On the Rock n Roll

Venues closing. It’s always sad. The first venue I ever put my very own club night on closed last week. I am not one to put a candle there or add to the small shrine.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/walesmusic/2010/09/cardiff-barfly-closes.shtml

Did not part with the venue on great terms, we had to go find a new home after half a year. It sad for our city as its another live music venue that has closed and is endemic of the erosion of these places over the last few years through licensing clamp downs, sound level restrictions and the ensuing noise complaints and also the sad news that fewer and fewer children are taking up music in this country than in their parents generation and they don’t see it as important.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-11179448

They just want to get little jonny and jenny into the good university because? F*** university form a band.

What seeing the venue all boarded up did was cast my mind back many moons to when I first entered the hazy world of the “entertainment” industry.

I was 18 and green and in need of some. Green that is. Dollar. Not dope.

Working for a club in the city I went to university, a small national chain, shall we call er the Turban Club.

I enjoyed my job a lot, bashing up posters, dropping off flyers, “dressing” the venue for events, reping round student halls – good way to shark crumpet for the purpose of horsing.

The venue itself was Moroccan style through out, with quirk nooks; crannies and sweeping bars spread over two floors with room for 1,000 happy dancing people. It is still one of my fav venues ever frankly. It ware I caught the bug, once you get that first bite of promoting, DJing, putting on gigs its hard to stop.

One summers morning we turned up for work to be greeted by the site of two large box vans parked up in front of the club and the contents of the club being loaded in.

Our rather gaunt looking bosses were sitting on the front steps and duly explained that, despite the fact we were a busy venue the company as whole was heading down the crapper. Fast.

They were to be sent to other venues in the UK but that we were all being let go as of there and then.

Now having just signed a lease for the summer for my digs I was somewhat of a tiz. Having foolishly thought that I would be employed. Seeing the club I worked and loved a little bit literally being torn apart and gutted before my eyes was horrible.

I am not proud, of what I and the other promo dorks did next. We essentially robbed the place. Anything that worth anything and we could carry away of throw into our bags we took.

For me this was booze and some seating cubes. I had a rather well stocked bar and some extra comfort in my longue for that summer let me tell you.

The venue reopened a couple of years later under new ownership and had a whole new look and feel. Wasn’t the same. However the story of what happened next is er sort of interesting, what did I do unemployed and in possession of couple of hundred pounds worth of booze? Watch space etc.

When Shredtember Cums.

I am aware the title is puerile. Now between the months of September and October each year in university towns and cities up and down the country their a in general a massive bun fight to get the fresher’s attentions for your club night and venue. Get them at this time of year and they will merrily come back week after week for the next 12 months.

Thus posters become larger and bolder, bemoaning the virtues of “town Xs biggest bikini beach party every Friday” or “all drinks now £1 and kick out at 5am”*

The point being these large, juiced up, posters need space, which is at a premium anyway due to, http://www.communities.gov.uk/documents/planningandbuilding/pdf/326679.pdf , actually fairly uninteresting reading by the way and the local authority speak and jargon which shall probably make you go crossed eyed but the bits about traveling circuses were a personal highlight.

So with space a premium for these 8 weeks and the unwritten law of the promoter, that most stick too, that you do now cover up or rip down other people posters unless the event or night has passed.

It is also during this time that we will take on some new “reps” to help out with the flyering and postering. There is no selection or training for this, sadly; in general if you can make it to the interview and can sign your mark you are in.

Upon instructing one of my new charges, as assistant promoter, to pop the posters up only on empty and disused buildings and shops. I hoping he was buoyed by the thought of the free entry he was going to be getting and six quid an hour we were paying him, had taken in my instruction carefully.

I like to do this, personally, on a Sunday evening with a good mix tape on my blackberry as on the Sabbath there are in general far fewer, PCSOs, keen young bobbies, local councilors, business owners, old people and local busy bodies who will bother be and call me a cock and a vandal.

So the newbie dually went off on his task on a street where there are number of places to pop our garish neon signage.

I of course in my capacity as assistant promoter went to check his work. He had indeed plastered them on empty shops. But also every shop that had a set of roller shutters down at the time. Needless to say come morning rather than everyone knowing about our club nights the street was littered with shreds of neon confetti.

People have no common sense. Doom.

* This highlights two things, sex, or at least the thought of sex sells (duh!) and in turn raises the question of why does we need to drink £1 drinks til 5am? It satisfies two of the three main reasons to come university, to f*** and be f***ed up for three years and eventually end up with 2.2

Any way I have digressed into moral high ground that I am far to hypocritical to be getting chopsy over considering I am a merchant and facilitator of these activities.

One man and his dog.

Was lurking around putting up some posters for a Hip Hop night/event we are putting on tomorrow. So a last min push is always on the cards. 

So this means that the posters we are putting up are on the large side, attention grabbing, but also mean the wind likes to try to grab them too, ball ache.

While giving a former social club a quick exterior revamp with some lovely A2 black and whites I became aware of a presence behind myself, upon strain inspection it was a rather large white bulldog.

Fear not though for I am not scared of dogs, although I loath cats, also on later, but may I add not close up inspection the mutt did posses one of the largest sets of testicals I have ever seen on a small* animal.

It is best of to think Van Wilder for those of you, like myself, who care for a bit of puerile American cinema.

Anyway I had both hands busy dealing with my work and this well endowed mutt was sniffing about my person and I was rather not wanting undue attention to my work - my "fans" will be touched upon in later blogs - when I heard a huge, booming, manly, tattoos on knuckles, full English every farking day of the week if you bloody well please, you can add in the moody gold jewels, white beater, faded city tattoos, voice cry out;

Very angry man (VAN): "oi! Twat get you white arse over here!"

Now two things ran through my mind, firstly is my backside hanging out? If so had the dog somehow lowered my drain pipes with out me noticing and perhaps a thong on a beach isn't such an odd idea if I want to tan really evenly next year.

Now I am bread from fairly gentle stock, I am middle class and haven't been in a proper fight since I was 12 when Kane pined me to the floor in school and I elbowed him in the face giving him a, accidental, shiner. 

So my response, bear in mind I still have both hands holding up a poster and a stripe of white tack hanging out of my mouth. The wind kicking up a little still so the poster was flapping and thus slapping me in the face somewhat, I managed to swivel my head in the direction I believed the hearty salutations to becoming from and in enquired;

Poster boy (PB): "errrrrm...sorry can I help you mush?"

May I add also that the dog was still having a good sniff and investigations of my person at this point

VAN: "You faaaaaarking heard me get you backside back in the van!"

Not necessarily panic but worry was beginning to swirl around my insides at this moment, firstly I have not been in a van today, have no wish to be in a van and why does he want me to get in the van with him.

I had by now secured the black and white to the outside of the social club and so I turned to face the voice that I now believe was most likely wanting to either a. remove myself and my wallet from one another or b. be the big spoon. I was now facing the burly gent, half in and half out of the driver’s door of a white van

VAN: "Stop being a prick and get in the van"

PB: "I, er…I'm sorry mate what?"

VAN: "Sorry fella, not talking to you, talking to Billy there"

Billy was, as you have probably guessed was the gent’s dog. He uttered a lashing more explivities, all of which I am pretty sure and not in the Kennel Club members how to guide on getting your canine to return to you, before the dog which had also by now pissed directly below my poster and I was having to negotiating the stream as I began putting up a second poster - acoustic night in a weeks time - returned to the van and climbed through the half open door and onto the passenger seat.

VAN: "Didn't mean to give you a fright maaaate, just Billy's a little prick, aren't ya!"

Hardly.

So the burly gent got his dog back in his van, I evaded possibly combo of buggery and robbery (bobbery? rubbery? - urgh) and I managed to almost, not stand in dog piss. 

*What I generally class as small animal is anything that can, reasonably be kept in doors, cats, dogs, rabbits, small rodents (are there large rodents and if so how big???), birds, lizards and reptiles. 

Although I haven’t actually seen the bollocks of the final three. Not that I have ever set out too either. I am not an animal perv. I love animals just not in a wanting to slather peanut butter on my self and be thrown to an over zealous wolfhound.

Creation.

I have been suggested by, most will agree that many great ideas do come from this source, my mother to blog the goings on, happenings, occurrences, sites, sounds and smells that I have and do come across in my capacity as a poster boy.

I am not what you would call a traditional poster boy, I do not have flowing golden locks and a body you could grate iron filings off of, although I am a long way from winning a Jonny Vegas-a-like compo.

No, I will not be found adorning calendars, knowingly, up and down the country. I am the other poster boy, the forgotten one. I spend my time putting up posters and other promotional material for clubs, gigs, bands, events, parties and so forth.

I also DJ a few times a week but frankly a blog about that seemed a little to easy and I am already horrendously self involved and narcissistic and this would simply lead to a heightening of the situation.

I have promoted and gigged through out UK for several years now and have begun to write down all that I have seen for posterity and thought other might like to share these and share your own experiences.

So prepare for some average observational humor, dry wit and poor spelling.