My friend Kenny Mednick is also a lighting designer who illuminates musicians on their tours. While I was speaking to him this year I mentioned that I had been working with some less-than-pleasant people in the last year, namely musicians who were, for lack of a better word, mean, disgruntled people. Ken suggested I pass any such artists his way as he specializes in dealing with such acts. He even thought about making business cards that said “Specializing in Lighting Tortured Artists.”
Kill ‘Em with Kindness (and Fat Fees)
There is an art to dealing with these folk. Butch Allen explained it best: “When dealing with these kinds of people, it’s best to fly under the radar. Don’t let them know who you are if you can get away with it.”
Now I find myself on a tour where indeed, I may have done well to pass on, except for one thing; once I met the singer and realized what I was getting into, I charged my fee accordingly. So now whenever I think about this unhappy person I am working for, I smile and think about my bank account. And I adjust my attitude constantly, using the old adage, “Kill ‘em with kindness.”
I’ve preached for years about not letting attitudes get in the way of your work. At times I feel like just gliding by on this tour and not do my job to the best of my ability because the artist speaks down to everyone and I dislike it. But that would be against everything I stand for, so instead I just kill the crowd with great looks and dramatic cues. Besides, I have been dealing with idiots my whole career; it is part of any biz.
Dim Dat Damn Light!
Last week in Philadelphia I actually had a followspot operator who fell asleep behind his lamp. Either that or he was drunk, which is not all that unusual for this particular venue. The spotlight would not black out at the end of the song. The stage was intentionally dark other than a video intro for the next song. I was screaming on headset to no avail. The artist took over and started yelling at the spot op thru the PA to turn his mother f**** light off. It was a class act. Finally the spot op next to him went over and woke the guy up to tell him to douse his lamp for the rest of the evening’s performance.
After the show, I headed backstage to get yelled at. The manager was fuming but defended his artist. I explained that these lights were not run by me, but by stage hands at the venue. The manager said, “Heck it’s our third gig this week; he should know the cues by now!” The manager is as swift as the talent he represents. Telling him that we have different operators in each town was pointless. Once an idiot, always an idiot. I quickly went online to check something. Yup, my paycheck had cleared. I smiled and told them I would do my best to have adequate operators on future shows.
Bleating All the Way to the Bank
Some time ago I did a stadium tour with a well-respected group. They had reunited, much to the thrill of millions of fans. The only problem was that the band members hated each other. The players would actually stay on stage for an extra minute at the end of the show because they wanted to see which way one of the band leaders would exit so they could go the other way. The road crew on this tour was the cream of the crop. We were all treated well and had little to complain about other than the fact that we were employed by people who were only in it for the money.
But we were professionals. The lights always looked great and nobody but the foolish singer on stage ever made a mistake. Whenever he made one, he was quick to point a finger at someone. One guy had mixed monitors for the band on 100 shows. One night, though he did nothing wrong, the artist needed an excuse for his missed notes, so he fired away at this innocent man. That pissed him off quite a bit, so I sidled over to him during load out and asked him if he had to take a pay cut. He looked at me like I was crazy. And then the light went on in his head. He was being paid a lot of greenbacks and it was his turn to be the goat because certainly the boss could not have screwed up of his own accord.
It’s Your Money
So many new artists think they have paid their dues and should be certified Divas (a stupid word that I despise). A Diva gets that reputation because they have sold millions of records over an extended period of time and thinks the world should cater to them. They are a’holes and get off on that fact. Anybody who calls themselves a Diva on purpose should be put to sleep, especially a 23 year-old girl with a couple platinum albums. Sorry honey, but you are not in a class with Diana Ross; you have certainly not paid your dues and I will not respect you as I do her. I like lighting real Divas because they have nice checks for me and big light rigs. But what I really like is the fact that I will never have to sit down and have a drink with them.
When I first met this artist she said she wanted to purchase a set I had designed for her six-week tour. I explained it would cost two or three hundred grand and she was much better off utilizing “off-the-shelf” set pieces that had been used on other tours. We could simulate my artistic renderings very closely. Her reply made my jaw drop. She said she had come a long way from being a poor ghetto child and she had the kind of cash lying around to buy the whole thing. She talked down to me like I was a moron.
So, being the moron that I am, I called the set manufacturer and explained that I wanted every little intricate thing I put on my rendered design, right up to the hand-sewn, hand-painted silks exactly like my drawings. Do not skimp on anything, I said, and request advance payment before starting the project. He told me how much overtime it would take and that it would cost much more than the original estimate. That’s okay, I said, because I had been plainly instructed by the artist that she had plenty of cash lying around and this wasn’t my concern.
The set looks fabulous, some of my best work ever. The lighting cues are smart and precise. The show looks just as good as Beyonce’s or Rihanna’s, but this girl will never rate with them. She doesn’t have the demeanor or stage presence of those artists. She’s tortured by something, some wannabe Diva thing I reckon. Oh well, just gotta keep doing my job flawlessly. That and check the bank deposits once per week.
