Burlesque as a Business

Alternatease, Boston's Annual Neo-Burlesque Festival just wrapped for the weekend, and what a weekend it was. I love getting the chance to celebrate neo-burlesque with like-minded performers, and ALL of them brought the weird. There were too many good ones to name, but the ones that stuck out the most for me were Cherie Nuit's fanny-pack-ridden travelogue strip, Bustee Keaton's Ayn Rand masterpiece, and the Lipstick Criminals, who won Top Banana with their finger-light mega-art extravagance.

Alternatease Ta Ta's Competition - Photo by Hans Wedland

It all got me thinking about what goes into the production aspect of burlesque. For a weekend festival to have gone so smoothly, so many things had to go just so. There was precision in the way that it was handled, and I wanted to discuss the inner workings of production in the burlesque world with one of my own burlesque idols, Jane Doe. Not only is Jane Doe one of the three producers on the team responsible for making Alternatease happen for three years running, but she's one of the fiercest, most committed performers I've ever met across any discipline.

Jane Doe - Photo by Roger Gordy

Dale Stones - "So what makes a good producer? What are your unconditional beliefs or guarantees?"

Jane Doe - "Communication (clear and frequent, but not excessive) – I think it’s important to let the people you book know what’s going on, when they’re expected to be where, that they know about anything that’s different than usual, etc. But you also don’t want them to have to read a different book-length email every day. Bullet points are your friend. Be available and responsible. Make sure your cast and crew have your phone number AND your email so they can get you if they need you.

Flexibility – Shit can and will go wrong. Ticket sales may suck. People will get sick, props will change, acts that you didn’t think would be messy end up trashing the stage. Just try and roll with it. Once it’s done, all you can do is figure out how to move forward.

Honesty – Everything works better if everyone is honest. Across the board.

Kindness & manners – Full disclosure: rudeness is my pet peeve. Manners are free, and kindness goes a loooong way. Your cast, crew, and audience are everything. They should feel welcome, and wanted, and special. If you have all the hallmarks of a good producer but you’re an asshole, no one is going to want to work with you.

DS - "And what do you feel are your responsibilities versus those of the contracted performers, and the venue?"

JD - "You should be the point of contact with the venue. It’s one thing to ask the performers for help with logistical/tech-related questions on their acts (obviously they know their own work the best), but if you’re getting pushback on something, you should be the one dealing with that, and communicating anything necessary to the performer yourself."

DS - "Could you go into detail about a situation where your terms weren't honored, what happened, and what you learned from that?"

JD - "I was booked for a private party at a local night club, and had in fact given up another paying gig on the same night. After confirming multiple times both in person and via email, I found out during a casual conversation with another performer that they were cancelling the burlesque portion of the evening. I texted the booker directly to ask him what was going on, since he hadn’t even contacted me, and I absolutely would’ve just showed up at my agreed-upon and confirmed call time. He responded with what essentially amounted to “Oops. Things have changed.”

Even though we had confirmed multiple times via email, I realized after the fact that we had never put the rate in writing. As a result, I didn’t have many options in the way of recourse, and ended up just losing money on the evening. So now, if I don’t know a producer, I’m super adamant about making sure that I have absolutely everything in writing."

DS - "All good stuff! Thank you."

JD - "Thanks Dale!"

Jane Doe, front right, organizing outings like a boss.

I didn't have time to cover every topic with Jane Doe, as she was in elbows-deep making sure Alternatease went off without a hitch.

I did want to discuss the issue of money specifically (in the production circuit specifically, not including festivals), as it is one that often times gets glossed over when discussing the details of an upcoming show or production involving artists. On the producer's side, the reasons could range from initial costs which exceed expectation to personal financial instability, to even lack of confidence in being able to market a show to a large enough crowd, just to list a couple of examples. I think it's important to take a stand on a few key topics about money in performance, and here are mine;

I believe that every contract performer I pay should be given a guarantee. Often, a performer has to gauge his or her willingness to perform in your show based on their own budget. If someone has to incur more expenses than the producer is willing to compensate for, the performer suffers if they decide to book the gig. If the performer you want to book has a close budget, this often means losing you that performer for your show. Add to that, if you're counting on a well-known performer being a highlight in your lineup, not offering a confident guarantee means that those performer's fans might not decide to attend, losing you money.

On top of that, giving a confident guarantee means that you're now motivated to make sure your show does well. The thing that makes credit so menacing is that you're expected to pay it back. Investing in producing a good show is no exception, and people give you a good show when they know their efforts are being valued--and confidence in who you're booking makes all the difference.

I won't keep secrets about what I pay people. If people know what you're paying and you keep your rates and promises consistent, people will treat you as a professional. If nobody knows when or even IF you're paying them, they'll be hesitant to work with you in the future, or even trust you. Plus, I used to work in the restaurant business. People talk to each other about what they make all the time. So you don't want to seem dodgy for paying two people doing the same job wildly different rates. Or, if you do--you'd better be able to justify why.

You should also be able to document what you pay people and when, because getting a full-arm ham-fisting from Uncle Sam may be a great burlesque act concept, but it's a sobering problem off-stage; you don't want to be unable to prove that you paid people or that you didn't earn income from performing and producing ever in your life. The IRS doesn't like that.

*Actual footage of an IRS audit.

Going back 5 years, I wish I'd been more organized and up-to-date on my tax stuff, because the amount I've had to pay in penalties and previous-years' taxes has cost me thousands upon thousands of dollars. And I'm not sure I'm even done paying yet. That shit sucks.

I will pay more than the guarantee if the show does well, never less. I was speaking to a musician friend of mine recently, and he told me the story of how he showed up to a gig, played a 3-hour set, and was given a check for less than half of what was agreed upon. When that happens after you've been given a guarantee, you know you're dealing with a criminal with no remorse.

The fact is, the performer's options in this unfortunate scenario are limited. With written agreements, you can sue for the amount, but the time and resources involved in legal recourse may not be worth the effort. I've known people who will openly trash the booking agent's reputation on social media or warn other performers about working with that person, but the only real outcome is that someone gets screwed.

But if ticket sales happen to do really well? Share some extra wealth with your performers so that they feel rewarded for the amount of hard work and promoting they did. Cirque of the Dead was a great example of this in action, and I was very gracious that the Boston Circus Guild decided to do this. Consequently, I absolutely want to perform for them at the next Cirque.

If my show does poorly, too bad; I will pay what I promised. My show? My risk.

More money will convince you to do photo ops like this one.

While different people have different ideas of how to run their own shows, I believe transparency is the one thing every producer should have. In a performance community where word travels especially quickly, one can't be too careful about what they promise to people they work with. Above all, that reputation will precede you, and people will hear about what went well--doubly so for what went poorly.

Above all, I think Jane Doe had it perfectly when she said "manners are free, and kindness goes a long way." Respect is everything, and I do respect her a great deal. And I understand that kindness and manners are not on everybody's list. I think these are the people we should look out for, and warn each other against.

...and also this creepy character.

The worst burlesque act I've ever done

While I always try to be positive about what I write, I thought it would be interesting to single out the worst burlesque act I ever did as a way to reflect. I wanted to write down everything I learned, and to remind myself about some basic fundamentals of act-writing all of which I completely overlooked that one embarrassing time. Then, I figure I can glance it over while I'm in the creative process the next time I'm wrestling with writer's block, and re-learn how to not suck. Seriously, it was a bad frigging act.

The gist of it was that I had created this Russian soldier who I think was supposed to be guarding the border of Siberia. I had a full, long coat, and one of those fuzzy Russian hats, and really just had a ton of gimmicks that I carried out, all while set to some up-tempo techno song pulled straight out of the discount bin that someone else picked out for me. I think what happened was I just executed a long list of offensive stereotypes in costume, and while I had plenty of enthusiasm behind the individual movements within, the act overall made everyone pointlessly uncomfortable.

I'm on the right. That is indeed shame on my face.

The act ended up getting cut out of the last two nights of a four-night engagement, and looking back, I'm truly glad that happened. In the act, I pantomimed heavy drinking as a way to propel the story along, I played Russian Roulette in my underwear, and finished the act getting caught with my pants down (literally) as invading forces ruined my moment of vulnerability while alarms and gunshots went off in the background. Because I didn't really have any sort of previous inspiration for creating this monstrosity, I took any and every idea offered and cobbled all of them together into a performance which really didn't feel polished or rehearsed. And I think I was going for funny when none of it was.

That, and a litany of other mistakes.

1 - I relied heavily on props and gimmicks.
As an early burlesquer, I learned that creating an act required there to be a reason for getting naked. This is not necessarily a requirement, as removing the reason creates a different kind of act, known as a "straight strip." Since my only other solo act until that point had been me in a sandwich board collecting signatures, I was determined to do something comedic and theatrical, but all I kept thinking was "what other items can I introduce to fill in the time?" This was a huge pitfall, as it would have been a much better act if I had simply allowed myself to do a sexy, simple, striptease.

2 - I let other people decide key parts of the routine.
I needed help creating this act, and I reached out to anyone who would help me. While not normally a bad thing to ask for help, I was entirely uninspired--I would have been better off declining to perform than to put up something I didn't feel was my own. A fellow performer picked out my song, a woman I was dating chose the theme, and suggestions about my costume came from all over. Since other performers are inspired by different things, there's no way of telling whether or not someone else could have taken this kind of act in a better direction. I'm betting anybody else could have, as I didn't even have the confidence to sell it.

3 - I didn't workshop it effectively, and I didn't allow it to be critiqued.
I ran the act for a few people, and they mostly reported confusion. This was certainly a red flag, and they had told me to omit a handful of things which didn't make sense. I cut out the part where I took a shoe off and banged it on the ground angrily at nobody in particular, and a segment featuring me doing I-don't-remember-what to a set of nesting dolls. I'm actually glad I cut those bits out, because the rest of the stuff I didn't do (such as pick a better song, cut over-utilized dance moves, and remember that it was supposed to be a striptease), and it was kind of like cutting moldy pieces off of a fruit that really should have been thrown out.

Seriously, I would have made better use of my stage time if I had just repeatedly punched myself in the face for 4 1/2 minutes.

...or had someone else do it.

But I'm glad I did the act. If it weren't for me hearing the reluctant applause, the feedback from the producers, and the decision to ultimately cut the act from the rest of the run, I wouldn't have gone back to the drawing board with such determination. I decided later that week that I needed to make an honest decision--I needed to figure out if burlesque was something I really wanted to continue with.

At the end of it, I decided that I was going to keep performing--but under a few conditions. First of all, I wanted to create acts that were truly mine, scenes that I could be inspired by. Secondly, I wanted to cut out anything superfluous that didn't fit with the acts I wanted to create. Last, I wanted to make sure I rehearsed as much as I could reasonably rehearse, and in front of a variety of fellow performers for the critiques they could offer me.

Also, I decided that I never wanted to get on a stage impaired.

No matter how spectacular the bender turns out.

Looking back through my first year of performance in burlesque, I realized that I had been coasting. I was passively making the decision to get on stage, and although it still scared the hell out of me each time, I had discarded that feeling time and time again because I was too uncertain of myself to have the courage to embrace it.

At a show the Sirs and I had done with Rogue Burlesque three or four years back, the adrenaline I had was cancelling out the alcohol I'd been drinking. So I drank past the point I should have. I got on stage for the finale, an although I believe it went well overall, I went straight to blackout when the show was over. I don't remember anything past being on stage, and a group viewing of the film the week after the show was pretty embarrassing. My fellow performers were nervously telling me in a half-serious tone that I needed to not be drinking when performing, and I knew they were right. So I never did again.

I took myself through the creative process from the pen-and-paper stage all the way to the nervous jitters before the next show, all the while following through on my new method. I brought that new solo act to the stage, one which allowed me to pay strict attention to the fundamentals of striptease. I kept it painfully simple, focused on what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. That act was called "Dapper Dale," and as of today, it's the most requested act in my repertoire.

"Dapper Dale"

When I debuted that act, I met another performer in the crowd who I hadn't had the chance to meet before. Belle Guns told me that was the first male burlesque straight strip she'd ever seen, and that she absolutely loved how sexy and dignified it was. She and I are still friends, and I look up to her as a performer and as a fellow blogger--I credit her and The Rambling Onesie as the biggest influence for me creating my own burlesque blog. I think you should check it out.

The big takeaway from all this for me was that I needed to experience the failure of what I created in order to eventually realize what it was I wanted from burlesque performance. I wanted to figure out what worked and what didn't and why. I still see myself as being on that journey, and I feel like I'm only getting better at creating enjoyable content for the people that buy tickets and support this crazy dream.

I've also learned to feel great about hearing critiques. You definitely don't get better without people telling you what just ain't working, and I'm very thankful for that.

Belle Guns and I.