A Door Guy's Lament

originally published November 21, 2007

I work as a doorman at a popular downtown venue. Yes, we have a bar and serve drinks, but it's not a "bar" in the sense that we're open when there's no show going on. The average music scene "member" may not realize this, but there are lots of folks here in Athens that don't really understand the way the clubs downtown function. That's totally understandable, too, because most folks come from towns where there's nothing remotely similar to our scene; their concert experience is limited to mega-shows a la HiFi Buys Amphitheatre or they're just new to town and are learning as they go. Hell, the people I'm talking about may be reading this right now, so I'll go ahead into it.

How It Works

Music venues, by and large, set a price for entry which goes to pay the bands, the sound people and the door personnel. The venue makes its money from the drinks people buy. There may be some venues, even in town, that peel a little off the door money for the till, but I'm not aware of any. The place I work at - the Caledonia Lounge - never does this, and even goes so far as to pay the staff out of its own pocket should the door proceeds be insufficient. Any money made from drink sales at clubs goes towards the things you don't see: rent, utilities, licensure and all the other things required to even have the doors open.

The average downtown customer doesn't really care about the intricacies of how clubs make their money or how bands get paid, so why go into it? Because if you don't understand it, then you will most likely walk away from a place charging money to get in thinking it's a rip-off, and why should you pay money to go see one band when a Sublime cover band is playing ladies' night down the street for free? One reason is that what you're dealing with in those cases are bars that happen to have the occasional band. I'm speaking about music venues that happen to have a bar.

The difference may seem miniscule, but it's not. The downtown music venues of Athens work very hard, and have for more than 25 years, to actively support the creative community of our town. And this support costs money and that's why places have to charge money for you to see bands. It's really as simple as that.

True, you don't have to spend a dime to hear music these days. It's everywhere. (I'm not ancient, but I'm certainly old enough to remember when hearing a rock song in a television commercial was an exceedingly rare thing, MTV didn't exist and "file sharing" was home taping.) Most likely this ubiquity has come at the cost of new generations not valuing music as much. I don't mean not connecting emotionally, loving certain bands or finding true meaning in it all, but, rather, not really seeing the point of it being something one should support financially. If you're one of the people I'm talking about, believe me, I don't blame you. Hell, if someone was giving away cheeseburgers all the time, I certainly wouldn't think, ever, about paying for one. But if you like the original local music you've heard, not to mention the sometimes stunning array of national and international acts that come to town, and support the idea of an artist-driven scene that fosters creativity and uniqueness in an increasingly generic world, then please understand that when a doorman asks for your money, it's going directly to those things you love.

Take a Free Ride

Now for the rough stuff. All music scenes have their irritations, but the single most disheartening thing I ever experience as a doorman is the scene veteran who seems to think he or she is above or beyond paying for anything. These people may currently be in a popular band or have been in one. They nearly always have been around town for more than 10 years and may have, indeed, "put in their time," or "paid their dues," so to speak. (On the other hand, they may be just cute young things who've been in town a short while, but have managed to ingratiate themselves with the local royalty.) I'm friends with lots of people that fall into each category. Some I count as wonderful friends, and some I just count. They absolutely know how the clubs work. They know that the dollars you spend, or don't spend, at the door wind up directly affecting the band onstage either by cutting into the band's pay or, worse, preventing the group from getting booked again.

Invariably, it's this type that will waltz up to the door of clubs, wave and say hello and then stand there waiting to get their hand stamped without paying. A normal excuse given is along the lines of "Oh, yeah, I'm friends with these guys," or "I'm friends with the owner," or "Hey, man, I thought we were friends?" Any of the above may be true, but, given the fact that they understand exactly how all this works, all I really have to say is "Why do you hate your friends so much?"

That is, if you understand the process by which clubs keep booking bands and bands get paid, why would you refuse to participate in the activity which helps ensure the survival of each? What makes you think because you have earned a certain status in the scene that your dollars aren't just as necessary to the process as those of that new kid who just moved into the dorm?

There are several things I should clarify. First, I'm not talking about people on a guest list, people who have a standing free pass to a club or people who won tickets off the radio. [Many local venues generously allow Flagpole writers into clubs at no charge to help us keep up with the Athens scene. -Ed.] I'm also not talking about people who are honestly completely broke and cannot afford the show. In the case of the latter, I've often been very generous in the past and made people my personal guest when I believed they really didn't have enough money to see their friends' band. I've also been burned completely when, merely a few minutes after crying poverty, said person is at the bar ordering rounds of drinks. Hey, man, I thought we were friends?

The Sad Truth

When I moved to town, the average price of a three-local-band show was $3. Almost 20 years later, the average price for a three-local-band show is $5. The federal minimum wage in 1989 was $3.35 and hour. In 2007, it's $5.85 an hour. While it's true that the cost of living in Athens is much more than it was back then, the fact remains that the cost of seeing a show at a local club is relatively identical to what people were paying two decades ago. How people that ostensibly support our scene can balk at being asked to pay what is, in reality, a pittance compared to clubs around the nation for similarly constructed shows is mind boggling to me.

Actually, it's more than mind boggling: it's sad and pitiful. If the people who have spent the better part of their time in Athens being part of the music scene can't be bothered to support it financially, then how in the world can it be justified to those newcomers who just want to go see a band? Sure, there are other ways to see your favorite local bands play. Go see 'em at house shows and parties. Hell, throw the house shows yourself. I did that for seven years and had a blast. But good luck dealing with all that six nights a week, 50 weeks of the year the way the clubs do. If the cops don't get you, the exhaustion will.

Look, this isn't meant to be a bummer. I have enormous love for the Athens music scene and the people who populate it. But there are realities that shouldn't be ignored by those who know better, and maybe I've explained some of those realities to those people who just didn't understand it all.

Now, can I see your ID, please?

Gordon Lamb

Liner Notes is Flagpole's music opinion column.