The poutine wasn’t great, but the company was
by Cameryn Moore
Last week I talked about the haters on tour, and how much that hurts sometimes. This week I just wanted to let you know that I AM NOT A DELICATE FUCKING FLOWER. Also, I may have given you another wrong impression, because it’s not all, or even mostly, an uphill struggle out there. No. Sometimes it goes like this…
A couple of weeks ago I did a set at a comedic storytelling show in London, ON, which I had gotten into by dropping a Facebook note to Jayson Mcdonald, whom I had met in the BC fringes last year. Before the show, I ran into Jeff Culbert, who collaborated with me for a talent show piece at the 2011 Vancouver Fringe. And then on the line-up were Chris Gibbs, who bought me at least three ciders last year in Calgary; and Mikaela Dyke, who at one time had offered to tech my show this year in Winnipeg. (I got into an official venue, so didn’t end up needing her services, but still.) Before, during, and after this event, I met one Fringe director, two Slutwalk London organizers who wanted to bring me to town next year, and one performer and producer of stuff in Toronto, who was determined to come see my show the following week.
All that was just one night in a small city off my usual tour route, where I had never been before. We went to a sponsoring bar afterward. The poutine wasn’t great, but the company was.
It’s almost accidental, the community that spreads from festival to festival, and if you’re not paying attention you might miss it, or discount it. My first year I was almost too stressed out to catch it. I had leaned heavily on my friend circles in Boston to launch my first solo show, and felt lost when I left those circles, a little out of my league as I loaded up the Deerinator and drove north and then west.
But you can’t stay lost out on the Fringe. There’s always someone in the current city going on to the next Fringe, or at least the one after that. I’ll see you there, see you in Ottawa, in Calgary, in Victoria, are you going that far? It’s glorious. I don’t think I can adequately convey the rush of relief of seeing someone I know in a strange town strolling down the street toward me the day before Fringe opens, both of us grinning like idiots as we try to get a hug in around the bags of fresh posters and unwieldy postcards.
Oh! I’ve heard great things about you!
We buy drinks, share fries, lend some packing tape, exchange passwords. And if they see your show and like it, the community spreads, it spreads ahead of you, a slow insistent push of energy and goodwill that somehow finds its way there and surprises you the first time you flyer a city where you’ve never been and someone says, Oh! I’ve heard great things about you!
I thank Facebook for part of this. Some people bitch about social media, how it’s time-consuming and pointless and “why don’t you get out there and live life instead of posting about it”, but you know what? A) I already do, and B) when my life depends on resources and support and friends spread all over the map, then Facebook isn’t a waste of time, it’s a fucking necessity. They’re all out there: fellow Fringe artists, friends of Fringe artists, Fringe artists who I haven’t yet shared a festival with but everyone else is like, “oh my god, you totally need to meet X”, audience members who become friends on the Fringe, audience members who finally remember to look me up two months later, friends of audience members who see my silly comments on someone’s wall and friend me.
I go to a party in a town where I know 10 people, and by the end of the party suddenly I know 20.
And then the net effects start to pile up. Call for a homestay. Call for a venue. Who knows a good print shop or a mechanic or a sushi place? Oh, look someone’s got a show that I’d like to get in on. Hey, I know people in that town, and a Fringe person is doing a show there, I should let them know. Hey, you’re in X town? I’m going to be there, too! And I go to a party in a town where I know 10 people, and by the end of the party suddenly I know 20.
I won’t deny there is networking in here. Some of this stuff is totally hardheaded business: finding gigs, getting to know producers, laying foundations with fans, winning over venue owners by the power of advance good word. I need that, oh, lord, do I need that.
But there is definitely community. It’s weird and fluid, changing from year to year as some people decide not to tour again, and other people pop up on the radar. But it’s always there. And when I find myself sitting in the King’s Head in Winnipeg, say, in the middle of July, it’ll be there right when I need it. Someone will scoot over to make room for me to sit, which is great because I’ve been on my feet for seven hours already, and someone else has a plate of appetizers that’s open for the picking, which is great because owing to one thing or another I haven’t eaten since 10:30 this morning. And we are tired of the haters, we need the lovers, we are all looking for a kind word, or a laugh, or applause about our sold-out show, or some well-placed obscenity about a bad review. None of that is on the menu here. But right here is where we can get it.
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