feline instincts
Cats always land on their feet.It’s pretty incredible when you think about it. There’s a moment, mid air, when they writhe and snap their falling body into formation, often just before their paws touch the ground.
Now stay with me here.
It’s a great metaphor for life. You suddenly find yourself falling, and are desperate to correct your trajectory.
This all came to me last night, after a situation that is all too common to touring musicians.
We had a show in Kenora and the deal was that we got a free hotel room for our show. No guaranteed fee. No food and beverage tab. No cover charge for people attending the show. Just the room. We were playing for the gratuity of the listening customers.
Don’t get me wrong. This arrangement is common and has become comfortable for us. We often play for a place to stay, dinner and a few drinks,. We communicate with the clientele during the set and trust that they will appreciate what we’ve done and donate money as they are able. Simply put, it’s been working for us.
But sometimes you hit a bump in the road.
Yesterday, at The Lake of the Woods Hotel in Kenora, we were shown to our rooms upon our arrival. They were the fabled dive that you hear in the horror/brag stories of the music world.
A dirty room is one thing. A room that is not secure is quite another. I take my business on the road. Effectively, that means I want to leave the hotel and not worry about what might become of all the gear I’ve hauled inside.
Beth and I are two women on tour. We keep our heads up and our eyes open. We drive the speed limit. We don’t over-drink. We eat our veggies, go for runs and hell, we even meditate from time to time. And we sure as shit do not put ourselves in a position where we feel our security is endangered.
In what turned out to be a telling moment, Beth locked herself out of her room. We inquired about a spare set of keys. We were told that the manager was gone, and that they weren’t even sure if there was a spare set. I’m no delinquent, but I’m not stupid either. I looked at the door and after a moment’s assessment I discovered what you can see in this video.
Our rooms were neither safe, nor secure. So I told the manager just that when we saw him next. I didn’t complain about room’s cleanliness. I would have been absolutely justified in doing so, but I tried to reason with him on the grounds that I was not comfortable staying in a room that was easily broken into. As I’m sure you have figured out, my request fell on deaf ears.
Many of his responses were downright comical. But my absolute favourite was “Don’t you have insurance?”
Yes, Wes. I have insurance. But I’m also on a tour that lasts until the end of September. To say it would be an inconvenience to file an insurance claim in Saskatchewan, pay the deductable, acquire new gear in northern Ontario and probably forfeit a string of paying shows as a result… well, that’s an understatement.
Of course we were not left without options. There are other hotels in town. We could play the gig and take what would probably amount to every dollar we made (and then some) to pay for another room.
My problem with the situation was this: Our work over the last four months to get this tour on the road – including the show that he booked – was absolutely devalued. Beth and I approach our work with professionalism and when we demanded the same from him, his response was “A thousand bands have stayed here.”
So. What to do?
We decided to make good on our end of the bargain. We rehearsed a set that we thought would be enjoyable for the clientele. We had a good meal. We cleaned up from our drive and we played the show with commitment.
This is where the story gets its happy ending. You get what you give, after all.
Last week I chatted with a Kenora journalist, Jon Thompson. His article about our show brought out a small, supportive audience. Their donations added up to the same amount of money that I would have asked the venue to provide as a guaranteed fee. They asked us to come back and gave us contacts and suggestions for our return visit.
Our hotel situation was also remedied by our new friend, Jon. He took pity on us and gave us a place to stay at a lovely cabin that his great grandfather built. At the risk of romanticism, I tell you that we fell asleep to the sound of loons calling to one another on the lake.
I don’ t think I can fully express the gratitude that we feel now that we’re on the other side of this experience. It took one person to make that show great. Oddly, the man who hired us in the first place cannot claim that accomplishment.
I’ll return to Kenora and play another show. I’ll seek out the audience that supported us there and I will continue to respect them, myself and my privilege of making art for a living.
Thank you to Jon and the supportive people of Kenora for helping us land on our feet.
Meow.
It’s a great metaphor for life. You suddenly find yourself falling, and are desperate to correct your trajectory.
This all came to me last night, after a situation that is all too common to touring musicians.
We had a show in Kenora and the deal was that we got a free hotel room for our show. No guaranteed fee. No food and beverage tab. No cover charge for people attending the show. Just the room. We were playing for the gratuity of the listening customers.
Don’t get me wrong. This arrangement is common and has become comfortable for us. We often play for a place to stay, dinner and a few drinks,. We communicate with the clientele during the set and trust that they will appreciate what we’ve done and donate money as they are able. Simply put, it’s been working for us.
But sometimes you hit a bump in the road.
Yesterday, at The Lake of the Woods Hotel in Kenora, we were shown to our rooms upon our arrival. They were the fabled dive that you hear in the horror/brag stories of the music world.
A dirty room is one thing. A room that is not secure is quite another. I take my business on the road. Effectively, that means I want to leave the hotel and not worry about what might become of all the gear I’ve hauled inside.
Beth and I are two women on tour. We keep our heads up and our eyes open. We drive the speed limit. We don’t over-drink. We eat our veggies, go for runs and hell, we even meditate from time to time. And we sure as shit do not put ourselves in a position where we feel our security is endangered.
In what turned out to be a telling moment, Beth locked herself out of her room. We inquired about a spare set of keys. We were told that the manager was gone, and that they weren’t even sure if there was a spare set. I’m no delinquent, but I’m not stupid either. I looked at the door and after a moment’s assessment I discovered what you can see in this video.
Our rooms were neither safe, nor secure. So I told the manager just that when we saw him next. I didn’t complain about room’s cleanliness. I would have been absolutely justified in doing so, but I tried to reason with him on the grounds that I was not comfortable staying in a room that was easily broken into. As I’m sure you have figured out, my request fell on deaf ears.
Many of his responses were downright comical. But my absolute favourite was “Don’t you have insurance?”
Yes, Wes. I have insurance. But I’m also on a tour that lasts until the end of September. To say it would be an inconvenience to file an insurance claim in Saskatchewan, pay the deductable, acquire new gear in northern Ontario and probably forfeit a string of paying shows as a result… well, that’s an understatement.
Of course we were not left without options. There are other hotels in town. We could play the gig and take what would probably amount to every dollar we made (and then some) to pay for another room.
My problem with the situation was this: Our work over the last four months to get this tour on the road – including the show that he booked – was absolutely devalued. Beth and I approach our work with professionalism and when we demanded the same from him, his response was “A thousand bands have stayed here.”
So. What to do?
We decided to make good on our end of the bargain. We rehearsed a set that we thought would be enjoyable for the clientele. We had a good meal. We cleaned up from our drive and we played the show with commitment.
This is where the story gets its happy ending. You get what you give, after all.
Last week I chatted with a Kenora journalist, Jon Thompson. His article about our show brought out a small, supportive audience. Their donations added up to the same amount of money that I would have asked the venue to provide as a guaranteed fee. They asked us to come back and gave us contacts and suggestions for our return visit.
Our hotel situation was also remedied by our new friend, Jon. He took pity on us and gave us a place to stay at a lovely cabin that his great grandfather built. At the risk of romanticism, I tell you that we fell asleep to the sound of loons calling to one another on the lake.
I don’ t think I can fully express the gratitude that we feel now that we’re on the other side of this experience. It took one person to make that show great. Oddly, the man who hired us in the first place cannot claim that accomplishment.
I’ll return to Kenora and play another show. I’ll seek out the audience that supported us there and I will continue to respect them, myself and my privilege of making art for a living.
Thank you to Jon and the supportive people of Kenora for helping us land on our feet.
Meow.