bottle full of dirt

Let’s talk politics, but use the world of concert tickets as the narrative.

Back in 1994 when DoJ was investigating Ticketmaster for a variety of bullshit, Pearl Jam entered the fray (willingly) as they fought the company on another front: service charges. (Their issue was that tickets were to be sold at $20, but Ticketmaster was adding a hidden service fee and basically selling them for $25, and not revealing the fees to buyers.) For those around at the time, let’s put on our thinking caps and remember the amount of grief the band received for pushing back against the machine (I was not one of them, nor was I much of a PJ fan at the time). For lots of people the idea that Pearl Jam, then the biggest band in the world, was fighting for anything financial was generally frowned upon. Aside from service fees, Pearl Jam attempted to sue Ticketmaster for monopolistic practices because of their exclusive, long-term contracts with most major American venues – if you were going to play in arena X then you had to use Ticketmaster as the vendor. The band tried to tour venues not controlled by Ticketmaster, but failed to gain traction and cancelled the tour. Those that laughed at Pearl Jam back then, most because they didn’t understand the completely egregious crap that Ticketmaster was pulling, didn’t really care, “Look at those crazy fucks [grungy band] trying to make more money,” and “I can’t believe they have the audacity…” You know why you didn’t care back then? Because it didn’t have any effect on you all.

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and now you’re trying to buy your tickets for the Lumineers tour, and guess what? You can’t get a ticket at face value to save your live because the Ticketmaster beast is punching you repeatedly in the head, taking your lunch money, and telling the other kids that you’re just a big baby. What do we have now? A company that charges $8-$12 in services fees (usually close to a third of the cost) just so you can print your ticket at home. A company that sells tickets directly to the secondhand market – controlled by them – to maximize profits simply because they can: who could stop them? And, they still have exclusive contracts with most of the quality venues. Oftentimes, events that are ongoing seem like they have zero effect on your live. Sure, concert tickets seem like small potatoes, but it wasn’t like we didn’t see something in Ticketmaster all those years ago. It’s okay, laugh off the small stuff. Don’t worry, it will never come back around and cause you even the slightest ill will…

PS. I managed to get one Lumineers ticket.

it'll be a surprise

A whole bunch of theatres - live, singing, and drama theatres - nationwide are sponsoring a Free Night of Theatre deely-bob across the country on October 15th. All the metropolis(es) are participating and D.C. is contribuing loads of tickets. You already know that we try to get out and gawk at the singers, dancers, and actors as often as possible; I more often than the Eleven, but we do all right (X saw Helen Mirren last week in Phedre but she's too busy to give you a proper review). The Free Night allows people to get two free tickets to a load of shows around D.C. (I think 26 theatres in all) with just about every company participating from the Washington National Opera to my beloved Keegan Theatre crew. Tickets were available online yesterday from noon - with a warning that the nearly 4,000 would would go quickly - so I pulled- up the site at noon, in violation of my 'be at the site, locked-and-loaded' at least fifteen minutes early. I'd perused all the offerings and given X some options this morning based on available nights, Caps hockey games, rock n' roll shows, Gung Fu, and piano lessons. She put her finger on Lost in Yonkers at the D.C. JCC's Theater J. (We've been to Theater J before to see Sandra Bernhard's one-woman show last year.) I think she made the choice when measured against some of the heavier stuff I had on offer. Anyway, back to noon today. I'm good with tickets - the procuring of and quality seating therin - so I was confident I'd easily manage two for Yonkers. As a measure of ticket fights, I got two tickets for the Capitals v. Penguins Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Semis last season with less difficulty. I know it's mostly driven by the ones and zeros in the Internets but I was stonewalled at every turn - the freaky theatre goers in D.C. are hardcore. There's no way that site didn't crash at about 12:01pm yesterday. In fact, my building's power fluxed just after and I'm sure it was due to the bourgeois class trying to get free tickets to shows. (Since I pay for my season tickets to the Opera and Woolly Mammoth should I have stayed away and let others in? I pondered the moral hazard argument.) After nearly twenty minutes of hitting the 'site is overloaded and you can go to Hell' error message I did finally manage to get two for a Saturday night in D.C.

You never know when you might be foiled. Live with that motto.

fin

Backpedaling to my ticket sale at Saturday’s show. I sold them a few months ago during the great ticket panic of 2007. The show was actually sold-out before the 9:30 Club announced it via its website; I’ve got my tricks. My buyer was the first of about a dozen to contact me the day I threw up my ad and I told him I’d send an e-mail the week of the show in order to set-up the exchange. The final options I gave him were these: I’ll be there at 7pm to give you the tickets (they were at will call), or you can let me know when you’ll be arriving and we’ll coordinate our efforts. Normally I won’t be at a show an hour before doors – I’m not one to feel a need to stand right at the front of the stage, but I’m always willing to get there early if they happen to be the type that wants to pile in early and stand for five hours. As it was left, we were to meet at 7pm (see my cab ride…) and exchange the tickets. As I was in line (or on line for the easterners) at 7pm, with only about ten people in front of me, I called him to see if he was standing nearby. Come to find out he doesn’t really want to get there until after the first opening act so he’s anticipating about 9 or 9:30pm. Hmm. Right. Not much to do at this point but tell him to call me when he shows and I’ll come outside and exchange tix for dough. The problem this presents is that I’m in the club so early that I ace one of the eight barstools at the upper-level bar that holds the greatest view and comfort for a long show (yes, that’s right, eight make up the entire actual seating capacity of a 1000+ occupancy club.) The beauty is that nobody can block your view because the next bar row (VIP only) is eight feet below you, the bar is right there, and you have a seat…it’s perfect. Unfortunately, by the time my buyer is going to show the place will be almost full and there will be vultures cruising the area looking to poach my seat. I need a plan; I have a plan. There a two girls standing at the bar-table-rail who showed up shortly after the eight stools were commandeered and I’ve decided to trade one stool for the table-bar corner if they’re willing and able. I close the deal at a song break when I quickly offer them the terms of the contract and they readily agree – I lose my stool (though they were willing to hold it) and in return they spread out a bit and manage to hold the corner leaning area, currently occupied by one of them, for me when I return. We pinky shake and I now know that when my phone vibrates indicating “go” time I only need to pass them a “you’re on duty” look and scramble down the stairs. Upon my return the shuffle takes place and I get to spent the rest of the night perfectly poised for maximum enjoyment – love not war, I say. Love not War.

The Ticket Exhange, written by Monty Python
(see diagram below, it’s horribly self-explanatory)

Just as the first band is finishing their 30-minute set my cell phone vibrates and I see the ticket buyer’s name on caller ID. There’s no way to actually speak into the phone because the music is too loud; I hop up, give the duty look to the gals, and head down the stairs. I’m walking down the outside stairs to the sidewalk as I open up my phone and hit green button-green button to call back my “John”. A single ring and he picks up as I look about and see only a handful of people out front, maybe ten or twelve total:

“Hello? Is this Todd?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t talk when you called. Where are you at?”
“I’m by the tour bus?”
[I look around]
“I’m by the tour bus out front. There are two buses.
Are you around the corner? I’m by the stop sign.”
“No. I’m by the tour bus. By the stop sign.”
“I don’t see you. Can you see the tour bus by the stop sign?”
“Yeah. I’m right by the sign.”
“By the tour bus?”
[Clearly he’s lost. I look around, up at the sky.]
“Okay. I’m out front, by the bus, by the stop sign.”
“Me too.”
[This is stupid. I decide to actually turn around; he
decides to turn around.]

That is embarrassing. There was an entire stop sign post right between us…no wonder we couldn’t possibly see each other. We make the exchange, laugh the WonderTwins, and try to make our way inside while averting our gaze from the punked, pierced, and tattoo’d bouncers who no doubt witnessed the entire episode. What I immediately wished, upon returned to my bar area, was that it had been as easy as what I witnessed during my first year visit to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco. I was sitting near a couple at the Star Stage, waiting for the next act to start, when the cell phone of the couple ring-rings. She answers and begins to direct her friend to where they are sitting amongst the crowd. Picture about a thousand people laying about on blankets and sitting in low-backed chairs. Since it’s between acts you can actually see all the way to the stage with little visual interference.

“Hey. Debbie? Yeah, we’re about halfway up towards the stage.”
[She stands and looks around.]
“You’re by the mixing booth? Yeah, we’re halfway up.
We’re on a blanket. I’m standing.”
[Looks out toward the mixing table.]
“Yes! I can see you. Can you see me? Oh, we also brought the
macaw…he’s up on his perch.”

I look up and behind me to see that, in fact, they have brought the massive blue macaw to the show and he’s poised royally on a 10-foot high pole of a perch. Now there's an idea.

“Oh, you see him? That’s us.”

Really?

T.