In the world of curating, whether it's theater, set lists for busking, a summer concert season, just about anything that creatively faces the public, there will be a recurring list of characters. They are consistent and persistent, and after encountering them the first couple of times, you recognize them like old friends in new clothes, and the struggle begins: To stay fresh through interactions and not anticipate, to not, as the Buddhists say, engage in your shenpa, or your predetermined fixation on an expected outcome or value. In other words, it's super easy to be triggered by people who pop up with unsolicited advice or find another way to make collaboration/function/breathing unpleasant. If you do it right, what grows over time isn't your reaction to these characters, it's empathy. It's grace. It's the knowledge that every other creative in your network has dealt with at least one or two of these characters.
Every busker knows that person who "also plays guitar" or makes their grand introduction with "You know what you should do...", and then they suggest the most entry level plan to go on the Voice, American Idol, or America's Got Talent. Is X Factor still around? I still remember a friend of mine who wanted to be a recording artist famous, and some guy, a businessman with zero experience in the entertainment industry, said he could get her to open for Jennifer Lopez at one of the mid-sized venues in Los Angeles. She had to send him new photos, so she was in the process of paying for her hair to be done, some expensive photos, and new outfits. The only thing is, when I asked her if these things were confirmed requests in writing, she said no. I asked to see the contract. This would be the second time I would have to review a dangerous contract for her, so I was ready to catch all of the loopholes.
There was no contract. There was no deal memo, no written letter of intent or MOU. I asked her if she had been keeping track of the budget with receipts. She said no. I said a string of things she didn't want to hear. "If there's no contract, there's no deal, no promise." She was livid. She wanted to call and complain to the venue. I said "He likely has no contact with the venue." She wanted to complain to the venue about not having contact with the man. I told her that he's probably not in the industry, and asked her what his previous experience was. She didn't know. Her music was too similar to Jennifer Lopez, but I also wondered at that point if she had enough music that she was cleared to perform for at least a 30 minute set. She was focused on the man and getting him in trouble. I had to break it down for her; It's all hearsay, so she doesn't have anything to go on. He lied to her about the opportunity, hoping for a cheap thrill, maybe access to photos of her. She was absolutely locked in on feeding him some kind of karma, but the very last thing I ever said to her was that unless there's something in writing, it's not real. And unless there are signatures on some form of paperwork, nobody's obligated. She would have to be as angry as she needs to be and use that anger to never allow herself to be fooled again. She could call on me to ask all of the questions. Her father thanked me for helping, and then I never heard from her again. To this day, she still uses some of my photography of her performances from well over a decade ago, uncredited. Her brother, a prominent DJ on the global scene, has consistently emailed me about performing at my (now former) venue, and I distinctly remember how the last time I booked him, it ended up being an opportunity for her and photos on the stage as if she was the one booked for it. Great for social media, but fuel for smoldering bridges.
A truth consistently holds for the advice of a stranger or the deluded promises of a con man. None of them have been part of your journey, nor will they stick around long enough to see the outcome. Whether their intentions are good or not, and there's room for well-intentioned but misguided advice, it's extremely rare that they're given with the intention of making you better or more fulfilled. They're fixing a gap in their own understanding, as if they are a walking toolbag and their mission in life is to fix the world, one screw at a time. It's okay. YOUR truth as an artist is that this is your journey, not anyone else's. Advice is usually akin to bugs on a windshield. Promises, even more so.
In the rare lane of music curation, though, it’s okay for a specialist to have blind spots due to a specialty. Some people book hard rock, some people do top 40, some people go into electronic music, and they’re allowed a lack of interest in the other genres. We all make sacrifices. Because I have booked all of the above, and then in recent years booked Latin, jazz, world music, I am philosophically a Universal Unitarian, sacrificing my catholic upbringing a bit so I could see truth in everything I booked and everyone I met. Over 30 years of producing entertainment has thrown me into a collision course with people, however, who always knew a better way to do the thing I’ve been doing for years. I give people the benefit of the doubt. Teach me something. Seriously. I’ll listen to anyone’s suggestions, takes, thoughts on programming. But can they defend a brand? Are they thinking about matching that artist with the existing audience base? Do they know the demographics of that audience in the area and whether or not they buy tickets to events in the city? MOST IMPORTANTLY, if the booking tanks, will they stick around and own it?
Many years ago, after a decade of doing theatre and sticking with audience sizes large and small, I was learning about booking and found myself unknowingly in a side by side competition with an executive who was used to paying an outside service to book talent for a small stage. I was programming on a regular basis, but he insisted on booking something he thought would be better. The band he booked at a family friendly venue came straight out of the hairy heyday of the Sunset Strip, somewhere in the late leather/pre-spandex era. They were middle age in the 80s. This was the early 2010s. Did the band’s audience come out? About 6-8 of the hard core fans - also time warped from the 80s - were up front. Was the band family friendly? Offensive clothing, check. Swearing on mic about the fact that they couldn’t swear, check. Loud unintelligible lyrics kept loosely 20 people scattered in the area, and the person who knew this would be an absolutely perfect booking began the set standing close to the stage, then a song later was standing next to me. It wasn't uncommon to roam around the plaza so that you could see the whole event, but this wasn't the case this time. Into the next song, he was standing a few people behind me, and by the end of that song he was at the back of the crowd. Just when I thought about whether or not he was going to get his obligatory selfie with talent, I looked back and couldn't see him. I then got a text: "Had to go take care of something. I'll check in with you later." I finished up with the band and by the time I got back to the office, he was already gone. I'm no stranger to taking a wild swing with booking, and sometimes it doesnt' hit the mark, but this much was reinforced to me that day: Stand by what you book, and never abandon the outcome.
Over the years I've gotten suggestions from all over the spectrum. The usefulness of the suggestions have been on a huge bell curve, from young emerging gangster rap for an all-ages stage to an opportunistic chance at an emerging band that hits the sweet spot for the season narrative and demo for the venue. When I was starting out, the submissions were mostly physical or through lengthy phone sales pitches, and I had drawers full of CDs, tapes, DVDs, and brightly colored merchandise that I didn't know what to do with. I was overwhelmed with the fit for the stage, as the sole owner of the brand and ecosystem of the venue. I had, over a whole entertainment program that I managed, four avenues for talent to appear on a regular basis on property. The stage was at least 80% Top 40 and facilitated by DJs, the two restaurants were latin focused and acoustic pop/rock, and the street performer program was wide open. We had country, blues, folk pop, latin, world music, hip hop, and more. When I moved on to a new stage, the identity was forged by tradition and legacy, but the challenge was a matter of balance. Being in Los Angeles, the predominance of latin culture is obvious, but there was a sometimes spoken but also less than enthusiastic intention of providing a spotlight for underserved communities. How do you champion an underserved community if you don't know anything about it? How, when the easiest thing to do is tip the bucket and claim a latin diaspora as diversity as you double, triple, quadruple down on that justification, do you weigh the balance of using coveted and valued spots in a lineup sparingly and authentically towards the goal of diversity? It was a struggle for all of us, but where in my history I saw others stop at the end of their understanding, I wanted to learn how to explore the dark parts of the map (if you play free roaming video games, you'll totally understand that analogy).
What I've learned over time is that the most valable tool in this process is curiosity. It was a matter of expanding my vocabulary, and discarding a bit of what I had already known. It was a natural evolution towards becoming a universal unitarian. I couldn't begin to understand anyone's point of view if I was stuck in my own lens, so I sought truth everywhere. Forget and trust my origins in heavy metal guitar, my training in classical guitar. Bank the era of playing in grunge garage bands, then obsessing over the music of Prince. Archive the era of rock and pop, where I worked with amazing bands of their era - Carolina Liar, Neon Trees, Good Charlotte, Awolnation - the summer of EDM, and the exploration of hip hop, R&B, and soul. Flag and set aside the gospel acts and early exploration of the new a cappella movement. The past few years exploring alt-latin, world music from different cultures, and deep dives into jazz stretched and exercised my curiosity in ways I had never experienced before. All of the research paid off when I met with the artists and curators and didn’t feel like a passive purchaser. I was a partner, ready to talk through creative and production logistics with genuine curiosity and exploration, but there was a greater effect.
I experienced direct moments with my dad, six years after he passed away, finally fully appreciating the music he always wanted me to understand. So many times at the stage, I wondered what he would have thought experiencing the music live, and done with reverence and authenticity, the musicians fully supported and the audience completely transported. I felt my dad there, present and involved, pointing to the stage as if he was watching Messi control the ball through a maze of defenders, recognizing the magic. My dad was part of each moment holding me in his arms, finally understanding why I spent so many hours practicing guitar, so many sleepless nights rehearsing with actors and coming home to write plays instead of going out to bars to hang out with them. In these past three and a half years, my dad finally got it, my mom likely sitting next to him, punching him in the arm saying “I told you so.”
In theater we learned that the goal of art, of live performance, of entertainment, was the suspension of disbelief. In the past, it might have been a diversion, a distraction, but for the past decade, the moments we experienced in the arts have given us hope and healing, and understanding. You don’t get there by going places you’ve always been or telling stories you’ve told before. You don’t get there by shopping off the rack or taking shortcuts. It’s not a playlist. It’s a fresh, live, risk-taking performance, a statement and sign of the times. It’s a ride, a journey that you can’t look away from because it’s raw and real. It changes lives.
Not that going the other way is inherently wrong. There is a place for just pure entertainment, a sugar high, a necessary distraction so that your body has a chance to move, to react, to lose yourself without the need to think. Even fun in the hands of an expert needs meticulous attention. The core is still intention and purpose, and it doesn’t happen with a lack of curiosity or a limited vocabulary. Curation and curiosity begin with a cure in mind.
If you don’t feel that in your bones, this whole experience is going to intimidate the hell out of you. I’m 30 years into this journey and I feel like I’m just getting started. Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel the growth and am excited about the journey. It’s hard on purpose. It’s a process of constantly becoming and evolving, it’s a “rest of your life” thing, and it places the emphasis on research and humbly learning from other people, and, if your ego can withstand it, it involves admitting you don’t know things. I love that artists, an audience, friends can go on the journey with me.
“The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.” ~ Plutarch
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