Nightlife
Ever dreamt of working as an in-house programmer at your favourite club? Bookers at fabric, E1 and Soup Kitchen reveal what it takes to make it in the industry. Just don't expect to get much sleep...
When you’ve placed yourself at the very front of a DJ booth, sweat streaming from your face after five consecutive hours of dancing, you’re probably not sparing a thought for the person who organised the whole thing. You know, the one who’s stood on the outskirts, nervously assessing the crowd and desperately hoping that everyone is having a good time. After all, being a club booker is a relatively thankless job, as any and all applause is saved for the DJ, not for the person who’s worked hard – and spent the cash – to host them.
Go behind the scenes of London club fabric in new podcast series AAA
But what – for some – might be the least enviable job in music, it’s also one of the most competitive. Thousands of people across the UK spend their weekends picking DJs up from airports and checking them into hotels, flyering outside clubs at 4am, even trawling supermarket aisles for artist riders. But, with so many people vying for the golden opportunity, how do you become an in-house booking agent?
Try and try again
“It requires a lot of talking, learning, failing, trying again... It's a rollercoaster,” says Riccardo Viozzi, looking back over his years as a booking agent. Viozzi began hosting small festivals and squat parties in his home city of Bologna with a collective known as BUM, AKA the Bologna Underground Movement. He began hosting drum'n'bass and dubstep DJs when the trend demanded it, but over time he diversified, eventually creating his own label with Lil'Pitch Records.
But his aspirations quickly outgrew his home city, so around 10 years ago he moved to London and immediately got stuck into anything he could. “I've done everything from flyering outside shows to writing press releases, to asking for availabilities for the venues – literally anything they would throw at me,” says Viozzi. “I was trying to learn as much as possible.”
Play the long game
Today, Viozzi is a lead booker at London venue E1 alongside Gianpaolo Fiore. He got to that point like many others do – through hard work and hundreds of late nights. Along the way, he’s succeeded, failed, made money, lost money, and has probably done irreversible damage to his hearing. “In this industry you need to be strong, and you need to understand that it's very competitive, which is not always the nicest,” says Viozzi. That’s all part of the job, you could say. But when things get a little too much, Viozzi offers a piece of advice that has stuck with him through the years.
It requires a lot of talking, learning, failing, trying again... It's a rollercoaster
“You need to think about the long term plan, not when things aren’t going right in the short term,” says Viozzi. “Everyone has their best shows, but everyone books bad shows too, and you can focus on that so much you forget what you're doing right. It's good to keep a balance: don't get too excited when things are going well, but don't get too negative when you feel that something is not going quite right. It took me a lot of time to realise that.”
Ultimately, says Viozzi, don’t beat yourself up if your party doesn’t work out. That’s easier said than done, though, especially when you're down a few thousand pounds after a particularly disappointing night. But rest assured, that even the biggest party starters have bad days.
Experience helps you ride the tide of change
Take fabric for example, who throughout its existence has overcome the threat of administration and the closure of the club. Still, it isn't immune to problems and industry shifts, says Judy Griffith who has been booking fabric’s Saturday nights for almost 20 years. Her colleague, Andy Blackett, has been there for 10.
In the beginning, says Griffith, the club’s ethos was largely shaped by the collective music tastes of the fabric staff. “Luckily, nearly two thousand people every night believed in that,” she says. But now, booking agents can’t rely on a solid record collection alone. "To me, club culture is longer sets, it's DJs digging into record boxes, it's people having their own sound," says Blackett. “But now, you can have one or two records and be thrust into the limelight really quickly.”
“Our culture and the way people consume things has changed, it's become more than just our personal tastes now,” adds Griffith. “So the only way you can consume it, take it in and learn is by going out. In order to keep it fresh, that's what you need to do.”
Nurture up-and-coming talent
One key change both Griffith and Blackett point to is how clubbers consume music in 2019. Soundcloud, YouTube and the influx of independent local radio stations mean that the club is far from the only source of new music. In that, even establishments like fabric can’t rely on their status to sell tickets. “The new generation have always had clubs, and [to them] we can be seen as just another venue,” explains Blackett. “So you have to keep trying to be on top of things to stay relevant.”
Tale of Us take over fabric Room One
© Khris Cowley for Here & Now
fabric's Judy Griffith with Andrew Weatherall
© Fabric
Fabric
© Sarah Ginn
For a series of events celebrating 20 years in the game, fabric welcomed Jamie Jones, Ricardo Villalobos, Maceo Plex and Hessle Audio to name a few. A dream line-up to some, but not everyone was happy with its line-up choices. "I remember reading a comment online saying 'oh, you're just going for the big hitters'," says Blackett. “But these people have been playing for us for 10 years-plus. They've been with us since the beginning, and every single person has had a long history with us."
Criticism, or even pretentiousness, is perhaps to be expected. After all, to some, Jamie Jones and his likes represent an all too polished and marketable form of dance music that’s at odds with the broad notion of ‘the underground’. But what many people may not be entirely aware of is how these names earned their stripes at fabric, playing early sets in room three or to a dedicated handful of dancers on quiet nights. “Clubs are important because it's the clubs that nurture and build talent,” says Griffith. “Without them, you wouldn’t have festivals because there would be no-one to build them.”
Diversity is key
It’s an obvious fact that without small venues, clubbing would be a pursuit for the wealthy. As recently reported by Mixmag, increasing DJ fees are becoming stifling for grassroots promoters who rely on selling shows for £5 a ticket. One of those places is Manchester’s Soup Kitchen, one of the city’s most cherished basement rave spots, which has weathered the challenges by being proudly diverse in its programming. At Soup Kitchen, techno fodder comes in the form of Meandyou, Swing Ting peddle low-end heavy dancehall and the self-described “Afrocentric, global dancefloor sounds” of Banana Hill are given a platform each month.
Clubs are important because it's the clubs that nurture and build talent
“In a fairly small city, with a high concentration of people who are actively trying to promote parties, it’s important to give people a chance, take risks as a venue and be open to new ideas,” says James Henderson, booking manager for Soup Kitchen. “It's important that you're presenting opportunities and safe spaces to people of different backgrounds and identities, and to be mindful of representation.”
Murlo is a staple of Swing Ting's parties at Soup Kitchen
© Preston is my Paris
Swing Ting have held a residency at Soup Kitchen since 2011
© Louis Reynolds
The beloved basement club is one of Manchester's finest
© Balraj Samrai Photography
Soup Kitchen has existed in Manchester’s Northern Quarter since 2010, but today, the city is changing at warp speed. New money is coming in, shiny glass facades are increasingly dominating the skyline and new builds offering luxury apartments have popped up in areas that were considered shady just a few years ago. Amidst this backdrop, Manchester’s nightlife is changing.
“It's definitely a turbulent time to be promoting and doing bookings in Manchester,” believes Henderson. “The demographic of people who come to the bars and surrounding businesses has changed dramatically. Not to say it's disheartening or to gripe about those people, but trying to convince the uninitiated who aren't necessarily into nuanced pockets of dance music to pay £5 to see [Hyperdub artist] Nazar on a Saturday night sometimes feels like an uphill battle.”
Don't forget why you started
Uphill battle or not, Henderson believes there’s still more to be done, despite the challenges. “I feel like there are still things that I want to say and people that I want to see play in Manchester,” he says. “I see what I do as a part of the lineage of what’s happened in the city before me, and I want people to get the feeling of enjoying partying in Manchester in the same way that I did when I first moved here.”
Ultimately, that’s why booking agents continue to put up with, well, everything they put up with. It’s for the love, nothing more, nothing less. “For me,” begins Viozzi. “When you walk into a 1,800 capacity club full of ravers, the feeling of joy you experience hasn't changed from the very first party I did in Bologna.”