For every hit single, you'll happen across a few album tracks. This post is sort of one of those, if you pretend for a minute that the rest are hits. As we'll be streaming some of our 2018 Stan Bush concert footage this week, it would feel silly to distract from that with anything else. So here's another short story from concert day, 2018.
(Before I go on, I must give a big shout out to Raymond T who has kindly agreed to us using his footage. Hero)
Knowing how many people you can fit into a concert hall is one thing, but knowing how quickly you can safely move them in and out is quite another - that would become pretty much the largest issue of the year.
We finalised TFN 2018's guest plans at a meeting held in September 2017. By December 2017, the plans had changed entirely and we were starting again. A scheduling conflict for (somebody you'll hopefully see sometime soon) left a huge hole in our plans. Completely by fluke, Stan also replied to a speculative email around the same time. We often speak to guests a few years in advance and the intention had been to begin that process here. With a little energon and a lot of luck, a "hey, would you ever be interested?" conversation quickly turned into "so, how's August sound?"
(Check out some of Stan's incredible work here: https://amzn.to/2V8l76B or if you've not heard it yet, check out "The 80s" here https://amzn.to/2zSD2XA)
This provided us with a unique problem. On the one hand, we already had some plans for our Clubcon event which we didn't want to abandon. On the other, we knew a concert would take up a substantial amount of time. Clearly, it was an either/or decision. But those are boring, so we set up an elaborate plan to do both. The plan would see us running Clubcon (which, if you've not been before, is a large, seated, evening entertainment segment) pretty much as normal. We would then usher attendees out and clear away hundreds and hundreds of seats, before letting people back in for the standing concert, some fifty minutes later.
The venue was, understandably, a little concerned about the fifty-minute turnaround, which was the absolute minimum amount of time necessary for a room that size. The problem comes not from moving the chairs, which don't get me wrong, is a problem - but from everything else. Every minute it takes for an attendee to leave is another minute you have to wait before the turnaround can begin. Then there was everything else - you can't actually move a chair until you've carried out a floor inspection. A used crisp packet may seem innocent enough but could have a glass behind it. Times that by the best part of a thousand chairs, and you begin to understand why the hotel asked an entire team of porters to work late. It was a big job.
With the combined efforts of the porters (who are fantastic) and our volunteers (who are also amazing), I had estimated the move could be done in about thirty minutes. And by estimated, I mean calculated, because I am a nerd who does things with stopwatches. That said, I'm also the kind of nerd who, through numerous accumulated convention injuries, was barely even mobile that weekend. So who even knows what help I was going to be.
A big shout out has to go to our attendees. We explained the turnaround plans and asked them to leave quickly but safely and they did just that. Without that level of assistance, plans could have gone very differently.
As the first chairs started to be moved, something came up. I was needed in an office with a particular piece of paper, which was in my bedroom. My bedroom was on the top floor of the hotel and we'd literally just sent hundreds of people out to go and get changed for the evening. There was no chance I'd be able to wait for the lift and get back down in time to help. In fact, there was no chance I'd be done in good time at all, unless I ran.
To put "me running" into context, I had been struggling to walk that weekend, for health reasons I may or may not explain in a future blog. Even standing was painful, so I'd spent most of the weekend sitting and laying underneath the stage, tightening the odd bolt whilst Mr Ruck did the brunt of the construction work. So the idea of me running anywhere, let alone upstairs, would have been idiotic.
Fortunately, dear readers, I am the idiot the situation required, so, run I did. Badly. Lop-sidedly. All the way to reception, up to the fifth floor and then back down again with my piece of paper. I managed to do my funny run and mini-meeting within fifteen horrifically painful minutes (told you I time things).
So, imagine my dismay when I near collapsed through the doors of the Kings Suite to find it looking like this;
FIFTEEN MINUTES. Not a chair in sight. A tremendous effort by everyone. Including me, albeit in completely the wrong place and ultimately, for no reason.
Sometimes, things happen at conventions.
- B
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