I'm an experienced rock musician. That means a lot of things, but today I'm mostly referring to all of the broken promises and shady dealings I've been privy to in over thirty years of working with promoters - including last night.

Last night, I got to see one more set of cheesy promoters put the screws to one more group of artists, but this time it was different for me.

This time, I was an observer - not a participant.

 

Besides being a musician, I'm a writer. Houston Press Music Editor John Nova Lomax has brought this up in reviews of my music, and has given me props for my writing acheivements. He has also asked if I would ever like to write about national acts and contribute to The Houston Press, he'd welcome my submissions. Since I usually write about myself and my experiences, I haven't found anything I really wanted to submit.

 

As last night's late-night adventure unfolded, Lomax came to mind. National acts and conflict? I'm sending this to John!

There are only a few things that a show promoter has to do.
  1. Do your research - determine marketability of the proposed show
  2. Arrange for all of the elements needed for a successful show
  3. Have enough funds to cover the costs for putting on that show
  4. Advertise and promote, or no one will know to show up or buy a ticket

As far as I can tell, there are three kinds of promoters.

Good promoters actively engage in each of the above mentioned activities.

Bad promoters do not have the experience or where-with-all to accomplish these necessary steps.

'Shoe-string' promoters promote like Max Bialaschtok (the crooked promoter in Mel Brooks' 'The Producers') who take their sponsors money and do little else. In the Mel Brooks' play, the promoters oversold stock, and hoped for a failed play, so they didn't have to pay off investors. That was in ingenious crime, but at least they paid their expenses and talent.

Real life 'shoestring' promoters create events, and are sometimes lucky enough to create an audience and a profit. Usually that's not the way it works.

Shoestring guys put enough of the show together to interest the talent and sponsors, and pay out as little as possible, sometimes pocketing the money earmarked for advertising and talent, hoping that the show happens to do good, and they'll have enough money to pay the bills at the door.

 

Unfortunately, they often stop there, and another underpromoted and unadvertised show fails.

And, if the show fails, it's the usually the musicians who get screwed first. Musicians are usually easier to screw over than actual businessmen, and dishonorable people usually take the path of least resistance.

I was first made aware of this event when M. Martin posted a notice on the New Jack Hippies listserve. Martin was looking for bands and DJ's to play at an upcoming three-day festival centered around the All-Star weekend and promoted by Richard Tomcala and Brett Foley. I've known Tomcala for about 25 years. I know him as a slightly visionary promoter (public news, the island, hemp magazine) but also as an often disasterous show promoter. I did not know Brett Foley except by reputation which may not have actually been his (one of his previous projects had suffered a great amount of ill-will due to the misbehavior of one of his former partners). Martin's open letter explaining that he had been asked to work for these guys to find the bands and DJ's at this late date DID let me know that the other promoters had been unsuccessful in doing so themselves or had started way too late. Wanting to support my friend, I immediately posted a message which read, "I'll be wherever you need me!"

Because Martin used my newjackhippies yahoogroup to recruit bands, and because I responded publicly with a supportive message, I now feel partially reponsible for my several friends offering to get involved in the show. They are schedule tonight and tomorrow, as am I. Levon Louis is frustrated that he had lined up most of last night's line-up, and now feels partially responsible for that. As I see it, my moral obligation to report what I saw last night is imperative.

Martin knew of Tomcala's penchant for promoting in the shoestring manner. Nonetheless, Martin asked, many of us threw our names in the ring. He had been there for us - we were there for him. Almost immediately, things were suspect. We couldn't pick up posters because they couldn't be paid for - the other promoters who had hired him, were out-of-town. The call to pick up promotional stuff never came.

After an all day video shoot involving Urban bands Collective Hallucination and Tru Sol, we dropped the gear at home and I headed back downtown to the 3 Days in Summer event at the Meridian in hopes to catch Joe B and LunateX. My band was scheduled to play on Monday and we were told that there would be weekend VIP passes for us at the door. The first sign of trouble was the delay at the door. My name was not on the list. And if LunateX' Levon Louis' friend Adrianne had not walked back into the building at the moment I would have probably left without getting in the door. Armband applied, I entered a great space with a live PA group called DEAD PA laying down some great grooves.

 

Following Adrianne to the back and through a long hallway I entered into the second space, a place as large as a high school basketball arena. Chris Anderson was spinning and there were only about a half-dozen old friends by the bar.

 

Adrianne said that she didn't know if LunateX was going to play, and that Levon was in the back talking to Richard Tomcala, one of the promoters.

After 20 minutes, Levon appeared - noticeably stressed. "They're not paying everybody as agreed."

He disappeared into the back again, as I went to the 'Red Room' and listed to a group called THE BRIO KIDS. The group name refers to the neighborhood near Beamer and Beltway 8 in Houston that they all grew up in, built by 'shoestring' contractors on top of a former toxic-waste dump. Toxic ooze came up out of the ground at the schoolyard. Children and adults turned up sick, and the neighborhood eventually became a ghost town. These are some of those kids who grew up there - hence BRIO KIDS. They performed a dynamic set of what I could only call techno/rock/hiphop/punk. These guys were all over the stage and floor, with a high energy beats and messed up messages.

Unfortunately, the most messed up messages were still to come from the promoters and building management.

After BRIO KIDS, I went looking for Levon…. or Martin….or anybody. Martin came out and told me that the promoters had decided to close it down without waiting to see if the after-hours crowd would show up for LunateX, Andrei Morant and BMC. In smoky back rooms, DJs and musicians were told that they would not be performing, and therefore not be paid.

Most musical acts use contract language that make it clear that they will be paid for showing up to play, usually before the performance. The contracts make it clear that only an act of God, like a flood or riot, give reason for the promoter to cancel without pay. These guys all had this type of contract. I know. I signed one (provided by the promoters) myself.

Ten minutes after the promoters announced the shows early end to the performers, they were still charging people at the door. When this was brought to Martin's attention, he shut it down, too. The people were not offered their money back.

Levon appeared again, and asked me to accompany him to the back room. I told him not to expect me to speak. I watched these young artists try in vain to get one bit of respect and payment, and was impressed that they all handled themselves professionally. I watch Tomcala sit there with a smug tone in his voice, reiterating the party line, "There's nothing I can do." He attempted to shift the blame to the artists for not doing enough to promote the event. He tried to change the subject. He accused them of threatening him - they had not.

"So, you don't have cash? How about an ATM card? Do you have a bank account?", BMC asked.

" No… No… No…." , answered Tomcala.

"What type of car are you driving?" BMC countered. We all kinda giggled a bit.

"What type of man are you?", asked Louis, "I'm a man of honor - something you obviously don't know anything about. Do you think it is honorable to sign a contract guaranteeing these artists their pay, and then show up unprepared to pay them?"

Tomcala said, "I have no answer to that.", and promised to pay Louis within 24 hours. When pressed to say that all of the artists will be paid, Tomcala repeated that Levon would be paid within 24 hours.

Louis' chest puffed out, as he continued, "Sir, I am a true blue Texan. Maybe you have never done business with a true blue Texan before. I assure you these men will be paid."

Within minutes, small groups of artists, crew, promoters and onlookers were getting louder and louder. Suddenly a call rang out, "Call the police! They are stealing turntables now!"

Tomcala came rushing out of the back, and told Martin, "If you still need a ride, I'm leaving now!"

"I still need a ride."

Martin went to grab his stuff. Tomcala continued his rush to the door. As he passed Levon Louis, he mumbled so that only those within a couple feet could hear, "So, you've got your guys stealing turntables now!?"

"Stealing? You accuse ME of stealing?"

From the back comes, "The police are on the way!"

The sound guy is standing there listing the 4 different artists who have supposedly stolen the same ONE turntable, and Tomcala is headed for the door.
Without Tomcala around to confront, most of the artists were gone by the time the police arrived. Unfortunately, the BRIO KIDS were still loading gear down the steps. The sound man, was pointing fingers, while Brett (the one remaining promoter) and another large man I didn't know (but who had brushed me aside when I had tried to introduce myself two hours earlier) were providing backup and nodding in agreement.

 

Spencer, THE BRIO KIDS energetic DJ/LivePA guy, was still shirtless, still sweated up and still rushing from the performance adrenilin. One look at him, and the officers were happy to take the word of the normal-looking sound guy. They threw the cuffs on the shirtless boy in the dreads, and put him in the back seat of a patrol car.

I asked Brett to go to the police and tell them that the boy was innocent. Brett HAD to know this!

Brett looked me in the eye and said, "I don't know, but, I have to support my sound company."

 

The big guy came up and asked my name. I told him. He asked what I was doing. I told him that I was there to videotape the event at the request of, and with the permission of one of the promoters. He asked which promoter, and I gave him Martin's name.

"Never heard of him!"

Brett looked the other way.

I walked over to each of the officers on the scene and told them that there was no stolen turntable, and that these dishonorable promoters had not paid their contracted performers as agreed, and were now trumping up charges (even if a turntable were missing - four different artists didn't get them) to get those artists out of their hair. And it had worked. They were all gone now.

Except for Spencer.

I told another officer my perspective. The large man I didn't know walked up, grabbed me and blocked my video shot of the complaintants speaking with the first officer on the scene. I moved. He again moved to block me, and repeated, "What is your name?"

"I have answered that question four times, and my name is still Guy Schwartz", I responded, "What is your name?"

He ignored the question again. Perhaps he couldn't remember. "Why are you videoing (not actually a word) this?"

"I was asked to tape this event, but now I have a great story to write about!"
"Where will you publish this?", the large man asked.

"I don't know - maybe the Music News, maybe the Houston Press", said I, mindful of the fact that this story involved national acts and conflict.

"Well, My best friend is Stuart Folkes at the Press, and your story will never make it to print!", he bragged.

He was probably right.

He walked back to the police car, yelling at me all the way. After a brief conversation, the officer told me that the large man was the property owner, and that he had asked me to leave the property. He then added, "You can stand on the sidewalk, though, and continue videotaping, if you'd like."

The rest of the story details and redundant and repetitive (and redundant).

I remained on the sidewalk and kept pressure on everyone to do the right thing, the middle-aged men kept lying about what they saw, and (an hour later) one of the officers opened the patrol car door to give Spencer his freedom.

Martin, Levon, Brett and Richard are still trading phone calls as I post this, and nobody sounds very happy.

Just thought you should know.