I found this draft essay & I don't know why I didn't publish it back in 2016. It's an interesting read after I just got back from Edinburgh after doing Full Moon Cabaret there. I forgot that Full Moon Cabaret partly came out of my first sweet-but-sour experience at Edinburgh.
-------
“I’m asexual,” she announced, “Maybe you saw that on my profile. I’m actually XXY. I’ve got an extra chromosome.”
I looked up at Xena and realized this really might be true. When she first opened the door, I did think that either she’s a transsexual or a large and oddly proportioned woman. Not that this bothered me. What did bother me was her kitchen. It was beyond disgusting. A shopping trolley was parked in the middle of it with some random junk. The sink was surrounded by plates crusted up with dried pellets and streaks that must have once been food. There wasn't a sponge or any soap in sight. And Xena had just cooked something up in that kitchen that I was supposed to eat.
The food wasn’t too bad if you didn’t know where it had come from. I examined the pasta on my plate. Some kind of tortellini that was a bit overcooked but still edible. I dutifully chewed and swallowed, as Xena asked questions about burlesque. Being asexual, she couldn’t understand it. Later, she played the ukulele, somehow turning the instrument into a mini blues guitar with percussive slaps and thumps. I still don’t understand how someone who plays music like she does can be asexual. Music is sex.
This was my fourth night in Edinburgh and Xena was my couchsurfing host. For the first three nights, I had paid for an airbnb room that was quite nice but it was a 20-minute bus ride from the center of the city. This would be okay if you were a tourist, but I was performing at midnight and night buses only came once every half an hour. I was relieved to drag my luggage down a steep winding street off the Royal Mile to the invisible square where Xena’s flat was located. Putting up with her questionable housekeeping was a small price to pay for being a 10-minute walk from everything.
I was in Edinburgh for the last five days of the Fringe, during which time I did seven performances for three different Free Fringe cabarets. Two other cabarets had booked me but their venues cancelled on them. Apparently, this had not really happened in previous Fringes, but at this one, three different venues cancelled all the cabarets that had been booked. Roxy Stardust was the one who originally booked me but her show got cancelled after three performances at Malone’s. Similarly, Bar Bados cancelled all their cabaret shows and so did Chalky’s. The Secret Circus was at Chalky’s but they valiantly went ahead and found two other venues to perform at.
Thank heavens, because the Secret Circus was the only show where I made any money. They were also the smallest show I performed for and the average split between 7 or 8 performers amounted to £4. Possibly because their audience was still looking for them at Chalky’s.
My other two shows were at the Voodoo Rooms, which is one of the top cabaret venues at the Fringe. It was a gorgeous place, with rooms poshed out in gilded moulding and dripping chandeliers. I was expecting a little more of a split from these shows and was shocked to discover that they did not share the money they collected.
All the cabarets I did were part of the Free Fringe, which means the producers don’t pay for the venue and the show is free to the public. After the show, someone stands at the door with a wine bucket collecting donations. I naïvely assumed that the money in that bucket would be split with all the performers. But it seems that at most of the shows, the dough is split between the tech person and host, who also books the events. The performers just get exposure. Which always makes me think of a friend who quips, “You know, you can die from exposure.”
According to a cabaret friend who has done several Fringes, the policy is that if you're promoting a show you don't get any money, but if you're just performing, you'd get a split. Well, that isn’t what’s happening. Of the three shows I did, only one split the bucket. I spoke to one gal who did six shows and five of them did not split the bucket. The poor thing was working her tush off running between shows that didn't pay her. Even worse is that these shows aren’t all that up front about expecting people to perform for free. I wasn’t the only one who hung around after a show waiting for a bucket split that never happened.
This doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve been producing shows since I was 17 years old and I’m the poorest person I know. But I’ve always paid people some small amount: $25, $50, $100, whatever I had. Sometimes the payment came late when I was waiting on a donation, but everyone always got something. At very least, it’s a gesture of respect. Yes, yes, the MC has a harder job than the performers, and as producers, they have the booking and promotion to handle, which isn't easy. But then they should work out a bigger split. Even if they take half the box and share the rest with the performers, that would be way more fair than not sharing at all. It shocks me that these hosts don't feel like utter shits for not giving performers a dime. After all, without the performers, they wouldn’t have a show. And I am certain that the audience expects that their money will be shared between everyone.
I’m also surprised that more performers aren’t up in arms over this. I suppose they must be new and worried that they won't get bookings if they speak up. But we all shelled out for our own flights and our own rooms. The very least would’ve been to get a bit of money that would pay for drinks and food. I had to get an advance on a writing project to stay afloat in Edinburgh.
So the Fringe was a mixed experience that left a bit of a sour taste. I departed from Xena’s wishing that I had had more money to buy her some cleaning implements to give her sink and bathtub a nice scrub. And I was rather depressed for several days, questioning why I was in burlesque. I don’t think I’ll go back to the Fringe unless I am invited for a top cabaret that is ticketed. Or for a theater production that is of my own making.
On the other hand, I did meet some producers who said they would book me if I ever made it to London. And after thinking about it, I’ve decided that if I have problems with the way burlesque is produced, then I should do it the right way myself. So I’ve started to work on a monthly variety show. And maybe I will go back to Edinburgh. With this new show. Which gives all the performers a piece of the pie that they helped make.
My advice to other burlesque dancers who are thinking of going to Edinburgh is to stay in a central location (free if possible) and ask about payment before accepting a booking. And as for all the hosts who aren't sharing the dough, seriously, is there some way for you to adequately compensate yourself without exploiting others? Yeah, it’s a hard way to make an easy living. But we're in it together. It shouldn’t be a hard way to make a hard living for others.
No comments:
Post a Comment