Every time I answer the phone for an audio call, it’s another adventure in problem solving and — for the most part — I do enjoy the challenge of solving the logistical difficulties of any given event. The concert events in real theatres or sheds usually entail the standard fare of negotiating load in/load out times, labor calls, required gear, bus/truck parking and feeder and snake runs.
My dealings are usually with pro stage managers and production managers who know the drill, consisting of: stage and lights in first, audio next and backline last, with the unspoken understanding that it will all load out in the reverse order. Sound checks are performed last to first, with the understanding that when the opening act is finished checking, the stage remains untouched so that the band and crew are ready for downbeat. Everyone involved knows what it takes to get the show up and running and, therefore, the negotiations are kept to a minimum regarding the timing, the number of points, the quantity of boxes and the pairs of hands that will be required on that particular day.
Unfortunately, unless one is on tour, not all events and shows will run with such regularity, and any audio company that wants to stay in business requires a cash flow — which means that there can be no waiting around for the perfect gig. We take work where we find it, and often this requires us to interact with people who don’t know the protocols of our business. These are not necessarily stupid people, but rather people who do not know the right questions to ask because they have no reference point in regard to staging an event with a band. Therefore, when I take their call, I have to expect that they are going to attach themselves to me in the same way that a drowning man latches onto the nearest raft. They are in over their heads, and they are calling their regional audio company to provide not only a sound system, but also a way to float their event and keep it above water.
In many cases, our gig becomes an exercise in providing production for big name acts in tiny spaces. While providing audio for these gigs is not overly challenging in itself, it is the lack of knowledge and procedure on behalf of the planner or host that makes me ask, “And why, exactly, is this my problem?” Regrettably, if the event is to happen at all, it behooves us to take over the production and make sure that it all goes according to plan, since a bad event reflects poorly on all of us, even if we are not the ones at fault. If at all possible, a hefty production fee for services rendered is desirable, but despite one’s pecuniary needs, the show must go on, and we must find a way to prevail against all odds.
A Real-Life Quandary
A name act playing at a promotional event or private party is not only a boon for the client, but it’s a bit of a financial windfall for the band, since they usually make double — if not more — than they would make for a concert. So, just to be clear, it is not solely the event planner who is at fault. The booking agent and the band should also bear some of the responsibility, considering that they accepted the gig in the first place. Of course, the agent and the band are thrilled to be making a big payday, and they are not necessarily thinking about the production until the date is almost upon them, which I might add, is usually the same time that the client contacts the audio company. This invariably puts the audio company in between the event planner and the band, since neither party has communicated, nor did they understand each other’s needs or design. “And why, exactly, is this my problem?”
The room they are putting a big name act band is only 24 feet wide by 60 feet long. And they need a four-foot wide egress for the catering staff at one side of the stage, which means that the stage cannot exceed 20 feet wide — which will be okay, but the event people want to keep the depth of the stage at 12 feet — which is totally unacceptable to the band. “Why do you need to have a 20-foot stage?” asks the event planner. I tell her that the size of the stage doesn’t matter to me. “And why, exactly, is this my problem?” I then explain that this is a matter to be resolved between the event planner and the band. Shortly thereafter, I get a call from the band’s production manager, letting me know his dissatisfaction with the stage size and that I should know better than to think they could play on such a small stage. “And why, exactly, is this my problem?” I reply, and I tell them both to speak among themselves to work it out.
I tell the event planner that the band is demanding two consoles, one for front of house and one for monitors. They are a touring band, after all, and they need what they need to make their show work. “We cannot fit another console in the room,” she says. “Ask the band why they can’t just use one console. Also, do you need to bring all that equipment? It’s just a small party, and it’s not really about the band.” “And why, exactly, is this my problem?” I respond. “Look,” I tell the planner. “I’d be happy to bring a four-by-four-foot stage and one powered speaker with a microphone. I’m not the producer of this show; I’m just a vendor. You work it out with the band and get back to me.” “Tell the band we need to cut this down,” she orders. Meanwhile, the band’s production manager is raging about all the things he needs to make his show work. “The band is being unreasonable,” she tells me. “We can’t do the show if they get their way,” says the production manager.
Again, I ask, “And why, exactly, is this my problem?”
