Planning started early for FanimeCon 2007.
With Lori’s contact, we were in negotiations for ZZ’s return by the end of summer. The agency that the contact was representing was open to bundling more acts. Rumblings were that a big VK band, PENICILLIN, was on the table; their vocalist Hakuei and their guitarist Chisato were interested performing in their respective groups, but might perform together for an additional fee.
Getting a bunch of bands from one source started feeling like the irrational exuberance of 2006, but our contact was level-headed and a straight shooter. He wasn’t extremely communicative, but was solid. We were able to verify his terms as we negotiated, and things were looking solid.
Jason came to me with bad news, however.
“I’m so sorry, dude.” He called me from a meeting I had missed. “We were talking about the numbers and the demand and everything, and I had to make a decision. It will be for the best, I promise you - we will make this work, and it will save money, too.”
“... what’s going on?”
“We’re not going to use the Civic. It’s just too expensive.”
--
The Civic had been our showcase venue for a few years now. The Civic - as well as the convention center - are owned by the city of San Jose, but are administered by a group called Team San Jose. My understanding is that they are contracted with the city for maintaining the venues and booking events. There are only a handful of people running Team San Jose; they sub-contract with local labor for most of the work, like maintenance, security, logistics, stage hands, and so on. And since they are working the with city, the city naturally places restrictions on who can perform that labor. Thus, San Jose’s venues are mandated to be run by local union labor. It keeps revenue local and jobs safe. But it means outside labor can’t be employed - not even volunteer FanimeCon staff can work certain positions. That means higher costs. If we were Apple or Oracle or Microsoft running a convention, it wouldn’t be a problem. With our budget, labor was a huge drag.
The grand plan was to move operations out of the Civic - where there are labor and hour minimums - to a smaller venue inside the SJCC. A smaller venue would attract less attention from the unions and would require less labor anyway. We could save thousands. Since the Civic had only ever been half-full, it made sense. I hesitantly agreed with the plan. At the least, it was a blank slate.
That’s the story of how The J came to be. It only lasted that year, but it laid the groundwork for the dance, which has been held in the J for the last few years.
I spent a few weeks trying to figure out how to set up The J. It would need a stage, speakers, lighting, and sound equipment. There would be a large power requirement. We had to figure out a backstage. It was a mess, but we made do.
Ironically we didn’t save any money; the performance schedule tipped off the union and they mandated minimum staff and hour requirements. I think we ended up spending more than expected.
The J debacle was one of the better things that happened that year.
--
As we began to secure negotiations with our contact, things got weird. If I’m remembering correctly, we exchanged contracts for ZZ, Hakuei, and Chisato to make their appearances under machine and Crack6. We signed our copy, mailed it off with a large check to cover their expenses, and then made announcements ... before our contact signed his copy. He was upset, saying it would ruin things. It did: Hakuei canceled. Collaborations would not be happening. As it turned out, it wasn’t for reasons you would think.
Things got weirder. We discovered through a third party that ZZ would not be exclusive to FanimeCon. The contact had booked them for another con during the same weekend. We’d have them for a single day.
Then things got really weird. The contact stopped responding. Emails were not returned, phone calls went unanswered. We worried that no bands would even show up.
I consulted with Marie and Lori. What should we do? Did the guy die? We had his address - he was night’s drive down to SoCal. Should we go see him?
Let’s do it. Let’s knock on the guy’s door. He’ll either be dead - or we’d force him to wrap up on our terms.
We got the OK from the higher ups to cover food, gas, and a hotel for the night, and we got packing. It was time to see what was up. Lori, one of Lori's friends, Marie, and myself packed into a car and drove through the evening to SoCal. We blasted Japanese rock to get in the spirit and ate all the junk food we could. Lori shared a lot about her childhood, and I learned that she was quite a strong young woman - a fighter.
We drove on. We got there around 3am, surrounded by fog and silence. The contact lived in a complex so we drove around looking for his apartment. We hoped no one would call the cops on us. Approaching his door, we saw his light on. Lori called his cell - once, then twice, then texted him that we were here. No response, so we rang the doorbell.
I was half expecting him to come out with a gun. Instead, he saw Lori and remarked, “Oh, shit. You guys are crazy.”
“Hey! Just wanted to see how our favorite guy is doing!” Lori exclaimed. “We thought you were dead!”
He looked at us, wide eyed, and cautiously said, “Come in.”
His apartment was almost empty. There was alcohol and a rice cooker on the counter, an ashtray - a barren bachelor’s pad. He ushered us to his living room. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll be right out. One second.” He lit a cigarette and went to his room. He didn’t come out for a long time - maybe 30 minutes - and again, I was half expecting him to come out with a gun.
Instead, he came out and we sat and talked for a few hours. He assured us that everything was fine and that he’d get us all the information we needed. He smoked, we asked questions. We felt better. It was daybreak and we were exhausted, so we agreed to get our hotel, rest up a bit, then reconvene later in the morning. We slept hard that morning.
The next day, we went back to his apartment, refreshed and ready to finish things off. With the details done, we could move full steam ahead, and we were excited. Lori rang the doorbell frantically and shouted “GOOD MORNING!” when the contact answered the door. “Dude, quiet! I have company!” he said. “My bad!” We tiptoed to his living room and waited for him. It was odd that he had company over in the few hours we were gone. I understood when he coyly escorted a woman to the front door, then joined us.
He had called Japan and got most of the information we needed. We were ready to go, except for one question.
“What happened with Hakuei? Is he coming?” Lori asked.
“I’m working on it. We’ll talk about it. I’ll hold on to the money for now in case it comes through - so we can move quickly.”
We left and continued planning, feeling confident.
--
Around this time, whoever was running Tech had to take a temporary break from FanimeCon. It was a month or two prior to the event, which is the most critical time for Tech. That’s when all of the rentals need to be planned and ordered. Like a lot of my Fanime career, I got it done, not knowing anything about what I was doing. See, kids? You can do anything if you set your mind to it.
--
We filled out the lineup. Mari Iijima agreed to play. Japanese bands Karma Shenjing and Mechanical Panda came. Lori’s band played, and maybe Akai SKY too, and this weird but cool band from Santa Cruz, God of Shamisen. With ZZ and Crack 6 we had a pretty full weekend.
By this point, we had nearly everything we needed for ZZ and Crack 6. But our contact stopped talking again. He still had our cash for Hakuei, but there was no time to do anything about it. At that point, we just needed him to show up and be a handler - to help us with the show. We called, texted, emailed - nothing. We had a plane ticket arranged for him, so we checked the flight. Nothing.
He never did come to the show. From what I heard, the agency paid him a visit some months later. We never collected our money.
I had picked up a staffer, Val, the previous year and she turned out to be a golden staffer. She helped managed things and brought in a friend from Texas, Charles, to help translate. Charles was likewise amazing, though sadly, he could only help the one year. Without the contact, Mechanical Panda had no handler, so Charles stepped in and showed them a great time. Interesting guy. He had possibly the most Americanized Japanese accent I’ve heard ("Wah tah she wah Charles desu. Doh zoh yo row she koo.") but that dude was fluent as a native, just absolutely perfect. I wondered if the style was intentional. It would be pretty jarring to see a white dude from Texas speaking perfect Japanese in a perfect accent, so maybe he kept the American thing to keep from seeming uncanny. He moved to Japan a year or two later and has been working there since.
Back to the show. The convention came, along with another stomach flu. Little eating, little sleeping. By this time, I had a tactic: meal replacement drinks. I brought a few six-packs of Ensure this time and it helped.
ZZ came and played to a much smaller crowd in a much smaller venue. They were unsettled. The manager called Japan to inform the agency. Between this and our contact failing to appear, they steeled themselves for a disappointing show. Crack 6 got on their flight to the U.S. while ZZ left for the next con at some god-awful hour in the middle of the night. Things weren’t looking great.
Remember how I said guest acquisition wasn’t my forte? I was not very responsive to Mari Iijima. I had to reassure her twice that everything was fine and that she would have a good show. Then the day before her show, she was supposed to get on a plane to San Jose - and I still had not sent her flight and transportation information.
That morning, I called her, apologized profusely, and gave her all the details she needed. She wasn’t happy, but she hesitatingly gave me one more chance. “By the way, I sent you an email earlier this morning,” she explained, “but don’t open it up. Just delete it. Everything’s ok. I’ll be there.” Out of morbid curiosity, I checked - it was a scathing email wherein she canceled her appearance. Out of sheer dumb luck and earnestness, I avoided that catastrophe. When I ran into Rob Miles later that morning - he's a personal friend of Mari's - I explained the situation. "Wow, that's really rough. I'll talk to her, though. I've got your back." I still owe him for that favor.
She actually had a very successful show. A lot of people - some international - came to see her perform. A huge number turned up for her sales and autograph session. Reuben Langdon asked me to see if she would meet him for dinner. “Is he cute?” she joked. I took it literally: “I think so, and he’s very fit.” She gave me a funny look and smiled. “I was just joking. But sure, I have no plans.” As she left, she thanked me, gave me a CD, and we exchanged an awkward hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Not to gloss over things, but the rest of the bands were cool - I just barely remember the performances themselves. Karma Shenjing - a VK group - turned out to be men, of course. Lori’s band played Japanese music, and some Japanese people actually sang along. Mechanical Panda were cute, and rocked. God of Shamisen were amazingly talented - though, they played in fur suits. I still can’t remember if Akai SKY played.
Crack 6, our headliner, was a bit of a sad story. I had hoped to pack the house for them, but we only managed to get things about half full. All of the build-up was for a let-down.
I was sullen, and angry. I went to the bathrooms to be alone and cool off. I cried in frustration, and in anger, started beating the crap out of one of the stalls. All of the time spent listening to their songs; all of the time spent negotiating the deal; all of the time spent setting up the J; all of the time spent driving to and harassing the contact; all of the planning that was supposed to culminate in a grand performance, and in the end, it was - well, it was ok. I was heartbroken.
I composed myself and went to the backstage area. Chisato came offstage for the encore, and I was surprised to find he wasn’t sad or upset at all. He was happy, he was having fun, he was playing to an American crowd. “Do you like our soft rock style?” he asked, in English - I stared back and said, “What?? That’s not soft rock!” He laughed and bounded back onto the stage. (Later, in his blog, he claimed I replied “usotsuke!” - I like that version a little more.)
We tried to make the best of it. As the show was ending, I told the staff that we needed to have fun - we needed to get some food and drinks and hang out. When the band returned to their room, we plied them with cheap pizza and warm bottles of vodka and whiskey. The bassist commented: “This is a lot of liquor for a few people. I think they are trying to kill us.” We spent the night telling dirty and inappropriate jokes, and forgot about our ambitions.
Now here’s an insight. I’ve tried telling this to every band that has come, but it just hasn’t resonated. It’s simple: you aren’t really popular until you’ve got exposure. What this means is that you grow a following at a convention after you play the show, not before. In fact, the best time to get back in front of the crowd - doing autographs, shaking hands, selling merchandise - is right after the show.
I learned this because the next day, we had a good-sized crowd line up for autographs and merchandise. The turnout, though small, was evangelized. The band was happy. I was happy. The agency was feeling better.
The band was still having a fun time. We went to Stage Zero to promote the session. On the way from there to the autograph session, a man dressed only in a blue speedo and angel wings asked Chisato for a hug. I was mortified, but before I could do anything, Chisato gave the guy a hug. We walked away, and Chisato turned to his bandmates, smiling. “Crazy … crazy desu.” He laughed.
That wasn’t the only crazy in the crowd. Did you know that some Japanese have been banned from live shows for their behavior? Did you know that obsessed people will track where bands play, and follow them across an ocean? I hadn’t even thought about that scenario. But then the agency guys noticed a handful of women - not allowed to shows in Japan - here, in the U.S., in the front row for the show, at the front of the line for autographs. We were on edge. I hoped that no one would go crazy or turned violent. Luckily, the opposite happened: the group were so pleased to be able to see their band up-close that they sent gifts to the band and to our staff as well. I ate some of the mochi they gave us and did not die. Maybe those ladies were ok after all.
On the day before their departure, we talked about the deal with the agency. It turned out Hakuei and machine were never really on the table. The money requested had always been for the bands we’d already negotiated for. The contact had been telling half-truths.
Paying was a first for us. FanimeCon has been against paying guests for a number of reasons. For one, there is no utility in it; it doesn’t necessarily fix a problem or enable something to happen. That’s money that could be used for flights, hotels, promotion, and so on. Second is that, historically, appearance fees can make things worse. Cash does strange things to people. It is something that can be weighed and measured. If Con X can pay more than Con Y, what does that tell a guest? It can also turn conventions on their attendees. Want to see that guest? Want a photo? Want their autograph? Pay for it.
The agency, however, explained that it wasn’t an appearance fee, but was to pay for the services of a technician. They had, in fact, brought a technician. That made the situation more palatable. Still, due to the contact’s half-truths, the end result was not what either party had expected. Even though things had worked out, it was still Lose/lose. Sometimes, that’s just how it works.
--
Marie missed almost all of this, dealing with an odyssey of her own.
Back at the Fanime office, Fluffy was serviced and ready for battle. New toner. Plenty of paper. Warmed and ready. We had printed as much as possible ahead of time, but now that con was here, it was time for her true test. And Fluffy failed nearly immediately. She just wasn’t meant to print thousands of pages at a time. She would overheat, require downtime, then would cough back into life, churning a few hundred pages before overheating again.
All of the money that would have been budgeted for Kinko’s jobs was allocated to Fluffy. All of the eggs were in one basket, and that basket dropped. Marie had no options now.
Marie and her staff had to babysit the print runs through the night. It was extremely hard work - because it was so droll - and she sought relief midway through the convention. “Can we please buy a real printer? Please?” she begged. The higher-ups conferred and deliberated. I imagine they finally returned and solemnly set forth a proclamation. “Go to Fry’s. Get two laser printers, and no more. Use them only when needed, for Fluffy cent-per-page ratio is much lower. Now go forth, and print.”
By the time her work was done, con was essentially over. She had spent the weekend in the office, in a stuffy office full of xerox fumes, missing the highs and the lows. But the print jobs were completed, by god. She finally joined the masses in the convention center as things wound down.
--
As usual, we were exhausted. But we still had enough energy to play. This is when the convention gets really fun for us.
Facilities had full control over the convention center and no one was around. We grabbed the mobies - these little electric scooters like you might see at a supermarket - and raced from end to end. Senior staff, still overseeing load-out, were wandering the halls. We’d say hi and give hugs and exchange stories.
Will, his sister Sam, his girlfriend and facilities staff Ashley, myself, Marie, and a few others took over a room with speakers and a projector and watched movies and videos ten feet large. I fell asleep halfway through. Like the hug from Tomoko during ZZ’s first show, that night was something I can still feel, and I remember it fondly. That night, we forgot about our ambitions.
Those are the nights I miss the most. There were still more to occur, but in the coming years, the character of those nights changed. In 2008 the gravity of the situation became real. In 2008 I decided I wanted to chair.
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Topic: 12 Years in 2 Weeks (Read 24048 times)