It's a worthy goal. I've heard stories from New Times contributor Chris Hansen Orf about when every band on Mill (including his band, Zen Lunatics) got signed, during the heady days of the Clinton administration. Everyone knew everyone, from the Gin Blossoms on down. Bands like The Refreshments were name-checking other bands in the scene, like Dead Hot Workshop, in their songs. It was a wonderful time, he says, until everyone got dropped. But Orf's band is still together, and he's still friends with the guys he played with back then. By contrast, The Medic Droid broke up after their first headlining tour (which is why they're not playing a South by Southwest showcase this week). That's what happens when you don't pay your dues in local clubs.
If Organ has hope of rebuilding, it's through the pleasant quaintness of his monthly BFLS ("Best Fucking Live Show") at Last Exit. His project — Doggass Productions and the BFLS — started after Organ posted a rant about the local music scene on craigslist.org and received an enthusiastic response. He decided to build a show around his manifesto.
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By any means necessary: Doggass Productions promotes on Mill Ave.
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The Best Fucking Live Show is scheduled for Friday, March 20, at Last Exit in Tempe.
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The BFLS has four bands and four comedians, so there's something going on at all times. Doggass doesn't book based on genre or "draw" (how many people a band brings in) and everyone is expected to chip in with marketing efforts, handing out fliers and the like. Each $5 ticket comes with a program, so the crowd can figure out who's onstage. Doggass is militant about the start time for every set, and it expects everyone in a band to stay the whole show.
"If nobody else shows up — if it's just the bands and comedians there supporting each other — there's 25 people you're playing to," he says. "I think creating a music scene starts with the bands, the commitment to get there early and stay through the whole time. The other bands support you, you support them."
"It's the opposite game plan of every other promoter in town. They run off 500 fliers, and they sit at the door and take people's money," says DDB drummer Aaron Bland. "You know from us exactly when you play and what you'll get paid."
I'm not a promoter and I'm not in a band, but that sounds pretty good to me. Certainly, it's the most positive action I've seen from a band tackling the many problems with the local scene. (I can't attend a show without someone bending my ear about the scene's problems.) Too many people spend their time bitching about media coverage, making fun of the bands that do get covered, and publishing stupid 'zines to further fragment things. They complain yet don't attend shows where their friends' bands aren't playing, and they hardly ever venture beyond the same few venues. It's no wonder a city the size of Phoenix — a city with a lot of young and creative people — hasn't boosted more bands to the big time.
It's funny: I go to both Hollywood Alley and Modified Arts fairly often, but I hardly ever see the same people at both venues. Yet I see plenty of repeat customers at both. The naysayers are wrong: People in Phoenix care about local music; they just don't seem to care about local music outside their preferred niche, which is why they're left looking for a crowd. Maybe they'll find one this Friday at Last Exit.