Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} The Promoters Inside Stories From The Australian Rock Industry by Stuart Coupe The Promoters: Inside Stories From The Australian Rock Industry by Stuart Coupe. MILESAGO - Recommended Reading. The Promoters: Inside Stories from the Australian Rock Industry by Stuart Coupe Hodder Headline Australia, 2003 287 pages; illustrated ISBN 0-7336-1503-1 RRP: AU$34.95. Stuart Coupe is a bit of a local legend. He has been a respected music writer for years, managed the mighty Hoodoo Gurus, has promoted concert tours by people like Harry Dean Stanton, and is still going strong with his Laughing Outlaw label and a store in Sydney's inner west. He's well placed to write a book like this -- he knows just about everybody and he's seen the music business from just about every angle -- some of them not very flattering, either. I, for one, was drooling in anticipation when I heard about this book. Over recent years I've read some of the fantastic books that have been written about the behind-the-scenes aspects of the American music industry, notably Fedric Dannen's classic Hit Men and Fred Goodman's brilliant Mansion On The Hill , his landmark study of the careers of Albert Grossman, David Geffen, Jon Landau, the artists they managed, and the way they changed rock management forever. The "behind the desk" story of the Australian rock industry has been long overdue for what HG Nelson would call "a long hard scrute", and Stuart's book certainly offers some tantalising glimpses into it, interspersed with some fantastic anecdotes about the myriad pitfalls that can trap the unwary. The eye-popping tale of the Hunter S. Thomspon tour is one such horror-story, and it's a salutary lesson for the would-be promoter. If you're expecting an Aussie version of 'Mansion On The Hill' (which could perhaps be titled "Dunny On The Hill") then you may be a little disappointed, although the subtitle "Stories From . " is a pretty clear signal that one should not expect a text-book on the subject. (Interestingly, the graphic above, sourced from the Hodder website, indicates that the book's original title has been altered slightly -- from the definitive-sounding "The Inside Story of. " to the more general "Inside Stories from . ", which is the current title.) Stuart profiles some of the leading Aussie promoters of the last 40 years including Michael Gudinski, Kevin Jacobsen, Michael Chugg, Michael Coppel and Paul Dainty. He also looks at several of the lesser-known figures, as well as some very engaging stories of Stuart's own misadventures as a promoter, plus hilarious tales of the promotional mishaps of our friend (and one of the unsung heroes of Oz Rock) Keith Glass. It's a very enjoyable read, there's a lot of interesting information and many hilarious and hair-raising stories. If you already familiar with the the Australian rock scene, this probably won't add a great deal to what you already know, but it's definitely worth a look and offers some very interesting insights, particularly about the elusive Dainty. The perennial difficulty with rock books -- as with shows like 'Long Way To The Top' -- is the "prime directive" to address a broad audience. This isn't a stylistic problem for Stuart, who is an experienced journo, and he certainly knows how to write. Even if you have only a passing interest in the rock scene, you'll find this a most enjoyable book. However, like LWTTT, the need to address a general audience largely precludes any attempt to engage in a detailed and systematic historical, structural or economic analysis. The overall style of the book is therefore anecdotal rather than analytical. So, in my trainspotterish way, I was left wishing for something of greater depth and substance, with a lot more detail and much more investigation of the "how, why, who, when and where" of the history, development, structure and funtion of the business behind the music. Some well-known names appear only briefly -- Harry M. Miller is someone who could have been discussed at greater length; likewise Miller's sometime partner, the late, great Kenn Brodziak, who will always be remembered as the "Man Who Brought The Beatles To Australia" but did much else besides. Although these two heavyweights were only occasionally involved in rock promotion after the mid-70s they are indisputably founding fathers of the promotions industry in this country and their careers would certainly bear closer examination. Another factor that restricts the scope of this book is the inclusion of the magic word "rock", which evidently precludes the mention of people like Michael Edgley (who has promoted rock but is better known for tours such as the Moscow Circus) and the various theatrical promoters. While rock promotion is an important field in its own right, it does not exist in a vacuum and many promoters often handle tours other than those by rock bands -- Harry M. Miller being a case in point. By singling out the promoters, another area left crying out for coverage is that of artist management and booking agencies. I've been researching this subject for some time and information is very hard to come by, but obviously there are many links across these three areas; indeed, many of the promoters in this book have been (and are) agents and/or artist managers as well. Another subject I would have loved to see covered is a look at concert and tour promotion within Australia by and for Australian artists -- e.g. local concerts such as those promoted by Dal Myles in Sydney in the 60s, people like manager and agent John Harrigan, the 70s rock festivals, and the trailblazing national tours by Sherbet, Skyhooks and others in the 70s, where several of the major promoters (e.g. Chuggie) learned their trade. Likewise, a closer look at some of the 'ancillary' areas such tour managers, roadies, lightshows and especially the development of sound systems and the crucial importance of companies like Jands, would have been a welcome and valuable addition for this reader. Another topic that I find particularly fascinating -- and which is only barely touched on in "The Promoters" -- is the Gudinski-Evans-Chugg- Mushroom-Premier-Harbour-Frontier nexus, which is admittedly a subject that could take up an entire book of its own (one day, one day). In his heyday Gudinski (with partners Ray Evans and Frank Stivala) was simultaneously the head of Mushroom Records, the manager of a number of acts such as Madder Lake, and owner of the Premier Artists booking agency in Melbourne, which had a stranglehold on bookings for most of the major Melbourne venues, and owner of the Harbour agency in Sydney. How he was able to build his business to such a commanding position and how he operated it are topics long overdue for thorough analysis. But, as I mentioned before, a book like "The Promoters" doesn't really provide the space to tackle such wide-ranging questions, and isn't intended to, so it would be unfair to criticise Stuart or his book too heavily on that score. As Steven Wright would say: "You can't have everything -- where would you put it?" One can only achieve so much in a volume of this size and what is there is well-written, easy and enjoyable to read and mostly very entertaining. My only other (minor) criticisms of the book are the rather sloppy editing and proofing in some parts (sorry, Stu, but publishers pay people to do that and there are far too many spelling mistakes, and several names spelled incorrectly). Another oversight -- an increasingly common feature these days, it seems -- is the absence of an index. But all in all it's a good book that fulfils its aims admirably and will be of considerable interest to anyone hankering to know a bit more about the Australian rock scene. Read an excerpt from Stuart Coupe’s book ‘Roadies – the Secret History of Australian Rock’n’Roll’ Renowned author Stuart Coupe – the writer behind bold portraits of the Australian music industry like The Promoters and Gudinski – has today released his b ackstage pass to the hidden side of the music industry. Roadies – the Secret History of Australian Rock’n’Roll, out now via Hachette Australia, pays tribute to the industry’s unsung heroes, whilst taking us behind the road cases to see inside their world of pre and post-show excess. In the excerpt below, Stuart Coupe tells the story of Tana Douglas, rock’n’roll’s first female roadie. Douglas spent her life travelling on the road with acts from AC/DC and INXS to Elton John and Iggy Pop, The Who and Ozzy Osbourne, traversing every continent from the ’70s through to the new millennium. Read the full chapter The First Woman below: The First Woman. Howard Freeman remembers being at a Sunbury Music Festival with Tana Douglas. The memory still makes him smile – and bristle. ‘Someone didn’t want her backstage in the security area and I told them to get fucked,’ he says. ‘That was the first time I got to say the words: “Fuck off – she is a roadie.” For Douglas to get through all that was pretty amazing. She did it by the size of her balls. And she was very good at her gig.’ Tana Douglas can lay a strong claim to being the world’s first female roadie. And not only was she a roadie, she also spent an extended period doing sound for AC/DC. Yes, that’s right. Sound. For. AC/DC. But doing things that hadn’t been done before was what Tana Douglas did best. From the age of nine or ten, Douglas began running away from home and school. Eventually she was put in boarding school, which was harder to run away from. At boarding school in 1969 Douglas heard about the upcoming Woodstock festival and wanted to go. She called her dad and told him she wasn’t coming home for the holidays – she wanted to go and see Janis Joplin sing. She was about eleven at the time. This wasn’t going to happen. Of course, Douglas’s father hopped in his car and drove to the school immediately, thinking his daughter had gone mad. She was too young even to know where Woodstock was. So Douglas and her father had a serious sit-down. She told him that if she could go to Woodstock, she would study hard and get A grades in everything, and she’d never ask for anything ever again. She figured she had to go because it’d be the only chance she’d ever have of seeing Janis. Sadly, she was right about that: Joplin died just a few months after the festival. Eventually, Douglas did a runner and made her way to Nimbin, in northern New South Wales – ‘Australia’s answer to Woodstock’, as she calls it, ‘for everyone else who felt ripped off by not being able to go’. Soon Douglas was doing the whole hippie thing. In 1973 in Nimbin she met a French guy called Philippe Petit, who a year later would walk across a tightrope between the two World Trade Center buildings in New York City. In Nimbin he and a coterie of friends were planning a less ambitious but still audacious venture. Petit was intending to do a tightrope walk between the northern pylons of the Sydney Harbour Bridge – just for practice, to get into the swing of things before tackling the World Trade Center. To Douglas, this seemed beyond exciting, so instead of staying in the rainforests and growing pot she joined Petit’s gang and headed to Sydney, where she had a small but important role in the walk. ‘I didn’t do any of the rigging because obviously that’s really technical and they had their own crew for that,’ she recalls. ‘I was part of the ground crew – one of the people who caught the cans of film as they dropped them down off the edge and then took off like I was in The Great Escape so they didn’t get confiscated.’ After the thrill of the bridge walk, Douglas left Sydney and headed to Kuranda, growing pot and settling into the hippie lifestyle once again, but the lure of Sydney was strong and she soon returned. ‘I’d been running around naked pretty much, in the forest. It was the whole “Kumbaya” thing up there, playing guitar by the fire every night looking at the stars thing up there,’ she says. ‘Everyone was telling me not to go back to Sydney, and certainly not to Kings Cross, but by now I was curious and my response was: “Why not?” So, off I went.’ By chance, Douglas ended up sharing an apartment with two other young women who were into the Sydney nightlife. They started club-hopping together, and it was at the Whiskey A Go Go in William Street, just down from the main drag of Kings Cross, that Douglas met a man who would play a major role in her life: the already legendary Wayne ‘Swampy’ Jarvis. ‘He was working with some R&B band from the States playing for all the American soldiers. It was really the dregs of that scene, with lots of servicemen coming through. But I was pretty interested as the music was completely electric, whereas in the forest where I came from it was all acoustic. I was asking Swampy questions and he was telling me things, and then he asked if I wanted to come back the next night, which I did.’ Douglas rocked up late. Everyone involved with the band and the show had gone out and got trashed the night before. The gear was staying at the club for the next night’s show, so there was no packing up and loading out to do. Party time. That was why the sound guy figured he could arrive at the very last minute, along with the band – but the cleaning ladies at the venue had thought they’d do the right thing and clean his desk for him, so all the settings had been changed from the way he left it. When Douglas arrived the guy was freaking out, running backwards and forwards between his desk and the band and trying to get everything back the way it was. ‘Swampy’s running around too,’ Douglas remembers. ‘I asked what happened and he said, “The fucking sound guy isn’t happening – that’s what happened!” The show that night was terrible, and I only stayed to see if he could get it together in time.’ The next day Swampy and the band were heading to Melbourne. Douglas was amazed that people actually got paid to travel with bands. Not long afterwards, one of the women Douglas was sharing her flat with said that some friends of hers from a Melbourne band, Fox, were coming to Sydney for some gigs. This flatmate was driving Douglas crazy, forever carrying on about how great Melbourne was, and how her parents would take care of her if she moved back. Douglas started praying that Fox would give her flatmate a lift back down south. At their last Sydney gig of that run she introduced the idea to the band’s guitarist, Peter Laffey, who said that if all the band’s gear was packed and they got on the road that night, the flatmate could come with them. Now Douglas was on a mission. ‘I looked at the stage and all the gear, and everyone was wandering around in circles and doing nothing, so I offered to help. Everyone in the band laughed, knowing the reaction I’d get from their crew guys, so I wandered over to the stage and told them I’d give them a hand and asked what I could do. They showed me how to coil cables. There is a definite way to do it correctly and I learnt how.’ As Douglas worked, the other roadies started picking up their game: they didn’t want to be shown up by some girl. In no time they had everything loaded into the truck. Douglas threw her flatmate into the front seat, and off she went. The next time Fox returned to Sydney for more gigs, they called Douglas and said they were a guy short: did she want to come and do the gig? It was that casual. She thought it was hilarious that they asked, and figured they just wanted to see if she could do it again. During Fox’s run of Sydney shows, Douglas met a roadie who would mentor her: the already established, already bordering on legendary, and certainly infamous $crooge Madigan. He was the roadie for Daddy Cool, with whom Fox was doing a show. Swampy Jarvis was also at the gig as he was working for the promoter. These guys took Douglas seriously. ‘No one acted like, “What the fuck is going on?” – they just told me what went where, and I just went and did it. I was just sponging everything up, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Then Fox said they were going back to Melbourne and asked if I wanted to go back with them.’ Fox’s booking agent worked in what was known at the time as Mushroom House, and that was where Douglas met a young Michael Gudinski. She went to the office every week to collect Fox’s worksheets, which explained the details of the gigs they had coming up. Fox was doing okay for a band of their level, with three or four shows a week in and around Melbourne. Douglas thought that was a lot – until she saw the work schedule of the next band she would get involved with. The roadie world at this time was still comparatively small. There was $crooge, Swampy, John D’Arcy and a handful of others. They all knew each other and knew the lifestyle. They were all blokes until Douglas came along. And because she was accepted by the ‘cool guys’, other roadies accepted her as well. Fox began to run out of steam, so booking agent Bill Joseph started to look around for other work for Douglas. Joseph became a father figure to her. ‘He was kind, always letting me into his office and telling me things and teaching me stuff,’ she says. ‘Gudinski would fly in and out of rooms and I’d listen to what I could from him, too. I think everyone got used to me just being around. It’s like a stray kitten that wanders in and someone feeds it, and before you know it everyone’s feeding it. Then it’s, “Oh yeah, that’s our cat.”’ Stuart Coupe, Courtesy Susan Lynch. One day Joseph mentioned to Douglas that there was a band coming to town and they’d be looking for a full crew, and he thought it’d be an interesting job. Douglas felt loyal to the Fox guys but still she didn’t really hesitate. It was definitely interesting – and more. The band was called AC/DC. Joseph hooked Douglas up with their manager, Michael Browning, and she went round to the band’s house in Lansdowne Road, East St Kilda. It was late 1974. There she met Bon Scott, and Angus and Malcolm Young. Also there were Harry Vanda and George Young. After the introductions were made, they told Douglas the band needed someone to be their stage roadie, and asked if she wanted to do it. ‘I can do that,’ she replied. They also needed a PA, so Douglas went and picked it up. She was thereafter in charge of looking after it. Initially, Douglas was AC/DC’s roadie. There was a lot of equipment that needed moving around. The only person who had more equipment was Billy Thorpe. ‘In the beginning we had an amazing couple of months just hanging around the house, auditioning people,’ Douglas says. ‘They were writing songs and also recording. They’d take off for a couple of days and go to Sydney to record some things, and then they’d come back down to Melbourne. George and Harry would trade bass or drum parts. And that’s how it was. It wasn’t really a band then.’ In Douglas’s opinion, the AC/DC the world knows started at that time in the house in St Kilda. The glam rock period – when they dressed in pink satin and Dave Evans fronted the band – was over. Bon Scott was singing, and the dress – with the exception of Angus’s perennial schoolboy outfit – was workingclass and ‘rock’. ‘They’d been in Sydney, and George and Harry had had the “You know what, this isn’t going to work” chat. That’s when they decided on the change of direction. The big vision started at Lansdowne Road.’ Douglas was AC/DC’s roadie for their first shows with Bon Scott fronting the band. Gudinski, by Stuart Coupe, is a fast and wild tale of Australia’s music industry. John Willsteed does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment. Partners. Queensland University of Technology provides funding as a member of The Conversation AU. The Conversation UK receives funding from these organisations. Email Twitter Facebook LinkedIn WhatsApp Messenger. I must here confess my connection with both writer and subject of the new book Gudinski, by Stuart Coupe. Stuart Coupe is an author, manager, label-owner and music-lover. We have known one another, a bit, for about 30 years. And Gudinski, the music business entrepreneur and, as per the book’s subtitle, “godfather of Australian rock ‘n’ roll”? We have met a few times. I was in the Go- Betweens when they signed to Gudinski’s label in the 80s – a band whose demise, according to this book, he accurately predicted. I was also once at one of those tour parties at Gudinski’s house when I decided to steal something. This is mildly mortifying. ‘Twas but a trinket from the pool-room, but compared to what was going on in the kitchen it can most certainly be relegated to the realm of misdemeanour. I still have the trinket. Coupe has written a book about Gudinski: a man famous for his reluctance to permit such probing. And it is to Coupe’s credit that he has mustered all his perseverance and charm in spite of this unwillingness and crafted “the book Gudinski never wanted”. Although the intention is to tell the story of a man rather than a business, the two are never far apart. So it’s really the story of the growth of an empire. An ever-expanding interconnected group of companies, somewhat like one of those giant fungi – the world’s largest living things – that spread and thrive under the cover of the forest darkness. Mushroom, then, was a fitting name for the company set up by Gudinski in 1973. And Gudinski used it quite a lot: Mushroom Records/ Publishing/Pictures/ Marketing/ Creative/ Promotions have been just some of the arms of the Gudinski octopus of companies. There are many more. Gudinski is, unsurprisingly, passionate about music. But it’s the money to be made from his passion that has been, without a doubt, his driving force. The deals. Deals are done at high speed, in an endorphin rush, the mind spinning around the problem, the solution and the bottom line. Deals done whilst “vibing”, an oft-used Gudinski-ism, which sounds like some sort of water divining and is probably about as accurate. All of this, Coupe captures with empathy and a clear sense of the excitement and risks that are in play. “The boss” and his inner workings are revealed through interviews from across time with staffers, partners, musicians and friends (all music-biz folk). There is much loyalty, and discussion about loyalty, which tends to colour the entire conversation. The chapter that deviates, and sheds some light on the broken relationships, is a welcome relief, as are those about the collapse of Mushroom UK and Gudinski’s dealings with the Murdochs. The bands at the core of this history (Skyhooks, Paul Kelly, Hunters, Split Enz, Barnesy) do get plenty of space, but there is little discussed beyond the business aspects of their relationship with Gudinski. Gudinski at the 2013 Aria Awards, Sydney. Eva Rinaldi. Any search for discussion about the artistry or aesthetics of music-making (or selling) is a fruitless one. At the end of the day, Gudinski leaves such thinking, and decision-making, for the others in the organisation. And there are many folk that he clearly relies on for this whole empire to function. In fact, it may be that the best parts of this book are the tales that aren’t about Gudinski, but the stories of people who were chosen and encouraged to pursue their passion within the organisation. These are the people who actually have stories to tell about the things that matter – the nurturing of artists, the successes and failures on the ground, the risks and chances taken. And Gudinski exists here as a father figure, albeit a fairly gruff one, who seems to do a lot of barking. Coupe’s book is littered with Melbourne bands and Melbourne stories. Gudinski, it seems, understands little outside the fairly narrow rock/beer barn world that he helped create. He admits to having little time for the wealth of music that poured out of Australian towns and cities in those creative post-punk years. This rock world was born of the Melbourne post-blues scene in the 70s, where Gudinski the businessman was born. He made a lot of money in the 80s building a giant structure in thrall to rock, and he used that money through the 90s to keep it from collapsing when, really, rock just wasn’t as popular any more. The internet, grunge and dance music arrived: the world changed. Cold Chisel manager Rod Willis is succinct when describing negotiations with Gudinski over the reformation of the band in the 90s and the recording of their new album: they say they enjoy the music, and they may or may not. But the thing keeps them in the game is the power.“ It is, indeed, a game. Stuart Coupe has given us an insight into an industry with which he is intimately acquainted. The book is fast and wild: pick it up in Perth at the airport newsagent - then leave it in the cab in Sydney with your tip. Like Coupe’s previous effort, The Promoters, it is an essential companion to understanding how the Australian music scene works. In the end, there is little to say about Gudinski except that he exists for the business. It drives him, his attitudes, his relationships. As to the man? This phrase, from Mushroom’s Eleanor McKay, sums him up quite beautifully: Michael’s charm is that he has no charm. It’s almost endearing. The stolen trinket, I’ll keep forever. I love music, and spend a good part of every day either listening to it, interpreting it, making it or talking about it. The trinket is a reminder to me that the music industry has very little to do with any of that. Live Music 101 # 5: Promoters and risk – Emma Webster. Simon Frith’s Live Music 101 #2 examined the political economy of live music and defined two basic models of performance as a starting point with which to examine the economic transactions between artist, venue, audience, and promoter. In this addition to the ‘Live Music 101’ series of blog posts detailing the themes and ideas that developed over the course of the initial live music project, Emma Webster offers a model of economic risk that includes the promoter, and also defines three broad ticketing (revenue) models the promoter can use in order to recoup their initial investment. Frith set out two basic models for the economics of live music: musician performs and as a result of the performance listener gives performer money (‘busking’) OR musician is contracted by listener to play for them (‘wedding band’). A more nuanced model to include the promoter would be as shown below, with the economic risk for the artist decreasing from top to bottom. The economic risk for the promoter, on the other hand, increases from top to bottom as the artist’s economic risk decreases:- (It should be pointed out that if the artist is paying for production costs and in hock to a record label, the model becomes skewed, as it does if merchandise and sponsorship is taken into account.) Promoters’ risks may not simply be financial, however, as promoters must also deal with personal and social risks including threats to their reputation and/or their own or others’ personal safety. A folk session ‘host’, for example, runs the risk of not being invited back if the sessions they run are repeatedly poorly attended or managed, which may then impact on their reputation among the folk community, while a promoter putting on a free party in a warehouse may even run the risk of being arrested, which may then subsequently raise their status among particular subcultural communities. In this way, then, risk may ‘constitute opportunities for benefit (upside) or threats to success (downside)’ (Institute of Risk Management 2002, p. 2). A promoter using the ‘pay-to-play’ model, may well be taking a low financial risk but potentially risking a high price in terms of reputation and trust. [1] On the other hand, while a promoter using the ‘guarantee plus > one hundred per cent of profits’ model is taking a massive financial risk, they hope to profit in other ways. Australian promoter Kevin Jacobson, for example, allegedly offered Bruce Springsteen one hundred and one per cent of the gross income for his 1985 Born in the USA tour, the argument being that it was such a high-profile tour that it was worth doing for next to no money simply for the international prestige garnered (Coupe 2003, p. 65). There are also differences within different genre cultures regarding risk; for example, classical orchestral musicians often expect to get paid to rehearse whereas pop musicians generally do not. This also varies from company to company, however, and one event may contain a variety of musicians on different contracts. Scottish Opera, for example, expects its guest soloists to rehearse for no fee and receive payment only for a performance, whereas the orchestra members receive a guaranteed salary (Reedijk 2009). [2] Similarly, crew and touring ‘session’ musicians will often receive a guaranteed fee whereas the artist’s income is likely to be based on ticket sales, dependent on the payment deal. Promoters therefore deal in different types and levels of risk depending on the type of show and the contract with the artist (if used). To recoup their initial investment, a major part of the promoter’s role is therefore to administrate the transaction between artist and audience (if necessary) and there are three broad ticketing (revenue) models the promoter can use in order to recoup their initial investment: ‘ free’ (no door charge but promoter may benefit financially from the sale of other products); ‘ donation’ (variable income based on what the customer chooses to pay); and ‘ fixed’ . [3] A free event potentially carries the most economic risks and must be subsidised in other ways, while a fixed ticket price should garner at least some ticket revenue. Within the ‘fixed’ model, economic risks may be further mitigated in a variety of ways, one of which is to charge a variable price for seats based on seat position, or ‘added extras’ such as ‘premier seats’ or meet and greet events. [1] See for example, ‘Live and Unsigned Scam?’ (2010). [2] As of April 2011, however, Scottish Opera’s resident orchestra moved to part-time hours (Miller 2010). [3] Dynamic pricing – or the ‘airline model’ – is a ‘new’ ticketing model that, while not practised at the time of writing, may soon be in use and may well become the favoured model (Ellis 2011). Using this model, the price of the ticket increases or decreases in relation to the demand for the show. References. Ashton, R. (2010b) MU says pay to play is okay. Music Week [Internet], 23 September. Available from:
{PDF EPUB} the Promoters Inside Stories from the Australian Rock
