“How can they be paying us only £5 a gig?" I wailed. "What kind of a negotiation is that?”
I was joshing Tim Mack, the manager of the band I played in
(in the 1960s), the Idle Hands, who had landed us a regular gig at the premier venue
in London, the Marquee.
“If you want to try to get more, be my guest,” responded Tim.
So we trooped into the Marquee manager’s office.
“This is just slave labour,” I ranted. “We are good - and we
get paid loads more at other venues.”
“Look,” said the manager patiently, “there are a hundred
bands out there as good as yours, and any one of them would play here for
nothing. All you guys need to decide is this: do you want to play here or not?”
It was the day I learned for real how markets work.
We had a joyful reunion of the band on Tuesday, less dear
departed Tim.
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