Jersey Mike

“We opened up three buttons, but all we saw was desert trash”

It’s funny, Harrisburg.

It’s funny how many talented and gifted and passionate and unique and driven and intelligent and creative people live and work in Harrisburg.

But we all get caught up.

Caught up in the bullshit. Caught up in the politics. Caught up in the fucking drama. So caught up, in fact, that we wind up blinded by just how tiny…how small and seemingly insignificant we really are in the big scheme of things.

If, because of some unfathomable incident, all forty-seven-thousand of us who live in Harrisburg were to be wiped off the map, the world would, indeed, keep spinning. Bands would break and shows would sell out and creatives would create and politicians would keep politicking. But you’d never know it by the way most of us act.

Oh, I’m not excluding myself from those accusations. Shit, just last week I had a stupid blowout with Traynor over some stupid comment that I made on this site that probably didn’t need to be said. But I said it anyway and things got out of hand and insults were exchanged and then we had a sit down and kissed and made up. (Metaphorically speaking, of course).

But what led me to this post was a three thousand mile journey by plane and I’m sitting here on a deck in the outskirts of Palm Springs, California. What led me to this post was a yearning…a hankering…a hunger to do more. Bigger. Better.

I’ve written about how I wound up in Harrisburg before, so I’ll spare you the boring details. But the punctuation of the story is that, like it or not, I ain’t leaving. I’ve got a daughter and an ex wife and a mortgage and an established business and big dreams for our little city.

So after nearly five years of schlepping the streets slinging show flyers and celebrating successes and mourning the dud-shows, I was finally able to afford a ticket to Pollstar Live (FKA Concert Industry Consortium), a gathering of the who’s-who of the music industry.

The best promoters, agents, talent buyers and venue management firms will gather for a couple of days next week. And I’m looking forward to being in that mix. Hanging with the big-dogs. See, it’s odd…I have a profound respect for the business side of this industry. Sure, we wouldn’t have an industry if The Hackensaw Boys and The Avett Brothers and The Hold Steady and Toubab Krewe and The Decemberists and Michael Franti didn’t write great songs and put on mesmerizing live-shows. But if we didn’t have absolutely dedicated and passionate and smart agents and promoters and management firms, all of the Hold Steadys and Michael Franti’s and Hackensaw’s of the world wouldn’t have places to play and venues to pay them lucratively enough to make it worth it.

And that’s why I’m here.

Because I know that it’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day bullshit of life in Harrisburg. Linda Thompson’s a kook who will never reform the Amusement Tax. Cronies exist only to line their pockets. Cover bands still play on Second Street and somebody was up doing blow til the sun came up this morning. And they probably have kids.

So here I am, enjoying the warm February desert sun and sipping some sort of local microbrew before I go an decompress by soaking in a hot spring down the road. And I’ll celebrate my birthday at Pappy and Harriets in Pioneertown on Sunday night.

But next week, when we get back to L.A., I’m on a mission. I’m here to meet and greet and booze and schmooze with as many of these guys as I possibly can. Because when I’m sitting in my cold, dark corner of the warehouse on the third floor at ABC sending emails to the major agencies trying to convince them that a play of some up and coming band in our little city is worth it and I try to convince these guys to come here, they have no reason to listen.

But here we are, face to face…and it changes everything.

“So close”

That should be the city of Harrisburg’s tagline.

“We are so close to Baltimore. We are so close to Philly. We are so close to Pittsburgh, NYC and DC”

And to go even further….we are so close to having a competent administration. We are so close…well, not really, to having our city finances in order…with that, we’re pretty far off.

Swing and a miss.

One thing we’re not very far off on is the viability of Harrisburg being branded as a full-on music city. Not unlike Asheville, NC or Austin, TX-

Sure, we’ve only got 46,000 (and dropping) residents where other cities that have multiple venues boast populations in the six-digit range, by comparison, I think that we’re pretty well satisfied, musically.

Considering our “tertiary” status in the eyes of the major booking agencies, we still do pretty okay with getting good names through town.

This past weekend sounds like it was pretty rockin’ on all accounts. Sunday night had four bands doing a fundraiser for Haiti- Koji, A Public Betrayal, the brand-new In Wilderness and Wade Yankey played to a capacity crowd at the Midtown Scholar Bookstore. The night before, The Greatest Funeral Ever had a solid showing at the HMAC while we had a capacity crowd at The Abbey Bar for Pan.A.Ce.A, …soihadto… and East Hundred from Philly. Out in the reaches, Malone’s on Derry was jumping on Thursday for Adam Ezra and on Friday for Mark Santanna. Add to that all of the Morgan’s Place, Brewhouse Grille, Pep Grill and other downtown spots hosting acoustic music, there was, seriously, something for everyone.

Our venue choices are growing as well. You see, when I started in this business six years ago, all that anyone would talk about is how great things “usedta” be with the Metron and The Vault and concerts on City Island. Today, however, we’ve got the Whitaker Center (despite a current lag in relevant shows on their calendar, I’ve got faith that will change), we’ve got the bar shows in and around the area, we’ve got the questionably-attained-from-the-city HMAC (we’re an arts center, er…music venue, er…pool hall) who, despite the drunken-ways of John Traynor seems to be a place that the kids like going and, of course, The Abbey Bar at Appalachian Brewing Company. (Don’t worry, I won’t leave my self out of the zing-ing. I’ve joked that they should change the name to Appalachian Banquet Company with all of the private parties that get booked in there….and I realize how long it can take to get a beer on the busy nights).

But this isn’t about me.

Harrisburg doesn’t have an identity. York is almost synonymous with Harley Davidson Motorcycles. Lancaster is known for how butter-churningly-Amish they are (but still rock shit at the Chameleon Club) and Reading…well, reading has that murder-rate thing going for them.

So why, with all of the winds of change blowing in this city, have we not begun thinking about branding ourselves?

Population is dropping. Businesses are fleeing for the suburbs. Crack dealers and prostitutes are just as plentiful as construction-hustlers. And we finally got what we wanted with the removal of Reed from office.

So? Where’s the change?

If the Thompson Administration wants to do some good in this “sit-tee” then they better start making a gameplan. Because they clearly didn’t have one going into office. So here’s my suggestion – brand and market Harrisburg as a music-hotbed of the midstate. Blast it out there. Make it “our thing” because, even though I just rattled off a half dozen venues and great bands in the area, I left a lot out. I don’t even know what goes on up on the hill, but I’m sure there’s music up in those parts. So then Linda doesn’t have to feel like she’s turning her back on anyone.

This city is “so close” to being attractive. It’s like, if you saw that pretty girl but she was wearing an ugly sweater…she’d still be good looking if she took that ugly sweater off. So, there you go, Harrisburg. Take off that ugly sweater and make us look good. So good that ALL the boys will want us. They’ll be lining up to bring us flowers and chocolate and get into our…

You get my point.

Harrisburg needs ideas? There’s one. Now you can’t say that I never contributed anything.

Certainly, if this were to occur, something would need to be done about the amusement tax. But with a budget that’s seven figures in the red, what’s a couple hundred thousand more in the name of progress?

Sigh.

It’s called “BCC”, guys. Ever see it? When you put someone’s address in the address line of your email client, you have two other options. One is “CC” (which, if you didn’t know, stands for “Carbon Copy”…as in, you’re sending an exact copy of the email to whoever is in that line) and then there is “BCC”, or, “Blind Carbon Copy” – “Blind” meaning that the recipients of your email do not see the other recipients email addresses.

Look, I really thought that this was 101…shit you learned on your first day. But the number of band emails promoting their shows that I get with a hundred email addresses in the “to” line or just plain “CC’d” is absolutely stunning.

Here’s why you don’t want your email addresses viewable to the recipients on your list:

1. You EARNED those email addresses. And there are still shady promoters and venues out there who would LOVE an extra hundred email addresses without even working for them. Those email addresses should be viewed as your personal client list. And if you were in ANY other business, you wouldn’t share your client list with potential competitors, would you?

2. Those people who gave you their email addresses also gave you their TRUST. An email address is viewed by some people in the same light as their telephone number. Some people simply do not want that information just tossed out there. Ever heard of a thing called “spam”? Yeah, well, that’s what they’re afraid of. And when you irresponsibly leave their email address (and sometimes full name) exposed on your big email about your gig this weekend, you’re violating that trust.

Plain and simple.

One way to avoid ALL of this is to use an inexpensive and simple email list manager. Personally, I’m a fan of Campaign Monitor. But there are dozens of inexpensive choices that do most of the work FOR you…thereby rendering your emails idiot-proof and more effective.

Alternate title- “They call me vicegrips”

This post was originally written on October 26, 2008 but left in the archives because I didn’t get around to finishing it. But recently joining the “You know your [sic] a stagehand if…” group of Facebook inspired me to finish telling this story.

I’m lucky to be alive.

I’ve been through a divorce and custody battle, was hit by a car traveling about forty miles per hour, survived a bout with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, have been held at gunpoint on more than one occasion and grew up drinking tap water in Northern New Jersey.

But tonight was the closest I’ve come to losing my life.

Ever.

It’s sort of hard to describe in written form- so to keep things simple, I’ll give you the basics-

The Rockettes National Tour is (in it’s first version, was) one of the largest and most complex stage shows ever built. It’s got all of the elements of the biggest shows…but only bigger. Hundreds of moving lights, giant video walls, elaborate sound, pyro, a big double-decker-bus…and a track which is suspended below a large truss that’s in sort of a U-shape which circles the stage.

The track suspends a Santa Sleigh at one point in the show- it’s used for about fifteen seconds of the entire performance- but it’s there, nonetheless. Picture a curved I-beam suspended below a truss….

And my job at the beginning of the load out was to climb up to the track with the department head (the guy from the tour from a company that I won’t mention…but rhymes with “Toy”) and, while suspended in a square basket around four square feet large, travel the track (around seventy five feet in the air) and begin removing some of the bolts of the track to speed-up the load out process later in the night.

You see, there was a redundancy built into the track. There were four bolts on either side of the seam, top and bottom. So if you took every-other bolt out, the track would still be together. Just not as strong.

We traversed the track and my jittery nerves subsided- and my confidence steadied itself for the task.

Long story short, at the end of the track, we were to remove a few bolts attaching two pieces of truss together. (”Truss” is the large, square pieces of metal you’ll see hanging above a stage which hold lights and other show-related items above the stunned audience)

Normally, there are two “chain motors” for each section of truss. The chain-motors attach to the I-Beams on the ceiling of the arena, then fasten to the truss and raise it up about seventy five feet above the audience. (This particular load-out was following what’s called a “tech”, or, a run of about three weeks when the touring company comes in to rehearse a show before taking it out on the road). For a good portion of this tech, there were two chain motors on this section of truss. By the time that load-out came, however, there was only one. (One of the motors had to be moved to make way for another section of truss that was above the suspended track.)

ANYWAY…

We reach the section of truss that the suspension guy wanted to “break” from the rest of the track.

And I questioned it, immediately. “Dude, you sure about this? It just doesn’t really…feel right.”

“Oh yeah, man. It’s fine! I’ve been doing this for twenty years! I’d never put you in any harm.”

“Okay, then.”

I removed the first of my two bolts fairly easily. But the second gave some resistance. I wrenched away, and it seemed to have an extraordinary amount of pressure on it.

“You’re sure this is okay bro? It just seems to have a lot of pressure”

“Keep crankin. It’s fine”

Five or six more turns and the bolt broke free…and BANG! The truss dropped about four feet, sending the basket we were in rolling toward the edge of the track…seventy five feet above the stage and about thirty other stagehands working directly below us. And before my mind could register what was happening, we stopped…the basket swung out past the end of the track and I realized what had stopped us….

Vicegrips.

A single pair of blue fucking vicegrips that the guy had in the basket and I insisted we put at the edge of the track.

What did I learn that day?

First thing, never underestimate the power of a pair of vicegrips.

Second, no matter how experienced the person you’re working for may be, NEVER underestimate the intuitiveness of your gut.