I love my job. I hope that anyone reading this article loves their job even half as much as I do. In the world of concert lighting, where creativity intertwines with technical skill, the allure of a new role, a different project, or a seemingly better opportunity can be irresistible. But, as I get older, the years are starting to mow me down. My job has left me with a curious affliction called Grass-is-Greener-on-the-other-Side-itus, or GiGotoSitus. No matter what I am doing, no matter how proud I am, no matter how exotic the location, I am constantly striving to jump the fence and be on a different gig. I think that I am chasing the dragon around the pasture only to find out that I have been chasing my own tail the whole time. Watching the FOH dance parties at The Eurovision Song Contest from a ballroom in Sea Island Georgia has caused my soreness to flare up. The fact that I am currently preparing no less than five other shows, including a Scandinavian festival run, a North American stadium run, shows in Japan and the UK is no remedy for this wretchedness. Let’s explore the symptoms and see if we can find common ground.
Rock ‘n’ Roll/Corporate
As soon as I accept a gig, the clock starts ticking. It’s only a matter of time before I start peering over the fence. Being a touring concert director has been my goal as long as I can remember having goals. Now that I have a loving wife and kids, the road is a tough place to be though. I simultaneously experience the rush of the crowds and the loneliness of the road. Being on the road for eight weeks at a time takes a toll on all aspects of my family life. This is when I start pining for a cushy corporate gig where I can work eight hours and still have dinner at home. So, I reach out to my connections and as soon as I get home, I take the ballroom gig sitting in front of a Jands Stage CL-512 and 14 up-lights bathing another beige wall in corporate colors. It only takes about three breakout rooms before I realize that ballroom carpets can never compare to the open road, and I go running right back.
Timecode/Busking
This condition doesn’t only apply to the gig. It applies to how I spend my time on the gig. In Vegas, I had to be fast, flexible, and available. I spent several years honing the craft of busking shows, importing show files on top of one another, cobbling several shows together through PSR, and banging out pretty good shows without much consideration. I would often walk into a corporate event and even before the rig was up, my punt page would be 90% complete. I yearned for the opportunity to get on a project where I could take time to make artistic choices, match BPMs, and timecode these choices into a well-oiled masterpiece. After finally getting that opportunity, I would stare at the artwork so long that the grass grew right under my feet. Staring at a timecode clock caused my skills to become dull, and my muscle memory to fade. Sure, each hit was exactly where it needed to be, but I lost the thrill of the chase. I became comfortably numb knowing that the show was going to look exactly the way it did night after night. The only reprieve from the suffering was the occasional timecode drop or opening act.
Learning/Working
The beaten path towards becoming a professional LD-at-Large is littered with learning. Any available weekend would be filled with online tutorials, webinars, symposiums, and seminars. I knew that no one would hire me if I didn’t already have the skills that I needed. I would ask anyone who had a spare moment to teach me something new so that I could incorporate new tricks. All this effort was for the sole purpose of getting the next gig where I could utilize that knowledge and capitalize on my hard-earned skills. Now that I have those jobs, all I want to do is learn new things. I keep seeing people online making magic in the studio that I could have never thought of. I see people using VR goggles at the console and doing color swipes through the rig with the wave of their hands. I would have to go back to school for a year to even comprehend how they are making that happen. My jealously bone burns knowing that this is the next level of programming.
Youth/Experience
I am fortunate enough to have known that I wanted to be in this business at a young age. For the first decade or so, I was always the youngest technician in the room. I was willing and able to hump the cables, run the feeder, climb the truss, and reap the rewards. I could say yes to everything because I didn’t require as much sleep as my elders. I could leave my day gig and go straight to my night gig. Jetlag wasn’t even a real thing to me. Everything was new and exciting, so why take time to rest or reflect. The learning curve of the rocky terrain was exponentially steeper than my current pasture. Climbing the terrain was tough, but the peak was going to be worth it. Now that I rest somewhere near the peak, with my beard a little grayer, and my knuckles more gnarled, it’s easy to look out upon the scenery. After a few deep breaths, I take it all in and admit to myself, “Welp, I’m bored again. What’s next?” All I want to do is turn around, and climb back down, just so that I can climb back up again. The best that I can hope for is to teach someone new how I got up here and experience the climb vicariously.
The Remedies
There is no known cure for GiGotoSitus. I respect that as a human primate, I will always have irrational desires. Desire will always bring with it suffering. Friedrich Nietzsche reminds us that “To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” The only remedies for GiGotoSitus are radical acceptance, compassion, and camaraderie. We need acceptance that we are doing as much as we can as best as we can. We cannot clone ourselves and say yes to every gig. We need to supplement with compassion for ourselves when these ailments torment us. Most importantly, we need camaraderie so that we can share our experiences with those who are a few rungs behind us. I find it cathartic to share my knowledge. Because I can’t unlearn and relearn that feeder needs to be run the right way the first time, I must take satisfaction in watching someone learn that for the first time. Sitting back and watching a good friend struggle in this way can be a form of kindness. As I reflect on my journey through the highs and lows of the lighting industry, I’ve come to appreciate that the grass is not always greener on the other side, it’s greener where you water it.
Reach Chris Lose at close@plsn.com
