How to pitch your band

STEPH FROM PERTH

Ask any scene folk how their day is going and you’re generally greeted with a short sentence that usually contains the word “busy”, “crazy” or some huge sigh suggesting one or the other or both. 365 stupidly full on days a year minus public holidays and the odd occasion where you manage to take a holiday and ensure you’re visiting somewhere that has little to no phone reception and absolutely minimal wireless capabilities. Because, shit, it’s a largely overworked, underpaid passion we’re dealing with here.

When you throw in the odd email that one gets from an unknown talent – and I use the term ‘talent’ loosely - into a regular day spent responding to the barrage of emails, calls, obligations, problems and so forth, it’s usually the last thing you want to deal with. Particularly as, usually, said band feels the need to express just how professional, dedicated, ambitious and amazingly unique they are. PROBLEM – every fucking band thinks the same thing.

So here are my top tips to get yourself noticed when pitching your band for management/bookings/supports/etc etc:

DON’T WRITE A FUCKING ESSAY
Keep it to the point – no one has time to read your psycho babble and most people want to be able to answer something as succinctly as possible so they can delete it and move onto the next new message that’s just been received in their inbox. Bottom line – no one cares if you played at some small venue last week or that you’ve written 3 new songs since February or that the demos on your myspace are only 49.5% mixed and that you’re planning on using these rad new plug ins with some no name producer that was recommended to you by a friend of a friend who knows someone in the “industry” to get it sounding super pro and slick and that you should have them ready in the next 65 hours or so and to be patient because better product is on its way and once it’s heard there’ll be a much clearer picture of the sound and how uniquely awesome it is in comparison to everything else that’s out there at the moment.............................

PERSONALITY GOES A LONG WAY
I got an e-mail the other day from a singer/songwriter wanting to enquire about management and the e-mail literally went from introduction to “I’m sure you get these all the time – my music style is pretty folky, I love writing songs, I’ve supported *insert a couple of impressive names here*, blah blah blah blah… you get the idea” to which I instantly went to this person’s myspace to check it out. We are all humans here, not robots deciphering characters on an email client. This person treated the recipient with some respect and conveyed a bit of humour, and such a simple tactic alone can get people to take notice. Be careful not to sound like a wanker, though – there is a fine line.

YOU ARE NOT UNIQUE
If you use that word in your pitch, the band police will be around to your house to beat the living snot out of you.

JUST WANTED TO CHECK YOU GOT MY E-MAIL, I’VE HAD SOME PROBLEMS WITH MY COMPUTER RECENTLY…
No you haven’t, you just don’t have the balls to ask me straight whether I read your first email and like what I heard and are instead using this tacky excuse to try and suss it out. Now, a follow-up e-mail or phone call is cool, it shows you’re serious, however, when you start to get into nagging territory – I recently had no less than six requests from the same band about a support, each time telling me how perfect they were for it – you are quickly fucking things up for your band. This reminds me of a Family Guy episode where Stewie is playing Pictionary and his team mate goes “A Jackal. Jackal! It’s a jackal! It looks like a Jackal. Jackal? Jackal? It’s a Jackal. Jackal?” Time runs out, to which Stewie smacks the table and yells “If it wasn’t right the first time you said it, why the hell would it be right the next ten times??”

Hot Bands in Perth !!!

STEPH FROM PERTH

Being involved with a number of local acts makes it hard to get out and see new bands regularly, because most of my time is spent focusing on my own roster. Which is a good thing, it means I'm doing my job. Plus, as we all know, the percentage of good new acts in comparison to the amount of new acts is stupidly low. However, here's an example of bright sparks and ones that should burn out as quickly as possible for the benefit of bettering the human race.

THE BLOODS

Picture this: your son is captain in the grand final for his A-league basketball team. They’re leading by one with eight seconds left in the fourth quarter and all they need to do is retain possession to win the first championship for the club in 74 years. Instead of playing it cool, he tries to be the hero – fakes past one defender, then the other and has a clear passage to the hoop. He goes up for the slam but doesn’t get enough air – the ball bashes itself against the rim, ricochets all the way to half court where a member of the opposite team whips it up court for the easy lay-up and the win. The moral of this story is that white men can't jump, and they can’t play punk reggae either.

www.myspace.com/tbloods

GENGHIS

Four-piece fronted by a female bass player than can belt it out with the best of them, playing catchy indie pop rock in the vein of The Breeders, coincidentally enough. And they do a Breeders cover too. Now while their influences are firmly on their sleeve, this isn't, thankfully, at detriment to the sound, merely a great reference point to build their own ideas from. These ideas are based around simple songwriting with killer hooks - guitar and vocal wise. The keep it simple, stupid notion works wonders here.

www.myspace.com/thebureauofperth

PANAMA

Band comps do sometimes pull the odd gem out of their arse, and this year’s Ampfest final was no exception. Panama came out of virtually nowhere to kick everyone in the face with their love of 70s retro – one of the guitarist dudes was wearing a Led Zep shirt… of course. Their vocalist was the highlight, and by highlight I mean holy shit, his set of pipes was amazing. With each band member around the 17 – 19 year old mark, it’ll be exciting to see where these guys progress to in the next couple of years.

www.myspace.com/thatpanamaband

Now speaking of 70s rock…

As with anything that becomes part of mainstream culture, electro clash and respective sub-terms/genres has very limited time left at the forefront of the public's consciousness. It's a welcome relief for many, myself included - I find these days that comfort is derived from consuming as much of the 60s/70s as possible, getting back to the heart and soul of music, and staying as far away from its antithesis, that which electro clash encompasses for me. It wasn't cool back in the 80s, and yet has become glorified beyond a joke. Big Brother Holding Company's 'Piece Of My Heart' speaks to me on so many levels.

So it's interesting these days to enter into debate about whether it'll be the 70's or the early 90's that makes a "return" and becomes the next mainstream fad. Either is welcome with open arms. I'm banking on our retro brother to steamroll drum machines and synthesisers before the end of this decade. Just look at some of the amazing releases that have reared their beautiful head in 2008 already - Black Mountain, The Raveonettes, Brian Jonestown Massacre, The Warlocks, The Kills, The Black Hollies, Dead Meadow... dear cut and paste acts, put that in your pipe and smoke it.

GETTING ARRESTED

Getting arrested at the Big Day Out

It was three days before leaving on a full scale world tour in support of our sophomore album and those paranoid morons in the US consulate decided not to issue me a US visa because my passport was “damaged”. Motherfuckers! That hadn’t stopped them from issuing five previous visas in that same passport. So I spend the day before the 2004 Big Day Out in the Australian consulate, rushing a new passport through so I could pick it up the next morning, dash across town, drop it off at the US consulate and wait for hours to get the stupid visa stuck in before heading off to the festival.

By the time I got home from this tedious chore the Big Day Out was already in full swing so I rapidly changed into some serious festival clobber, rolled a couple of joints and hopped on the first available train out to Homebush (oh how I miss the glory days of the Sydney Showgrounds in Moore Park). By this time every paying punter was inside the gate and well on the way to heatstroke, drunkenness and general oblivion and as a result the train was virtually empty. Oh well I may have missed the Darkness, Datsuns and Dandy Warhols but I should catch most of the Muse set … or so I thought.

The train pulled in to the Olympic Park station and I walked excitedly towards the gates, talking on the phone to some friends who were already inside. As I swiped my train ticket through the barrier that pre festival excitement was instantly replaced with a gut full of fear as I saw twenty police officers and two black police labradors. No turning back now, I’ll just walk in a purposeful and rapid gait away from this minor inconvenience.

Not so fast mister. The nearest Labrador sniffed at my pockets and its nose followed me with some kind of magnetic attraction. “Mate. Over here.” “The dog smelt something on you so we’re gonna search you. What have you got?” I came clean and turned over my two little joints readying myself for interrogation and cavity search. So what happens now? Am I being arrested? Will I ever be allowed to travel to the US again? Will I catch the end of Muse?
At least the NSW police force were efficient at dealing with the whole episode. My two joints were secured in an evidence bag large enough for an entire human head and I was offered the olive branch known as the Cannabis Caution – my first and last Get Out Of Jail Free card. A half hour delay and some kind of signed confession was all it took to get moving again. At least I stayed out of jail and would probably be able to get on the plane to the US tomorrow - right?
By the time I reached the main arena Muse were playing their last song. Damn. At least I already saw them and the Darkness at their respective sideshows during the week. Over to the other stages for the tail end of the Kings of Leon (Wow, could their pants be any tighter?) and the Mars Volta (OK. Everyone play everything at once – now!)
Just enough time for a drink and a smoke before heading into the main arena to see the professionally hungover Strokes and stake out a position for the best Big Day Out headliner ever - Metallica!

Before they took to the stage there was a spectacular electrical storm raging behind the stage just to let us know that God disapproves of the Devil’s Music and may choose to unleash his wrath at any moment.

What is it about Metallica that turns normal functioning humans into insane raging animals? Evidently their music causes a near fatal surge of testosterone to its male listeners – myself included. When they opened with “Blackened” I lost my mind. My life wouldn’t be complete until I crashed into the front section. Crowd surfers were pouring over the D barrier, getting pulled down by security and marched out. That’s when the light bulb went on. My two nearby friends Marco and Jarrod gave me a boost and I started crowd surfing towards the D barrier and security guards within. As expected security pulled me to the ground and started to march me out. I acted compliant so that the grip on my collar eased a little and when I saw the opening I gave the yellow shirted ogre a solid rugby style fend and ran for the promised land. Just before I reached the seething mass of shirtless maniacs I turned and gave the finger to the security guard I had just eluded and he wisely chose not to chase me into the mosh.

From here it wasn’t far until I was standing underneath James Hetfield at the front of the stage and screaming for “Battery” between every song. They may have put out a string of crap albums since their landmark Black album but they sure know what the crowd wants to hear we like your old stuff better than your new stuff. When they finally played Battery my brain exploded. It was as if I had seen God – albeit a hairy one on stage wearing a low slung guitar.

How we used ninja powers for free beer and entry to REM.

Brad is a ninja. You probably wouldn’t pick it if you met him, but at this year’s South by Southwest he demonstrated his super powers.

On the first night of the festival we found ourselves at a venue with the very unfortunate name of Emo’s Annex. To the untrained eye it was little more than a carpark, a tent and a mobile cool room servicing a temporary bar. To a ninja like Brad it was a virtual Garden of Eden, where rivers of cold beer flow freely.

As soon as we finished the first round, Brad pulls on his black robes, makes himself completely invisible, slinks behind the bar, opens the cool room and returns with a couple of icy cold cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. How did he do it? How come he only picked up two beers? Why the hell did I pay for the first round?

The reason we were in this carpark was not, in fact, for the free beer but to check out the Von Bondies. They were most excellent but I couldn’t stop thinking about the time Jack White punched their lead singer’s face into something that resembled a half eaten jam donut. Don’t mess with Uncle Jack.

Probably the biggest name at SXSW this year was REM and they were scheduled to play the biggest venue in town – the outdoor stage at Stubbs BBQ which holds a couple of thousand people and is the kind of place that arena bands refer to as “intimate”. I’ve never been fan of REM and I don’t have any of their albums but when they’re playing a free gig over the road that starts in five minutes – ah, what the hell eh? They’re so massive they could play back to back top ten hits for two solid hours and still have a few number ones up their sleeve for the encore.
Our chance of getting in was pretty slim. Joining the 200+ people in line was out of the question and the door bitch looked tough so we decided to inspect the perimeter fence for weaknesses. Don’t ever think that the front door is the only way into a show. We walked around the corner and gave each other the knowing look that guys often share that says “Do you see that?” and silently replies “Oh yeah, I see it”. We’d found the secret ninja entrance which was behind the portaloos at the back of the venue and could only be accessed by going over a section of the fence that had slight lean to it for improved climb-ability.

This time it was my turn to pull on the black robes. When I went over the top it felt like going over the fence to escape from a POW camp. I swung myself gently over the barbed wire, dropped down behind the portapotty and was out of view. All that was left was to do was walk out into the open, adjust my belt and act like I’d just liberated a bladder full of warm Pabst. Too easy. It took Brad a little while (probably because I was wearing his ninja suit) but a couple of songs later he too had breached security and was looking for the next river of beer.
REM bored us silly with their new material for the next hour and half and only managed one of their hits, the one about the man on the moon. To make things worse the river of beer wasn’t flowing at all and when Brad was caught lurking around the back of bar he was shown to the gate. The gravy train had been derailed!

This got me wondering. Maybe Brad isn’t a ninja after all. Just as well he’s a good bass player.