Festival Man. Geoff Berner

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СКАЧАТЬ from other bands that would get in touch, looking for a gig. I was getting known as a guy who got shit going. When things became muddled or confusing, the band, and others, too, would look to me, because they knew I would always come up with a strong opinion. Later, they could bitch about me talking bullshit, and say that I was steamrolling them into disaster, but they still counted on me as the only person in the room who could forcefully state that he Knew What to Do. People started to call me the band’s “manager.”

      Then Sandy’s sister committed suicide, and we all took a break for a while.

      MY PLAN

      BUT THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO, and it was just by way of telling you what a genuinely extraordinary sort of fellow I am — my important strengths in terms of my ability to inspire, my vision, my perfect sense of art, my knack for Making Things Happen, et cetera. I return now to the story of what happened at the Calgary Folk Festival last weekend, which is what this is all about, of course.

      I WAS ON MY WAY TO THE CALGARY Folk Festival, without the headliner. I was beer-drunk, and more or less out of money, but I had a plan.

      The previous winter, I had discovered Athena Amarok, and managed to book her for every major summer folk music festival in the country, on the strength of a grainy Betacam tape of her performance at the Opening Ceremonies of the Canada Northern Games, in Iqualuit, and of course also on the strength of my nigh-irresistible persuasive powers.

      I knew she was going to be a killer success. She was young, sexy, and had a sound that no one had ever heard before. Plus she was Inuit, and the Leftiness of the Canadian folk circuit is always dying to book “First Nations” people, so that they (the folkies) can demonstrate their Super-Virtue and Lack of Prejudice and what-have-you. And here was a Genuine Eskimo who made everybody who heard her simultaneously terrified and sexually aroused. I knew I was on to a winner.

      The only problem was, she was even more of a winner than I’d planned for. After the first performance I arranged for her in the South (as the Yukoners call it, “South” meaning the Whole Wicked Rest of the World Below the Arctic Circle) some journalist jerk from Iceland had seen her and sent a tape of the show straight to this crazy Icelandic experimental disco Superstar, and this had caused the Superstar, when she saw it, to “change her whole thinking about music forever,” and so of course she emailed Athena directly to invite her to New York on the first available plane, to “see if we could collaborate,” and then naturally that led her to fall in love with Athena and invite her on tour immediately, and although I made some perfunctory attempt at stopping her, you can’t say no to Superstars, so in fact, at this moment, as we drove towards Calgary, Athena was actually in Reykjavik, where she was participating in the secret rehearsals for the Giant World Tour, slated to start in a week and a half in London.

      So Athena was in fact not going to be at the Calgary Folk Festival, nor was she going to be at three of the five other festivals that I had already negotiated large guaranteed fees for, fees that, just by the way, I had already spent the entirety of, in the form of advances from said guarantees. Yes, I know. But that money had to be spent. Which is something I will explain. But right now, I’m explaining my plan.

      SO HERE WAS MY PLAN:

      First of all, nobody knew that Athena wasn’t coming. Using the management tool called Guilt, I had extracted her secrecy about her Big Break, since I personally, after all, was the one responsible for it happening. Also, even more importantly, nobody knew that I knew that Athena wasn’t coming, and had known for about four weeks. Four weeks would have been long enough in advance for the artistic director of the festival to cancel her contract and scramble to make other plans for a Sunday headliner set. But we couldn’t have that. That wasn’t part of the plan. So that’s the first of all.

      Second, and more importantly, I still had her band with me.

      The plan all along, once I figured out what I had in Athena, was to use her as a kind of Arctic Trojan Horse, to help me sneak some of my most interesting (weirdest) acts inside the Hallowed Gates of the Folk Festivals. Festivals are generally very conservative, and tend to book things that are easily explainable. African Drumming. Traditional Celtic Harp. Third-Rate Ontario Bluegrass. I generally go for stuff that’s very hard to explain, but is the kind of thing that if you see it live and you’re not some boring asshole, it amazes you about the possibilities of music, and the permutations of the human mind and soul. But those hard-to-explain things can often be kind of hard to sell to the bookers. So the plan all along was to get my weird people through the gates, disguised as Athena’s band.

      As band leader I had Jenny Reid, a lesbian singer-songwriter- bass-drums-and-saxophone player who sings songs so sexually aggressive that if a man sang them, he’d be tarred and feathered as a misogynist pig. Then there was a turntablist, guitar player, weird sound-maker and interpretive-dancer named Manny Canoe, and, as a last-minute addition, there was Mykola Loychuck, a 220-pound kobza-playing singer-songwriter of Ukrainian descent, who plays a combination of traditional Ukrainian songs, translated into English in an offensive way, and original Ukrainian-sounding songs that are also mostly offensive. That was the band. It was supposed to have had that lying Jew bastard accordion player Berner, but he had taken off without warning for some wild-goose chase in the backwoods of Bulgaria, hunting for nonagenarian kyke fiddlers or some such nonsense. Good riddance if he wanted to miss this opportunity after all I did for him.

      Anyway, the band had been working. The weirdness of the group underlined the weirdness of Athena, who was by no means a conventional Inuit throat-singer. She’d been denounced in the local papers as a cultural heretic and sexual deviant. People in Iqualuit threw rocks at her when they saw her on the street, so she was very much one of My Kind of People. And the fact that the band were actually all experienced improvisers, and surprisingly good at listening to each other and to Athena, meant that each performance was an unrepeatably odd, but oddly musical event. People didn’t just dance, they smashed things and fucked on the dancefloor. That’s when you know that you’re doing something right.

      And from a manager’s point of view, it was perfect, because these festivals are full of little stages, workshops, small performances, open mics, campfires, all places where you could actually put these strange people in front of an audience, so that they could finally just be heard by somebody. I’d just say to the artistic director of the festival, “Well, Mykola’s here as Athena’s kobza player, but he has a bunch of great tunes of his own. Maybe he should just sit in on the ‘New Visions in Old Traditions’ workshop.” And then this unknown freak would be suddenly playing to a crowd of a thousand relaxed, listening people. And suddenly, the poor idiot savant bastard had some fans, for the first time in his life, for Chrissakes.

      But that was when Athena had actually been with us for the festivals. Now I was going to try to blague my people through an entire large-scale, prestigious festival, sneaking them into the workshop stages, et cetera, when the actual marquee name of their band was not even going to be there.

      My plan was to just keep acting expectant about her imminent arrival, showing myself to be getting more and more irritated, and then, maybe sometime on Saturday, totally blow my top, outraged, pretending to have just gotten a message from Athena saying that she had run off with the popstar. By this time, hopefully, her bandmates would be so successful that everyone would forgive the small problem of the lack of headliner, and the artistic director would have no choice but to let my weirdos play Athena’s Sunday night huge-exposure main stage slot on their own, to shocked acclaim.

      SO THE MAIN PLAN WAS A BIT of a gamble, I know. I admit that. Then there was the long shot gamble:

      Richard Wren was coming. Wren was the manager of Jimmy Kinnock, the world’s most famous punk-folk singer, and was also the head of the International Conference of Music Managers. He had managed Cream when Clapton was good, was one of the organizers СКАЧАТЬ