A couple of years ago, a dam was quickly erected, completely stopping the flow of work and subsequently creating a drought. Granted, there were dribs and drabs of work that would leak through, but for the most part we were dry and parched. I spent many hours deliberating over what would happen and how we would come out of it once the dam was gone. Sometimes my musings were correct as to the future outcome of our situation. Other times I was off the mark. It was an uncertain time, and no one really knew if, when, where or how we would survive; what we did know is that we wanted the drought to end.
One scenario that was bandied about was that we should prepare for a flood once the dam was removed, but as good as this advice might have been, it was a difficult task to negotiate. People were thirsty for live music as were all the audio vendors and venues, but being stuck on the dry side of the dam for two years led to a diaspora of labor, a shortage of gear and a shattered supply chain. Trucks that were idle needed work, even if there were drivers. New protocols were instated, and as we slowly dealt with some of the leakage from the cracks in the dam, we were hit with an inflated economy putting us in the position of raising our own rates, not to get ahead, but just keep up.
Rising Waters
Then the dam broke, and we began to drown in work. Short-staffed and equipment-challenged, we began to navigate old territory, but with different parameters. The flood of work started flowing in its own bed and we were literally treading water to make it all work. So many things change in two years, and gear that was on its way out was now out. Equipment that would have been sold and replaced during that time was still in inventory, and procuring anything from cables to microphone stands could take up to six months, not to mention having to wait for the larger items like consoles and speakers. We were put in the untenable position of navigating this sea of work while just managing to keep the ships afloat.
Fortunately, this flood of work was not an isolated occurrence with only one or two companies and, while some companies may have been positioned better than others, this overflow of work was affecting everyone. Inflation was up, and there were new etiquettes in place limiting venues, bands and audio companies. The months of May and June became a blur as we all worked at breakneck speed to fill our coffers while keeping the vessel above the water. Some people started to drift back to work while other positions were filled with new techs who were thrown into the middle of it with little or no training as to how to keep the ship from sinking. The things we had learned to accept as normal shifted ever so slightly, and this created a bit of a disconnect in our approach to getting the various jobs done.
Every company was scrambling to find gear, labor and trucking. Everyone I spoke to was overwhelmed trying to keep up with the surge of work. While it was great to be working again, it was also difficult to maintain an even keel — and patience was at a premium. I was doing triage and taking what I deemed were the more important gigs while farming out those that might interfere with my commitments. In the past, I was always able to make it all work, but that was then, and now we’re faced with a brave new reality with which to contend.
You Are Now in Sing Sing…
As I said, we were not the only ones at wit’s end, and one of the calls I received was from our friends at the Staten Island-based Audio Inc. who found themselves stretched so far that they asked us to provide P.A., wireless, backline and labor for one of their commitments. It was a seemingly normal request until I was informed that the show was for the artist Common and taking place in Sing Sing Prison. For those unfamiliar with the Sing Sing Correctional Facility, it is a maximum-security penitentiary about 30 miles north of New York City in Ossining, NY. Audio Inc. had worked the prison a few times before, but this was a first for me and my crew. I’m aware that presenting a show in a prison is not a novel idea, but as far as new realities are concerned, once anyone steps inside the prison, they are basically a prisoner. Granted, you have a few more rights, but the guards are not taking any chances.
From the start, no cellphones are allowed inside the jail and one is expected to follow prison rules and not go anywhere they shouldn’t go. The gear manifest is tightly controlled on the way in and on the way out. A pre-approved list is sent to prison officials, and they don’t want to see one more microphone, speaker or cable that isn’t on the list. I initially asked about tying into power and was told that under no circumstance could we tie in. There were 12 20-amp circuits available with which we had to make it work.
Quite often, we bring extra gear to gigs as a “just-in-case” scenario. My engineer decided to treat this as a normal gig and bring a mic trunk instead of the exact mics listed on the manifest. He also decided to bring feeder cable with the hopes that he could, what? Convince the warden to pardon his excess and let him tie in?
Needless to say, neither the feeder cable, extra mics or — for that matter — extra anything made it beyond the prison walls and, when said gear left, it was all accounted for to ensure that no contraband was left behind. The gig was a first for us, but there are many firsts in this new reality as we all navigate the surging flood waters and try to make sense of the new beds we are carving out in our fragile, yet resilient world of concerts, shows and events.
