The gig was a washout. The money from the door was pitiful. Mark and Tanya, the who had brought Drugstore over for a special Belfast show, were on their way home after the gig, calculating just how much they had lost.
They had actually booked the band in for a night in town because they loved watching them, and they figured that many others would have felt the same way. Now they were working out how much the privilege had cost them. With awful, masochistic logic, they worked out that they could have flown to London, eaten at a swanky restaurant and then taken a limo to a Drugstore show there, and still have gotten a cheaper deal than the Belfast experience. And that, as they say, is showbiz.
Mark and Tanya used to play with the act Tunic, who recorded a series of John Peel sessions, released a bunch of singles on ultra-cool labels, and disbanded when they found that they couldn't break out of the underground scene that had nurtured them. That was a year ago. And they've been busy ever since. Aside from the Drugstore disaster, they've promoted some other interesting acts. Sure, there weren't masses of punters in to see Hood and Come and Ganger, but it was worth doing, and when they booked Sparklehorse for the Empire in October, the place was nicely filled and there were smiles all round. Their reputation was on the rise again.
Mark and Tanya have also given us a Saturday night club called Ski Bunny, voted top club at the Oh Yeah Awards last February. It has welcomed all kinds of waifs and misfits into a place where you could hear Camper Van Beethoven tracks next to Blondie, The Pixies, hip hop and perfect Motown soul. It was a top place to socialize. A recent night there featured David Holmes and some mates from New York. The London-based group Fiji had driven all the way back from a gig in Derry catch the mood. It was busy, celebratory and different; a boss night on Brunswick Street.
Now the Ski Bunny team has launched a series of November nights in various venues around Belfast, billed as the Output event. Acts such as 3rd Eye Foundation, Billy Mahonie, The Handsome Family and Salaryman are taking part. The Make Up will be sharing the same bill as David Holmes. Other local artists, such as Roo, Barry Peake and Tracer have all been given sympathetic supporting roles.
Not surprisingly, the budgets are incredibly tight. There are no guestlists, and the homegrown acts play for free, on the understanding that they are party to a rewarding cultural thing, rather than brutal capitalism in action. So Output may be good for the soul, but potentially it's ruinous for the finances. Therefore when I meet Mark and Tanya, I pose the obvious question. Why bother?
"In the past," Mark reasons, "most of these bands wouldn't have bothered playing in Belfast, because financially, it's hard to justify it. But I was hearing of more and more bands who were thinking of coming over. It just seemed to make more sense to bracket them under a name and to use sponsorship to put out a booklet to inform people. That's not being patronising, it's informing people about new music in the most democratic way possible."
"That's where the marketing comes in," Tany a says. "You can take a band that not many people have heard of and word it in a way that makes them think they'd regret it if people didn't go."
Mark takes a suck of breath. He's getting enthusiastic for the hundredth time today.
"We do put a huge amount of ourselves into these gigs. We tend to get quite personal and emotional. There's a belief behind it. We're helping small, independent bands. We've done the touring thing, so we know what it's like to arrive and be promoted by people who don't care."
Some of these acts have an intimidating reputation. The Make Up, for instance, have encapsulated much of the hardcore ethic from Washington DC. Yet on the band's contract for the Belfast gig, Mark and Tanya are referred to as "our friends". The musicians are staying on people's floors, rather than hotels, and the backstage rider asks for soft drinks only. Which is punk rock, if you think about it hard enough.
After a few freelance musician jobs (Mark toured Europe as guitarist with Tram while Tanya has worked with the magnificent Cha Cha Cohen), both players have put their own acts together. Mark and the other Tunic guys are now active as The Olympic Lifts, playing fractured, intelligent hip hop. Tanya fronts Go Commando, accompanied by cello, drums and bass. Chill blues a speciality. They're both planning debut releases in the spring, feeling energised, plugging into the widespread network of friends that they met on those adventurous Tunic tours. On one level, it's a positive time.
"I've never been more happy to be over here," Mark insists. "Actively being part of things that are going on. All the time over here, you read about the next thing coming along and the 'new community' and stuff. But then three months later, all the hype has died down and nothing comes of it. But I honestly think now that there are a load of things happening. In the next 12 months, they're gonna break in whatever capacity."
Our chat ends with a keen discussion about acts like Desert Hearts and Roo, and the perfect mood of Ski Bunny, the club that doesn't want to get any bigger, that's totally happy with it's station. We shake on it enthusiastically. A day later, and Mark is on the phone. The Ski Bunny night has been axed from Brunswick's. Something to do with Mark and Tanya's activities in other venues. For a brief moment, there's a feeling of despondency on the line. But not for long. There are gigs to fix up, records to make, friends to meet and killjoys to overcome. Same old, same old. n