We played a show on Thursday at a bar in Georgetown (Seattle) called The Mix. We were placed last after a 3-piece jazz fusion band called “Bustin Jieber”, and a 4-piece southern rock band from Santa Cruz, called “Birdhouse”. By the time we played, the only people there were the bands, the bartender, the booker and someone who referred to himself as “Momma”. (a 6’5″, 350lb man, with purple tights, Peter-Pan slipper shoes, a red vest and beret, a light pink ladies nightgown with teddy bears on it and, to top it all off, a tan carpet bag/man purse with mauve roses printed on it… who yelled as we launched into “Love”, “Play somethin pretty for Momma!”)
When we were finished, the booker looked to be in shock that we were any good, and was clearly embarrassed as he handed us our hard-earned $5.
“I wish I could pay you 300x’s this amount. I would love for you to come back. I have some bands that I think you will be great with. I am really impressed with you guys.” Like this was the first time he had actually listened to us!
It is seriously this kind of behavior that baffles me. I watch my husband struggle to put together a beautiful website with music samples, photos, videos, band posters, band member bios, schedule, and pretty much everything you could want to know or hear if you were trying to figure out how to book Champagne Sunday. For a booker to be surprised at the talent or genre/style of Champagne Sunday makes no sense to me, when it’s all spelled out for a person.
Maybe there’s still some confusion with the band name. I mean, when you Google search Champagne Sunday, you still can find advertisements for the famous champagne brunch on the Queen Mary. Perhaps we should give in and start selling mimosas instead of cd’s at our gigs…