Perks

The task of putting on a blues festival is daunting, especially when all of us have day-jobs. It can be time consuming, exasperating and fraught with complications. At the other end of the spectrum lies the good news: the perks. As the talent buyer for Blues by the Bay, I actively scout talent. I prefer to hire bands for our event that I've had the opportunity to see and hear live. It's mostly a handy little excuse for hitting blues clubs and parties, but I think of it as one of the perks for doing what I do.

This past Sunday offered just such an occasion. I attended a blues society event in mid-Michigan where a young harmonica hot-shot was opening for a once-popular rock star-turned-blues player.

One couldn't have been more different than the other, and in the end, both entertained brilliantly with their demonstrations of undeniable talent. In the doing, they represented the many layers that constitue the blues. The passionate young harp player, infusing a little funk into his blues. The veteran guitar player with the caustically funny lyrics. There's something for everyone at a blues show.

In the last five years, another perk has revealed itself to me. As I go about the business of talent scouting, I've had the opportunity to meet nearly all the performers that I've listened to, whether they are hired to play the festival or not. With few exceptions, I've found these blues troubadours to be mostly good people, striving to keep the blues alive. They may appear onstage to be "celebrities", but behind the scenes I've been allowed to discover the secrets to life on the blues highway.

Blues performers travel thousands of miles every year, most of them not in fancy tour buses or by plane but usually in a van loaded with gear and each other. They struggle to maintain long-distance personal relationships. They love a home cooked meal when they can get it. They practice and rehearse, then practice and rehearse some more. Although they're living their dream, it's a dream that doesn't come easy or cheap. Even at it's ripe old age, the blues is a grass-roots movement that requires a lot of "word of mouth" to keep it alive.

It's been a great honor meeting so many of these blues musicians and learning that they're only a star for as long as they're on the stage. Afterwards, they're just one of us.

So you might wonder what, then, are the perks for the blues performer? I think I know. It's when people like us turn out en masse to a performance and show our appreciation. That....and of course the paycheck.

It Can't Be Over Already....Can It?

There was one little detail of our first annual blues festival for which I hadn't prepared myself. It's easy to understand how this "little detail" could be overlooked: When it took on a life of it's own, the festival required more attention than ever. I can only speak for myself, (but I'm sure the other organizers would agree): For five months, I ate, slept and dreamed "festival".For me, it became another full time job. As the festival director I felt it was my job to pick up any dropped balls, and that first year there were plenty of them, including some that were never tossed in the air to begin with. It was a healthy dose of "on the job training" and looking back, it was probably the best way to learn about the business of throwing a blues party for thousands of people.

When the event finally kicked off everything seemed to happen very quickly. A local group whose front man was on the festival committee opened up the show. All the members are from the local community. Opening for an unknown quantity like a first annual blues fest had to be unnerving, and I was glad for them that their huge local following all showed up to support them. While they aren't necessarily a blues band (their repertoire leans more towards Jimmy Buffett than Muddy Waters), they had put together a fun blues set and provided a nice, local flair for the opening. They were followed by another band, and then the headliner.We had self-imposed a 9:00 p.m. curfew to indicate a sense of good-neighbor-ship to the City. The headliner had whipped the audience into such a frenzy, though, that by 9:00 o’clock, neither side wanted things to end. I kept okaying another song and then another. I was standing stage right watching the band, grinning ear to ear, when someone tapped me on the shoulder and yelled "THE COPS ARE HERE AND THEY WANT TO TALK TO WHOEVER IS IN CHARGE!!!" Thud. Damn!

Spotting the boys in blue, I made my way to them and invited them to step outside the tent where we could all hear each other a little better. In their best law enforcement voices, they let me know that one of the neighbors was complaining that we had violated our own curfew! It was evident that neither of these fine law enforcement officials really had their heart in their task. This particular neighbor had publicly complained throughout all the months of planning, and the cops knew it. I wasn't at all surprised that we had been "busted", and assured them that this would be the last song.

And when the boys in blue came back, this time they were not so understanding. This time, the last song really was the last song.

By 10:00 p.m. the last blues stragglers had wandered out, and we still had a lot of work to do. Everything needed to be packed up and put away for the evening, and because we had overlooked the issue of banking, we had money to count. Roy E., Steve and his wife and I went to an undisclosed location where, throughout the evening, gobs and gobs of money had been taken.

It was time to count the till and discover just how well we really did on the festival’s inauguration. A little over an hour later, it was like all your birthdays and every Christmas combined: We had raked in enough money to pay all our bills, AND we had money left over! Everything we might take in on Saturday and Sunday would be a generous slathering of icing on the cake.

The crowd on Saturday was bigger than the one on Friday. With the additional people in the crowd, it seemed like there was a new fire to put out every five minutes, but each one was quickly and easily extinguished. The events of the day seemed to blend into each other. We were congratulated so many times on Saturday, my face sported a perma-grin that by Sunday actually hurt my face. Try holding your widest smile for over 48 hours and see how YOUR cheeks feel.

By the time the main attraction took the stage Saturday night, the 40 x 140 foot tent looked like it was going to explode with people. There was a crush of fans that were as close to the stage as the security fence would allow, and they were packed in elbow to elbow about 50 people deep. The headliners had the audience even more stirred up than Friday night's crowd, and the entire blues big top appeared to be moving and breathing. Once more we violated our self-imposed curfew to the chagrin of law enforcement.

Again Saturday, the tally was taken, and again we had cause for celebration. We were elated that this newcomer to the community was being so well received. By now, my voice was gone from so many conversations of yelling over the noise and while every fiber of my being ached, nothing could touch the discomfort of two feet that had been tortured for two days straight. And there was another day to go! Next to giving birth, it was the sweetest pain I've ever endured. Come to think of it, throwing a festival IS kinda like giving birth...

Sunday's show started with an incredibly talented solo acoustic performer who was the perfect complement to an early Sunday afternoon performance. A congenial young man from Michigan's upper peninsula, he won over the crowd with his subtle blues stylings. He reminded me of a bluesy Chris Isaac.

Another band performed, and then the headliner took the stage. As the band sang their way into the final hour of the festival, that one overlooked "little detail" hit me like a ton of bricks: The festival was going to end! The clock was ticking on this wildly successful new kid on the block and now, instead of giving birth, it felt like it was about to die. As I stood off to one side alone, emotion overcame me and I quietly shed a few very happy tears. I was so distraught that I let the band go past our curfew, one more time. Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do. At the next city council meeting, the mayor addressed the violation but by then we were everybody’s darlings and we were slapped on the wrists with a wink.

It was the end of the first annual blues festival, but only for about five minutes it seemed. Organizers were soon comparing notes and talking about how to tweak the second annual festival. We were off and running, getting ready for 2003, much wiser and more attentive to all the little details.

Behind the Scenes ~ It's All About Passion

Ladies & Gents, step right up to the greatest show on earth! Three tail-shakin', foot-stompin' happy-ass days under the blues big top and we do it all for you! It's a passion, you see. It's that thing you love that becomes as much a part of your life as breathing. Okay, the breathing thing may be a stretch but you get the idea.

Always a music lover, the blues has dominated the albums, tapes and CD's (I'm a DVD holdout, dammit) that are the soundtrack of my life. A child of the 60's and 70's, bands like the Allman Brothers and the Rolling Stones caught my ear. A casual conversation ensued a mere 30 years later and the next thing I know, I'm directing an annual blues festival. I've never worked for anything so hard or enjoyed it so much as I do the annual prep work of hosting a festival for 3,000 + people.

Step into the time machine, strap yourself in and we'll dial back to the spring of 2002. And don't touch anything, okay?

We zero in on an evening in late March. My better half, Roy E., and I are out with friends to hear a terrific blues band from Detroit, RJ Spangler and the Rhythm Rockers. We've seen and heard them once before at this same bar and they recognize us. During one of their breaks, RJ and I strike up a conversation during which I mention that I've often thought of putting on a blues festival, BUT..... RJ responds, "Let's do it!". A borrowed pen, a piece paper from the bartender and 10 minutes later, we've put down on paper all the necessary evils of throwing a blues bash. RJ is ready to go on again, I go back to my gang and the list is left on the bar.

The next night we go back to hear more from RJ and crew, and I'm met by a waitress who says, in a very serious tone, "John, (the owner) would like to see you." I still wonder why a guilty conscious immediately followed and the thought "Hmmm.....I wonder what/how/where I screwed up?" As I ponder, John walks up behind the waitress, waving a familiar piece of paper.

"You left this on the bar last night," he said. "If you're serious about this, I'll help you."

Whew....guilty conscious vaporizes immediately, rapidly replaced by a combination of sheer terror, unbridled excitement and a renewed sense of joie de vivre....a joy of life times one hundred. THIS is gonna be fun!

What happened next is a wavy blur. Steve, who owns the best butcher shop in town, got on board, as did three or four other people, and wheels were set in motion: City council meetings for approval to use city property, organizing a blues society to present the festival, creating committees and finding people to fill them, locating a tent rental, securing sponsorships to have money to get the thing off the ground. The list had come to life.

Early on, the date was set to coincide with the slowest weekend of the summer for the tourist/resort community in which we live, the weekend before Labor Day, or what we now lovingly refer to as "The fourth weekend of August." At the time the idea was hatched, that gave us less than 5 short months in which to accomplish every miniscule detail that needed tending to.

Along the way, there was always talk about "what it this flops?". I took (and still do) my festival director duties very seriously and was committed to the idea that if we did it right, we would have nothing to worry about. What no one understood, however, was what I just knew deep in my gut that not only was there nothing to worry about, there was everything to be excited about. Many times during those weeks and months leading up to that fourth weekend in August, my colleagues would rein in my enthusiasm with ominous tones suggesting that "You have to consider that this might not succeed." So I would consider it for about 5 seconds, and that gut-feeling would take over telling me that this was a success waiting for a place to happen.

With a few exceptions, every "i" had been dotted and every "t" had been crossed, and on August 23rd, 2002, the strangest thing happened: Standing at one end of the Blues Big Top, my eyes scanned the crowd before me and a quick head count indicated about 700 people having the time of their lives. Realization washed over me. I got goose bumps the size of golf balls. Every inch of me started to shake. Tears came to my eyes. I'll never forget the swell of accomplishment and pride that overwhelmed me about 7:30 on our inaugural opening night. Roy E. happened to be standing about 3 feet away and I practically jumped on him when I threw my arms around him and shrieked, "WE DID IT!!".

We had taken some mighty big baby steps, infused for all of us with one common thread: Passion. Without that, you got nuthin' baby, not even the blues.