Hermitude’s first show is at Studio 2: a small venue forged out of an old recording studio off one of Liverpool’s numerous cobblestoned streets. Their slot is at 12.30am and Money for Rope, a rock band from Melbourne belts out an entertaining set beforehand. When Hermitude start the dance floor is empty and the projector can’t be mounted anywhere functional so the visuals appear in a warped rectangle stretching up to the ceiling. Within moments a flood of people enter the venue and pretty soon the dancefloor is full, and no Aussie accents to be heard. Earlier that day some industry figures had discussed the cul de sac of foreign bands playing to expats in London (he made special mention of Australians and Indians) and how it made for a viable tour but actually hindered rather than progressed an international career.
As a manager I don’t oversell my artists but I’m not certain that’s the right way to go. I’ve sat in meetings in New York with flashy lawyers and fast talking middlemen whose eyes jump from mine to their computer screen, then to their phone. All the while fingers tapping the table swiping their phone on and off, laughing at their screen, looking back at me. Listening intently, not listening. I’m just some guy from a country who joins in on their wars and plays weird sports but this is New York Fucking City. I walked out onto busy Manhattan sidewalks laughing to myself, neither offended nor keen to work with them. It is what it is. There’s an infectious nervous energy to it all, like their lives depend on not only the deals but the status that comes with it. The reality is they do big deals with huge artists and so much of our pop cultural understanding stems from the wheeling and dealing of these individuals. Now, months later, I’m in the UK and the way industry people carry themselves is different but the competitive energy is much the same.
“So Hermitude won the American Music Prize did they Tom?”
The second show Hermitude play at Liverpool Sound City is the Aussie BBQ and Sounds Australia do a brilliant job in giving acts a platform where they otherwise may be lost in the crowd. They do a lot with a little, generating a sense of ‘something happening’ and forging a personality for Australian music amidst the cacophony of international bands and industry. There are 10 bands performing here today and they casually load on and off around their 25 minute performances. Money For Rope are playing again and the 200 odd people at the Moon Museum (normally known as Parr St Car Park) dig it. Dune Rats‘ shambolic banter covers bongs and lads on tour but it doesn’t quite mask the fact they’re clearly a switched on band. Kid Mac follows to a very appreciative response although the tits out for the boys chant at the end missed the mark a bit. No tits were shared.
Hermitude kill it, of course.
At an official “networking session” earlier that day I stare at my non-networking brain in the face. I love a good conversation about music and industry issues but the blind date aspect of this kind of work doesn’t come naturally. There’s a guy sitting beside me reeling off all of his different industry interests, it happens to include writing a music biz course for Harvard. I think this is when I was staring at myself in the brain. Jeremy Stones, manager of Delta Riggs runs through a crapload of sync activity for his band and impresses the whole table. I start to think I should’ve elaborated on “my name is Tim Levinson and I manage Hermitude” when it was my turn earlier. I look around at the many people I don’t know and smile before heading out to put some posters up around the streets.
No one seems to poster here and I haven’t been pulled up for it. I keep waiting for some kind of violently heavy handed response from cops or over-zealous citizen as it’d at least explain the lack of posters.
After the Aussie BBQ we drank the tequila and consumed the Mexican with Mama Kin and her band including Bree Van Reyk who I was lucky enough to tour with last year. Tomorrow we catch a bus back to London.