Mach Schau!

 I’ve been looking for a drummer while starting a new band. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Wrong.

I talked to a drummer friend of mine. He knows the music; knows we can rock the hell out of it — but he passed. His reason?

“Good-paying gigs are disappearing.”

I told him that’s because a lot of bands simply aren’t worth paying. That’s not an insult — it’s reality. I’m not talking about musical ability. Some musicians are better than others; that’s life. There’s always someone better.

What most musicians - and non-musicians - don’t understand is what actually makes a good gig.

Let’s be honest. I’ve been doing this since 1979. I’ve played over six thousand shows in multiple countries on three continents. I’m pretty well qualified to say this:

It’s not the songs.

It’s not virtuosity.

It’s the show.

Why do people go out to see a band, a comedian, a play, a movie?

To be entertained. That’s it.

If your band isn’t getting gigs, ask yourself a simple question:

Why should anyone pay to see you?

People can hear the same songs you’re playing anywhere. Spotify. YouTube. A thousand cover bands. What’s different about your version? Usually…nothing.

Take The Beatles. They broke up fifty-six years ago and people still talk about them. Before the hits, before “Yeah Yeah Yeah,” they were a bar band in Germany playing other people’s songs to drunk crowds. They learned "mach schau" — put on a show.

I’ve heard the recordings from that era. They were good. Not legendary.

So, what made the difference?

They learned what every successful performer learns sooner or later:

The show comes first.

Not the music. Not the ego. The show.

That’s why “the show must go on” still matters. A performer doesn’t draw crowds - a reputation for delivering a great show does. And that takes work. You have to learn what works and what doesn’t. Too many musicians let ego do the driving.

I had an old friend - great singer, great musician - who sabotaged himself for years. He could bring the house down…then insisted on an eight-minute slow R&B version of “Let It Be.” In his mind, it was his moment. In reality, it cleared the room every time. He never learned.

I see that constantly.

A few years back, I went to see friends play. Technically solid - but painful. Disconnected song choices. Too many slow numbers. An unplugged Beatles set that finally chased everyone out. Long pauses between songs. Little audience interaction. False starts. Just uncomfortable.

They could play.

They just weren’t putting on a show.

So yes - people say good-paying gigs are disappearing. That’s not new. Most gigs pay about what they did forty years ago. Back then, I paid rent with music. Day jobs were for health insurance. Music came first.

When I moved to Pittsburgh in 1990, I planned to quit music. That didn’t happen. I rebuilt. New instrument, new reputation. I lucked into working with a singer I had undeniable chemistry with. We worked constantly, made decent money - and eventually oversaturated the area. No matter how entertaining you are, too much is too much. You have to diversify. New rooms. New towns. New crowds who don’t know you.

Sometimes that means walking into hostile territory.

I remember a gig at a redneck bar in the late ’80s. We were sporting leather jackets, big quiffs, ready to play loud rockabilly - and were met with instant hostility. Booing. “Play some country!”

So, we did.

Charlie Daniels; Hank Sr.; Beatles ("Act Naturally" & "Don't Pass Me By"); “Ghost Riders in the Sky”; Jerry Lee; Eddie Cochran. We talked to the crowd. I did my upright bass antics - sitting on it, lifting it, laying on it. We made it a show.

They booked us again. The pay was decent. That’s how it works.

Big cities mean more competition and less money. The pandemic wrecked live music. Some venues never came back. Others stayed open and hired anyone cheap. Those bands proved one thing: how little they’d work for. By the time things reopened, the damage was done.

I’d been playing with Hawkins again by then. Same twenty-five songs he’s done for thirty-plus years. Same order. Same keys. Blues standards beaten to death.

And yet - we made it work.

We twisted arrangements. Changed feels. Played off each other. The onstage banter became part of the act. The crowd joined in. They knew the bits. That’s not accidental - that’s craft.

Rule #1: keep the audience engaged.

Make them part of the show.

If you throw a curveball - a long cover, a deep cut - it has to make sense. A friend of mine in Australia put it perfectly:

“If you’re not singing, you better be playing. If you’re not playing, you better be talking to the audience.”

She’s right.

I time bands between songs. Ten seconds feels long. Thirty seconds feels eternal. Two minutes feels like death. Bands talk to each other, tune endlessly, ignore the room - and the room leaves.

Shit happens onstage. Strings break. Gear fails. Own it. Make it part of the show. Let the audience in on the joke. Fear and ego will kill you faster than a bad note.

A big DON’T:

 Don’t get wasted.

 No, it doesn’t make you play better.

I used to drink during gigs. I don’t anymore. One or two beers, max. My playing is infinitely better sober. I’ve watched musicians destroy gigs drink by drink, hit by hit. It’s ugly.

So, no - I don’t believe the money is gone. The easy money is gone. There’s a difference.

Do the work. Entertain the crowd. Build a reputation. My offers still come - local, overseas, halfway around the world.

If I can get this new band off the ground, who knows.

I just need to find a drummer first.