On Saturday, 29 April, music lovers headed to Festival Green at Camana Bay for Capella – an all-day event with big names like LeAnn Rimes and UB40 on stage.
Even as the concert was happening, attendees were posting photos, videos and opinions real-time on social media, with more popping up later in the night and the next day. For the most part, feedback was very positive, with the odd person mentioning the late start, or local artists being cut short due to subsequent time constraints. As I read the comments, good and bad, I quietly thanked the gods for the nonexistence of Facebook, Instagram and Twitter when my company was putting on concerts over 20 years ago.
The fact is, unless you’ve organised an event of that magnitude, you have no idea of the work, money, stress and worry involved. That’s not to say that people aren’t entitled to their opinions, and if they’ve paid for tickets, they should feel they’ve had their money’s worth – but we are so lucky that anyone is willing to take on this kind of production for us to enjoy as an audience. It is certainly not a get-rich-quick endeavour and, more often than not, promoters are lucky if they break even in the end.
Back in the late ‘90s, when my business associates and I had the idea of putting on concerts, we went the route of top-tier tribute acts. They cost a fraction of the real thing and were willing to go with double occupancy hotel rooms and economy class airline tickets. We were therefore able to afford large-scale stage and sound production. That’s the thing with original artists – the price they charge to actually perform is the tip of the iceberg. It’s like when you go to buy a house, and you think it’s one price, but by the time you’ve paid inspection, lawyer, stamp duty and just-because-you-wanna-dwelling fees, you’re wondering what you could get for one of your kidneys on the open market.
Established artists have riders – that is, stipulations about everything they require, from the class of air travel to accommodation, and what they want provided in their green room. Who remembers the story about Van Halen, when they requested a bowl of M&M’s for their backstage room with all the brown ones removed? That was actually their shrewd way of checking to see if bookers were reading their contracts thoroughly, but if you’ve read other artists’ demands online, the banishment of brown candies doesn’t seem that far-fetched. Mariah Carey (for starters) requires two vases of white roses; Mick Jagger and the lads need space for their travelling snooker table; and (please let this be true) Grace Jones asks for two dozen unopened oysters on ice, because “Grace does her own shucking”. Isn’t that fabulous? I can believe it.
All these items cost money and everything adds up pretty quickly to a not-insignificant amount. I’ve had a taste of this firsthand.
When our company was in the business of concerts, back in the day, our formula of sticking with the tribute acts worked well for us. We had an amazing Queen group (Innuendo) from Italy; Bjorn Again played here several times; and a New Year’s Eve show boasting a ‘Tom Jones’-‘Tina Turner’-‘Rod Stewart’ trifecta. They were brilliant performers, and people loved them, so after getting a fair bit of experience under our belts, we decided to finally take the leap and book a named act.
It was certainly an interesting education. For starters, business class airline tickets were in the contract, limousine transport from and to the airport, and a detailed backstage rider. The fee for the performer was fairly hefty, and it had to be paid up front.
We got the tickets sponsored by an airline (yay!), but then the act decided they would fly in from somewhere else. We couldn’t get sponsorship, so we had to fork out for the tickets (boo!).
Then, unbelievably, we realised that their flight was to arrive on the same day as high school graduation. Every limo on the island was booked. One of our company directors came to the rescue with his white Lincoln Navigator, which was deemed acceptable.
The concert was less than 24 hours away, and the skies began to turn biblical dark. By event day, it was raining so heavily, it felt personal.
I was a partner in the company, but we weren’t big enough to have any staff, so I was out in the maelstrom, driving around, trying to get a “tray of unprocessed cheese” (one of the many rider requests). I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but believe me when I tell you that two guys went past me in a kayak. On the main road. The other members of the team were all working tirelessly on setting up the venue, making sure sound checks were on time, and generally running around like headless chickens.
As if all of this wasn’t enough, we suspected we were going to fall victim to the last-minute-dot-com situation that can plague concerts, where people know something won’t sell out so they wait until the gates are almost open before they make a decision to attend or not. The ticket prices are higher at the door, but then it’s hard for organisers to gauge what attendance will be like. The relentless rain was a bad omen.
Sure enough, on the night, all our chickens came home to roost. Sales were sluggish, the ground was muddy, and bartenders were standing around with no customers. As our talent munched on the tray of unprocessed cheese and sipped branded fruit juices backstage, we resigned ourselves to the fact that it had all been an education. In fairness to the performer, they carried on as though the venue was packed – we couldn’t fault their professionalism.
That was the first and last time we booked a named recording artist. Of course, we couldn’t have predicted all the extra bad luck that befell us, but even that aside, the combination of known and unforeseen costs was not something we cared to repeat in the near future. Oh yes, and the tour manager spoke to us like we were working for him. Nice icing on the cake.
I’m not saying we didn’t have some wonderful moments in those years of putting on concerts – watching audiences singing along with the bands, dancing where they stood, and raving about the experience afterwards, warmed the cockles of our hearts. But rarely could we actually stop and enjoy the shows ourselves. There was usually some crisis or the other to be dealt with, or just the general, constant management required when you have over 1,000 people in one space. It’s one of the cases where those who put in the most work, reap the least benefits.
Looking back, I can honestly say we probably mainly did it for the love of live performances and the joy it brought to others. As I said, these things are rarely money-making endeavours. That’s why I take my hat off to anyone who wades into the water, because they don’t always know how deep it will be, but they’re willing to take the chance.
Kudos to Capella – hope to see it back next year.
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