For literally no other reason than sheer lack of ideas, I’m using this page space to revisit two pieces from this smut rag for some important updates concerning my Pulitzer-worthy journalism. See, we can’t consider Exotic to be the shining beacon of quality letters it is if we don’t also hold ourselves to the highest standards. Sometimes, things change. New information comes to light. Sure-fire investment ideas leave you bankrupt. Elections don’t turn out the way you want. Whatever the case, it’s up to us to maintain the integrity of our content by keeping you, Dear Reader, updated when necessary. I’ve been writing for this fine publication since January 2018, and due to my diligent fact-checking and sheer laziness, I’ve never felt compelled to write any updates or addendums to my flawless pieces. But hey, there’s a first time for everything.
So, in light of recent news, I felt it necessary to do some follow-ups to pieces past for your entertainment and my financial well-being.
Okay, I’m not gonna say that my written words have magical powers, but it appears they actually do. I recommend to all my would-be writers out there to be as brash, demanding, and ungrateful with your words as well, and you, too, can get what you want! Now, to be fair, most of the entries in my January piece, along with 99 percent of what I write for this magazine, are jokes. But as you probably picked up, I can’t help but let a little sincerity slip through here and there. The only reason I mentioned Portishead is literally out of raw, unadulterated desire for another Portishead album. And lo...if you’ve been keeping up with the musical papers, you’ll surely know Beth Gibbons is releasing her very first solo album this year. Okay, okay, it’s not a proper Portishead album, but Jesus Christ, I guess this bullshit vision-boarding kinda works! Maybe Beak will come out with something this year, and I can just listen to whatever album Adrian Utley happens to play guitar on and call it good. JK, I still want a goddamn fourth Portishead record. Hop to it, you aging Bristolians!
Please don’t misconstrue this addendum as some wholesome fluff piece about thinking positively and being grateful for the results. Quite the opposite! Manifest shit you want by making demands and shouting them into the winds. If they don’t materialize, then shout louder. Rather than be grateful, I now realize the power of printed words in this tiddy rag. Drunk on that power, I shall now make more demands of artists who don’t know me in the next issue!
I was almost going to do a whole part two to this piece from the summer of last year, but honestly, I think I nailed it the first time and couldn’t come up with enough bullet points. I stand by my last bullet point of don’t do it. Honestly, DIY touring is an expensive and exhausting endeavor that, in the long run, really won’t yield any material gains for your musical career. You are literally cosplaying being a rockstar at the expense of your finances, your relationships, and your family’s opinion of you. Actually, fuck that, you’re cosplaying as a DIY punk band from the ‘80s up to the early ‘90s at the very latest. I think I mentioned this in the previous piece, but Jawbreaker was complaining about making $200 a show in Hit Parader in a 1990 issue. (No, I won’t source it, this is a fucking free strip club mag, just believe it and move on.) Again, if you do the little inflation calculator, that’s about $470 today. Can you imagine making that much at each one of your dumb little West Coast shows? Fuck that, can you imagine making $200? To put this in an even grimmer perspective and cite another example that I can source...Stu Copland was recently on Bob Lefsetz’s podcast and mentioned making around $200 a show when The Police toured America in 1978. Again, on the little inflation calculator, that’s about $800 today. So even if we can somehow manage DIY bands getting a payout of $200 ’til the end of time, with the way inflation is going, that’ll basically get the poor, starry-eyed bastards one gallon of gas. The situation is hopeless. Quit now before it gets worse.
Now if you’re still reading and still insist on chasing this pipe dream, I do have one more don’t/do to consider.
Don’t reach out to the venues first while trying to land gigs in other cities. Do reach out to other local bands in that city first.
It seems counter-intuitive, I know. Why bother asking bands to join a bill that doesn’t even have a venue to play? Take it from someone who has been failing at this for twenty years. First off, you shouldn’t even be going on tour because no one knows who you are. It doesn’t matter if you reach out to a big concert hall or a dingy bar. All the venue wants to know is, "What is your draw?" See, if you did it the right way and sucked enough dicks in Los Angeles or had some viral hit on TikTok and secured some management or label support, you would have a draw and a reason to go on tour. But you don’t. You’re going on an expensive vacation.
But, a little life hack to subvert this hiccup is to come at the venue with a bill already built. You see, if a venue is nice enough to grace you with a response, the very first thing they will ask you if they don’t care about your zero draw is what other bands are going to be on the bill. After all, this endeavor is going to do nothing but cost them money, so it’s up to you to save them as much labor as possible. You’ll also save yourself the emotional torture of corresponding with someone who would rather do anything else than talk to you. Local bands, however (aim for folks that seem to have a similar following as you), are going to be excited that an out-of-town band is reaching out to them. Because, you see, they are artists and are starved for attention and validation. You will make them feel special for reaching out to them specifically (they don’t need to know you reached out to ten other bands that day).
When you get two or three locals signed on for a date, you can then pitch a three- or four-band bill to the venue. Guaranteed you’ll get a “yes," since it’s just another date on the calendar for them, and you saved them the chore of having to fill it!
You’re welcome, poor struggling musicians who still haven’t given up. You can mail cash and cocaine to the magazine’s maildrop, and the editor will route those to me.
