Am writing this with a headache caused entirely by slapping my hand against my head in extreme frustration. Which in turn is caused by the technical problems involved with agreeing to play a gig in a foreign country.
What I forgot is that one really needs a third party when organizing foreign gigs: a manager, or tour manager, or roadie or two. I need someone who’s not in the band to sort out the various technical and practical matters: money, flight cases, travel, dealing with the promoters and so on. I’m not too great at playing the jolly Team Leader role, father figure to grown adults: I can barely look after myself. I also find it hard to tell a fellow band member to do something where I think I know better. Because I’m not always sure I do know better.
A combination of Ryan Air’s ridiculously petty rules (they won’t let us put a keyboard on an empty seat that we’ve already paid for, because Tom’s wife was going to come along but now can’t, without us paying an extra £70 to change the seat name from ‘Victoria Edwards’ to ‘Keyboard’), combined with general annoyance that I should be getting on with learning lyrics and not worrying about flight cases, has now made me shout at the cat.
Sorry, cat.
Actually, as I’m writing this, the cat is sleeping by my side on the sofa. He’s making all kinds of hurt, groaning noises in his sleep. I do hope he’s not having bad dreams caused by me shouting at him. In which case, Ryan Air, I hope you’re happy now.
Next time, I must ensure we have a manager taking care of the fragile instruments and the fragile nerves. Even if we have to pay them, it’ll be worth it. I have to accept I’m just not the managing kind. In any sense.
Because it’s a small, fan-organised affair, we’re doing this Swedish festival gig purely for expenses. Oh, and as long as each band member gets separate bedrooms. That was my other stipulation. Sharing a room would mean actual murder, I’m sure of it. The stress of having to handle our own transportation and equipment handling, coupled with lack of sleep (check-in at Stansted on Saturday morning is 5 AM) and general worry about making our own way across a strange country is more than enough. Ms Woolf got it right: a room of one’s own. And indeed, a tour manager of one’s own wouldn’t hurt.
It’s such a cliche when bands moan about touring. Touring is fine when you have a bit of money and support in the mix: managers, roadies, drivers, hotels. Anything less than that can be a pain, but what makes it all worthwhile is the knowledge that we’ll be playing our songs on a far-off stage to people who care who the hell we are. That’s why it’s still worth it. Even on this shoestring, DIY level.
Incredibly, I still occasionally get people writing to me asking about how to make it in the music business. The answer is, of course, if you want to make money, you must do anything else but make music. Be a DJ, a manager, a producer, a roadie, a lawyer. Especially a lawyer. Work for Ryan Air, and spout your merry laugh when you invent fees for the merest thing. I’m expecting them to add a ‘Complaining About Ryan Air In A Blog, Post-Glasgow Car Bomb’ tax on Saturday.
