I did, however, have to learn to be more practical.
“In the Real World,” they’d say “they don’t make exceptions or give extensions; you have to follow the rules.”

My choice to be a Classical History and then English Lit major was also considered impractical, unless I was going into teaching.  Since the very thought of teaching made me want to curl up in a ball and die, I was ‘tsk tsk’ed over by everyone who talked to me about it.  ”What are you going to do with that degree, then?” They’d ask. I didn’t have an answer. People advised me on what I ought to do (teach; change majors; change schools; quit school); some looked down their noses at me because I was so flighty, willful, and wayward.

In university, of course, I found that people do indeed make exceptions and bend or break rules. If you ask politely, and are honest, university professors will often give you extensions.  No “My grandma is sick,” just “I have a lot of work and haven’t been able to get it done yet; can I hand it in next Monday instead of today?” It pretty much worked all of the time. In my mind – already pretty suspicious of authority, anyway – I started to wonder what else I’d been told about the Real World had been an outright lie.

I really enjoyed university – I learned a lot, had mostly excellent professors, and spent my time outside of school learning as well – how to shoot/edit video, promote live events, all sorts of things. I had all kinds of varied jobs (costumed museum interpreter, youth shelter mentor, life drawing model) because I impractically held out for something interesting, rather than something normal.  I volunteered for local organizations and helped out on friends’ projects.  It gave me the space to experiment with different skills, to talk to people about my ideas, to bounce arguments off of learned brains and see if anything would stick.  I thought that this experience was useful, because it gave me lots of transferable skills and taught me how to think independently.

I was still, I was told, being unpractical and unrealistic.

I graduated, miserable under the weight of people’s advice.  Eying my student loans, poised like the sword of Damocles over my head, and the terrible job market here in town, it looked as though I ought to have listened.  People shook their heads over me, obviously feeling the schadenfreude of those who warned you, but you just wouldn’t listen. They’d tell me about job postings; secretarial, temp, call centre.  Practical, normal work, and some people live and thrive in those jobs. But I kept my eyes open, and held out hope for something good. And it often came.

I’ve never really been one for the telephone; as Stephen Fry says, it’s a fantastically rude device that interrupts you no matter what you’re doing.  There may have been a brief period in high school (just before the Internet reached my little village) where you may have found me on the phone for hours at a time, but one can hardly be held accountable for the stupid shit one gets up to in high school.

When I cancelled my cell phone and put the damned thing away for good, people responded with shock.  How can you live without it?! They marveled.  What if there’s an emergency?!

My response is that I rarely feel the lack, but that my stress level since ditching the cell has decreased enormously.  My voice mail was always full of passive-aggressive messages about how I never answered my phone, and rarely held anything that wasn’t a demand that I do something for someone.  People expected that no matter what I was in the middle of, I should halt everything to receive their very important call.  They wanted something from me, and they wanted it now, and their request would not keep.  It was a matter of life or death.

Of course, it never was.  In the three years I had a phone, the biggest emergency that ever reached me via that device was along the lines of  ’We need more milk.’ But the sense of urgency with which people left messages was enough to make anyone think I live a life of high drama and am in involved in affairs at the federal level.  Don’t worry darlings; if the Prime Minister needs me that badly, he won’t call.  He’ll send Mounties.  And a spare horse.

I kind-of marvel at the tremendous gall of anyone who ribs me for never answering my phone, as if I’ve got nothing better to do than  sit around, waiting with fevered anticipation for their phone call.  Even if I didn’t work or volunteer, if I was a complete lady of leisure, the idea that you assume you ought to be able to interrupt my day, my train of thought, or my conversation with someone else in order to forward your own agenda is a bit astonishing to me.  But, like most people, I work, I volunteer, I have an artistic practice and I have a social life.  In a word, I’m busy.  We’re all busy.  We’ve got work to do.  So why would we jump to answer the phone?

I often joke that men can’t multi-task, but the truth is that none of us really can.  Good work is only accomplished through uninterrupted stretches of focus.  It means that if I want to write a grant, plan an event, or get in some serious thinking about a thorny problem or a bright idea, I need time and space that isn’t interrupted by the beeping, jangling, tweeting and fussing of the various devices and people around me. I suspect that this might be why you find creative, productive types up and working at all hours except the ‘normal’ working ones.  You need to be safe from interruption to do really fine, concentrated work.

The only way for me to get things done is to manage people’s expectations of when they can get a hold of me, and the answer I’ve come up with is never.  You can never get a hold of me via a phone.  It not quite a hard-and-fast rule, but it’s pretty close.  Email is somewhat more reliable, but there too I’m not consistent.  I know it’s inconvenient for other people, and in that respect is perhaps a breach of etiquette, which I really do feel bad about.  But if you like me, or respect the work I do, I hope you’ll understand that this is the only way for me to do it.  If you can’t understand that this is how I work, we probably can’t work together. And that’s okay, because there are probably millions of people ready to jump for their phones at any moment whom you can work with.

And I’m not saying everyone can or should follow my example; for some of you, it’s unthinkable or impossible.  I respect that.  But can you clear an hour a month? An hour a  week?  A full day? Any time where you say to the people of Earth ” I really need to knuckle down and do some good work, please leave me the hell alone.’  Try the middle of the night, if you can’t find another time.  Stay up and make something.  Don’t let other people fritter away your time  with their priorities.

At some point in the future I’ll probably get a cell again; Torontonians get very uncomfortable around anyone without a cell, as though perhaps you’re unstable and might violently explode at any moment (it’s okay guys, really.  I won’t.).  And I won’t deny that it’s convenient to have the option to make a cell call. But when I do return to the land of the constantly-connected, my number will be available on a need-to-know basis, and my conversations will be short and informational in nature.  And I won’t have voice mail.

Right now, as I type this, the phone that connects to my land line is stuffed under the pillows of my bed to muffle the ringer.  I’ve got a long list of things to do today.  And no where on that list is ‘answer the phone.’

This post was inspired by something Pete Forde tweeted the other day, and by reading part of this Lifehacker article this morning.

I mean, the general public have very little criticism; last year I could barely move ten feet without being slapped on the back and told that it was the best PFF ever. The only post-festival complaint I heard was that the t-shirts didn’t have the year on them (we’re remedying that this year!).

But the whole summer had been a barrage of anger from ex-Board members, who hated that we were adding a beer tent and hated that we were moving the festival to Saturday. I couldn’t understand it at the time – I mean, some of these people had campaigned for a beer tent when they were on the Board, and the change of day just seemed like common sense, from a promotions standpoint.

This year I’m getting a lot of anger from musicians who didn’t get booked; like, a really disproportionate amount of anger. We don’t pay all that well (I do my best with the funds I have), we’re not super high-profile. We’re one of the smallest-budget festivals in Ontario. Our audience is almost entirely drawn from people in this County. I was having a hard time piecing together where the rage was coming from.

Some claim that they’re angry because I’m not booking enough local acts, but a glance at my lineup this year reveals, if anything, too many local acts, or acts with local ties (it’s awesome though – seriously – but I might be in trouble with one of my funders if I’m not careful). I generally book about 50% local, but this year it’s a lot higher.
I’ve also had a few out-of-towners rage at me.

But, in thinking about it, and talking to people about it, it seems pretty clear that the anger, the vitriol, are all coming out of the success of the festival. It’s artistically better, more beautiful, better-attended, better organized, more fun, and higher-profile than ever before. I’ve worked on the festival for a long time, and I’ve never heard anything more than the occasional grumble from bands who didn’t get booked until the last couple of years. Nothing like this.

But then, you don’t get angry about not getting booked for an okay, mediocre or shitty gig. We’ve made the festival a good thing, and as a result, people get pissed off when they don’t get in.

So, crazy as it is, I’m going to take every bitchy thing that’s said about me or the Board or the festival by a musician as a testimony to our success. Because if they didn’t care about whether or not they got in, I wouldn’t be doing my job.

This girl is not coming to this show.

Over at the Ptbo Canada blog, there’s a discussion about a poster put up by a local bar promoting cheap beer on Tuesdays.  It says “Cheap jugs” and features a close-up shot of a well-endowed woman’s cleavage. The discussion centres on whether or not the sexist image is too far over the line, and I have to admit that I don’t think it is (it is totally sexist and only like, grade school funny, but that’s beside the point). But as a promotion for the bar, it’s seriously weak.

As a promoter, my goal is usually to fill a venue.  And my equation is simple (and sexist! I know!). And I’m going to share it with you right now.

Men (straight or gay) go to venues where there are women.  Women (straight or gay) go to venues where there are women.  Therefor, successfully promoting to women is key to successfully promoting a venue.

Lots of people are going to argue with me on that; you can fill a room with dudes, certainly.  But further to that, I’d add another equation.

Straight dudes buy drinks to give themselves the courage to offer to buy drinks for women. Therefor, women at a venue = more bar sales.

I’m working on experiential data here, not any sort of scientific study, but I think I’m probably right in a very simplified way (there are lots of other reasons straight dudes buy drinks, like working up the courage to talk to women, working up the courage to dance with women, and because they’re alcoholics). A good night at a bar is high bar sales and not too many rowdies.

Posters that feature skimpily-clad ladies don’t attract women to shows, and I’ll tell you why: it’s usually a dead giveaway that the people attending the show are all straight males, probably in their very early twenties.  And who the fuck wants to go to that show? I read a poster like that to mean that there’s going to be like, a bunch of idiots, certainly, and probably at least one drunken fight that no one could really explain the cause of.  It’ll be boring and irritating and you’ll get groped. Most people will arrive drunk already, and some asshole will start moshing (go start a fight club or something, kiddo). However good the band might be, chances are the night will still be bad because of the crowd.

Sure, not everyone consciously reads the poster that way, but that’s the message it sends.

And when I read “Cheap jugs, Tuesdays” plastered over a photo of a woman’s breasts, I translate that to ‘Lonely broke losers who don’t know how to talk to women and have, at best, a really sketchy idea of what women are like hang out in our bar on Tuesdays!’ and I think ‘Thanks for the warning! I’ll go somewhere else!’

Am I making a lot of generalizations in this post? Sure am.  This is not the most nuanced or subtle analysis of promotions I could write, but I think I’m making my point: if this is your tactic for attracting people to your venue, you’re probably failing.

Read on for things you can do to avoid being that jerk I use as an example and never book again (or in the first place).

1. Many talent buyers are also artists.

Very few children grow up thinking “When I’m older, I want to be a Talent Buyer!”  In fact, the talent buyers I know are also musicians, graphic designers, musicians, photographers, musicians, painters, musicians, and  hackers.  Don’t come at them with the attitude that they don’t understand what you do or that you, as the ‘talent,’ are somehow superior to them.  It’s better if you behave as though you’re dealing with a peer, no matter what your general assumptions about talent buyers are.

2.  One phone call, one email.

If you find yourself calling again without a reply to your previous call to pitch yourself, it’s because I get a lot of these calls/email and I don’t have time to repond.  It’s not because I missed your message or email.  I get tonnes of messages every week, and people who email/phone repeatedly to hassle me for gigs compound the problem.  When I want to book you, I’ll get in touch.

3.  Rejection doesn’t mean that you suck.

I can’t say this enough: 850 submissions this year, 25 slots.  My short list was 150.  The final decision can be a painful process of whittling away very good acts I really want based on who I’ve already got, and when it gets down to the final choices, it’s a matter of very excellent band vs. very excellent band.  Not getting booked may come down to a million factors that have nothing to do with your talent.

4.  I pay what I can pay, and my budget is largely out of my control.

Whether I’ve been booking for a bar or the festival, the money I’ve got is all I’ve got.  I’m not trying to cheat bands out of money, and I don’t have a secret reserve hidden away somewhere.  Last year after booking the festival, I came in $50 under budget, which went to something else we needed to spend money on.  I also run a free festival, and don’t have to worry about ticket sales, so I’m not blowing half the budget on one headliner; everyone gets paid within a reasonable range of each other.

5.  It’s a business, and if you don’t like business, you don’t have to be in it.

I hear people complain all the time that they don’t like writing bios, selling themselves, etc. – the whole ‘I just wanna be an artist, man!’ schtick.  And that’s cool.  If you want to play music in your mom’s basement for your cat and your significant other, go ahead.  People who want to get paid for gigs have to work at the business side, and spend as much or more time on that than on rehearsing and playing and writing and recording.

6.  I didn’t just fall off of a potato truck.

In fact, I’ve been doing this longer than many of you have been in bands.  So any line you feed me I’ve heard about a million times, and any tactic you take I’ve seen played as many.    Be calm, be polite, and be professional.  And for chrissakes, don’t be ‘cool.’  The respect of a peer plays better  than what comes across as the disdain of an idiot.

7.  I book acts, not buddies or boyfriends.

I’m not Paris Hilton; this is not a competition to be my BFF.  Becoming my new best friend at a conference or a bar (or god knows, on Facebook) doesn’t mean I’m going to hire your band.  And it doesn’t matter how cute you are.
If you’re a friend and I don’t book you, it’s not necessarily because you suck.   See point #3.  Most of my friends are musicians, and I can’t very well book all of you, because then I’d be one of those nepotistic jerks.

8. No one is entitled to a gig.

Played in this community for twenty years?  Been booked by every promoter in town except me?  The most brilliant genius of our time? Spent a year caring for lepers?  Help old ladies across the street?  Good for you.  I don’t care.  If you aren’t what I’m looking for musically, I’m not going to book you.  I have a responsibility to my audiences, my staff, my venues and my funders to book appropriately, and I’ve got my professional reputation to consider as well.  If every other promoter jumps off a bridge, I’m not going to follow. Also, see point #3.

9.  Always be nice/polite/respectful to staff and volunteers.

When you walk into a venue for the first time, you have no idea what the dynamic is or who people are.  Be respectful; the woman in the pushup bra working merch might also be the promoter, and the frazzled guy with the ripped jeans might be the AD. And if you’re a jerk to any of my volunteers or staff (seriously, that kind of behaviour enrages me), you’re not coming back, and everyone I know is going to hear about it.  I know you don’t think being nice is very rock’n'roll, but word gets ’round.

10.  If you want to know why I didn’t book you, guess or make something up.  Don’t phone/email.

I don’t have time to tell every one of the 825 bands I rejected this year why they didn’t make the cut.  I get a lot of passive-aggressive and sulky messages from artists or their agents every year when I hit ‘Not Accepted;’ don’t make yourself memorable because you were a sore loser.  It’s not going to recommend you for next year.

Ah, and here’s a bonus:

11.  If you know me, and you’re thinking of sending a jokey email or something about how you do some of these things, stop yourself.

There’s y’know, no point.  If I like you, it’s going to make me uncomfortable, and if I dislike you, it’s not going to help.