Sell-to-Play

With songs like “Ginky” and “The Ska Song,” Issaquah-based band Off-Centered blare a raw, pop-punk mash that is surprisingly solid for a group mostly in their teens. The young guys in Off-Centered are still refining their songwriting and trying to find their footing, but one night last September, Off-Centered lived the rock ’n’ roll dream.

When bassist Pete Lacher arrived at Studio Seven in south Seattle, he was awed by the giant stage, massive speakers, and overpowering sound gear. “The show was incredible and the venue was awesome,” he says.

BigTime Entertainment, a regional promoter with about 40 employees, organized the gig for Off-Centered. Founded in 2004 by Salem, Oregon, natives Ryan Kintz and Dan Robertson, BigTime books all-ages shows almost weekly at clubs around the northwest, like El Corazón and Studio Seven. BigTime takes a major cut of ticket revenue and the money a band makes is determined by how many tickets they sell before the show. Purist musicians scoff at the arrangement—derisively calling it “pay-to-play.”

BigTime is technically not pay-to-play—a term officially meaning that a band pays a promoter for the opportunity to play at a live show, instead of getting paid for their performance. But here’s how BigTime Entertainment’s model works: BigTime sets up shows for a slate of aspiring bands by renting a venue for the night, typically slow nights like Tuesdays. The band then sells tickets for $7 to fans, friends, and family (the price of tickets varies show to show, but tickets can be as much as $10 at the door). According to BigTime’s website, bands get $1 per ticket for the first 34 tickets they sell; the rest of the money goes to BigTime. If the band sells between 35 and 49 tickets, the band gets $1.50 for each ticket. The scale bumps up to $2 per ticket for the band at 50 tickets sold, and $4 per ticket after 100 tickets are sold.

So, for example, selling 29 tickets—quite a crowd for up-and-comers on a weeknight—would bring in $174 for BigTime and $29 for the band. Similarly, 24 tickets would bring in $144 for BigTime and $24 for the band.

Traditionally, pay-to-play was just a training-wheels deal between novice bands and clubs, but companies like BigTime have stepped in as a middleman—actively seeking out new bands by trolling MySpace band pages and sending out enticing offers for gigs at choice joints like El Corazón or Studio Seven, and, according to those who’ve been courted by BigTime, feigning interest in cultivating the band. The e-mails they send to bands vary, but one, for example, excitedly concludes: “Looking forward to working with you on a regular basis!”

Off-Centered walked away from their gig at Studio Seven psyched about the night. They made $40, and they also got a professional recording of the show that they put up on their MySpace page. Indeed, members of Off-Centered have nothing but praise for BigTime. They played a BigTime show in October and are playing another show arranged by the company at El Corazón on Wednesday, January 24.

“They’ve been a great tool and huge help in our band getting our music out to a larger crowd and to kids who otherwise may have never known our band existed,” says Off-Centered’s guitarist, David Osborne.

Some local clubs seem to like the deal too. “I work with them because they take slow nights, and they pay their bills,” says El Corazón owner/booking agent Dana Sims.

BigTime draws wide—and often harsh—criticism from many Northwest bands. Although BigTime’s business practice is legal, some bands go as far as calling it a “scam.”

The Detoxicants, a punk band from Seattle, played four shows with BigTime during the first part of last year. That was until the band “figured out what it was all about,” says the Detoxicants’ singer, Arjun Narayan.

“We really wanted to play shows and get exposure so we were willing to go any route,” says Narayan. “We didn’t know how to book shows and [BigTime] seemed like the easiest option. It seemed good on paper.”

BigTime became more consumed with making money than promoting music, Narayan says, and the shows stopped being fun.

Rock-blues band Right Left Grand, a band from Portland, wrote on their band’s blog that BigTime was “the least professional, most uncoordinated, and greedy promo outfit” they had ever heard of. According to their blog, the band wasn’t let into the venue when they arrived as instructed, and the sound guy didn’t know he was the sound guy.

Then there’s BigTime RipOff, a website sponsored by the Tacoma band Girl Trouble. There, drummer Bon Von Wheelie repeatedly calls BigTime a “scam” (although BigTime isn’t doing anything that’s illegal). BigTime RipOff also has its own MySpace page, which allegedly once got a message from BigTime, offering a show and complimenting the nonexisting music. Wheelie rants online about BigTime’s model of bands headlining a show based on ticket sales: “There’s no preset lineup of bands per show. So if a band desperately wants that top spot all they have to do is buy up the tickets themselves.”

As Narayan summarizes, “It’s not an atmosphere that creates support for all-ages shows.”

BigTime founder Kintz says, “We’re not pay to play at all. We never charge bands money. At a traditional pay to play, a band buys a block of tickets, or if they don’t sell enough tickets they have to pay. In no case does a band ever owe us money. If a band disagrees with what we do, they should play other shows.”

“They’re definitely not a priority promoter for us,” says El Corazón booker Sims. “But, it’s no slam on BigTime; I don’t want to be slagging them off. They are a client of mine. On the business side, they’ve never been squirrelly at settlement; they’ve never not paid their bills. Even if you don’t agree with their business practices, they’re not seedy and dishonest in any manner.”

“None of us are pay-to-play venues and none of us would ever want to be,” continues Sims. “But if someone comes to you and says, ‘I guarantee I’ll draw at least 150 people to your venue, I’m going to pay rent, and you might have a decent bar,’ then let’s face it—local bands aren’t lining up to play on Tuesday nights. Economically it makes sense. I am not a supporter of pay-to-play; I’m a supporter of keeping the lights on in my building so that all the kids in town have a place to see quality all-ages shows. The way I look at it, if it’s a concept that you’re not in agreement with, then you don’t have to do it.”

Neither Neumo’s nor the Crocodile had heard of BigTime, and though he was aware of them, the Funhouse’s Brian Foss says he wouldn’t use that type of agency. “I can sort of understand when you have a bigger room to fill and more overheard expenses, but I think the [majority of] money should always go to the band,” says Foss.

Hannah Levin contributed to this story.