In this case, the Man is Mayor Greg Nickels. On February 8, a beaming Nickels--with music activist/club booker/promoter extraordinaire Dave Meinert standing stage-side--unveiled an unprecedented study quantifying the local music industry ($650 million in yearly revenues, employing nearly 9,000 people). Nickels has added music promotion to the city's agenda and pledged to make the city more hospitable to the music industry.
True to form, punkers flinched. "Can a punk rocker honestly say they see a role for government in their music community," Tablet music writer Dan Halligan posited during a recent e-mail discussion. "I don't see the music scene being truly independent if you are relying on the government."
Halligan's impulse is understandable. The Stranger sounded a similar alarm back in February 2000. Noting the city's lousy habit of stifling the local music scene, we editorialized that relying on government to set up a rock club was a typical bureaucratic oxymoron. But the club did open. It's called Vera, and it's an important and popular venue for the underage crowd.
However, another more crippling oxymoron for the music scene is when disaffected rockers claim to support a city's music scene while actually ignoring the city's political machinery--machinery that, through noise ordinances, festival permits, parking regulations, fire codes, and policing, can silence or amp what's already happening in the clubs, performance spaces, and studios around town.
In the same e-mail exchange where concerned punks like Halligan warned against "selling out," Meinert--perhaps the single most important activist when it came to deep-sixing the Teen Dance Ordinance (TDO) and Mark Sidran's poster ban--explained why he's glad to work with the Man. Referencing his behind-the-scenes council lobbying to kill the TDO, Meinert wrote, "Jan Drago, a very pro-business politician, was one of our last hopes. I met with her, explaining how the Teen Dance Ordinance was bad for business, and that bands were all small businesses, as are clubs. A light went on in Jan's head. The [repeal] ended up passing because... Jan voted for it."
By getting organized and active, musicians can make sure municipal regulations work for, rather than against, them. "When talking about police, we want to be sure they don't harass hiphop clubs; when talking about fire regulations, we want the regulations to make sense for music venues," says Meinart. "[We want] better tour-bus parking, a sensible noise ordinance, or lower fees for festival permits."
So, how do unshaven guitar shredders and retro T-shirt turntablists become a political force? Easy. Here are some basics on making shit happen at city hall.
Know Your Allies. Unflagging civil rights advocate Nick Licata and anti-TDO, pro-Vera stalwart Richard Conlin are the city politicians who care most about your issues. And they're accessible! Licata's smart aide Newell Aldrich (386-9011, Newell.Aldrich@seattle.gov) is a serious Clash fan, and he's invaluable for getting music issues on the city's agenda and helping sharpen your political strategy. In Conlin's office, the go-to gal is steadfast Vera supporter Elaine Ko (684-8618, Elaine.Ko@seattle.gov). Stephanie Pure, in Peter Steinbrueck's office, is another rocker-friendly face at city hall (684-8572, Stephanie.Pure@seattle.gov).
Know Your Issue. Identify your cause--say, combatting Clear Channel--and have a specific demand. Knowing exactly what you want and how to talk about it will help folks like Licata and Conlin stand up for you in council chambers.
Organize, Coordinate, and Pounce. Lucky for you, the music community is networking-friendly with potential supporters. Nothing works better, and nothing helps the likes of Licata and Conlin better, than an e-mail barrage to council members coordinated with TV news hits and articles in the papers. Unless you've rounded up people who agree with you and are willing to pull off media-friendly stunts, you're wasting your time.
