It’s been dawning on me how much has changed since I started running warehouse shows, and just how long I’ve been doing it.
In 2011 at Occupy Sydney, I met a guy in a skeleton hoodie called Stef who sang songs to me on an nylon string acoustic guitar as we slept in swags in Martin Place – songs about revolution and climbing mountains. He and I quickly became mates, he played music at my wedding to Annie the following year, and before long he’d moved into a warehouse in Chalder St Marrickville and they named it Spaceport One.
Stef had filmed one of our film clips for my band Spectacles, and he’d suggested that we play a gig at his warehouse where they’d built a stage. I’d been playing in pubs and clubs with Spectacles and various bands since about 2008, and to play a show in a warehouse was a deadset revelation. You can create a vibe within the space which doesn’t compare to a place like a pub – you can decorate it, change the lights and hang out after the show in a way you simply can’t at a place that has a closing time.
For one show at Spaceport One we replaced the fluorescent tubes with UV tubes and spread shredded paper on the floor – paper snow fights were breaking out on the dance floor.
From then on I was hooked, and I also started to get connected to the broader warehouse community, and realised the fragility of these spaces. Many of these places that were operating when I started have been shut down or placed under enormous pressure by the various powers that be.
Running a night is an act of trust, and word of mouth is key, and due to the underground nature of these shows, there’s a delicate balacing act of getting the word out, but only to a crowd who understand what these nights and these spaces are about. Email lists, text messages, and relatively low-key use of social media, where the address of the venue isn’t public.
Mingled with the wildness and freedom within the walls of a warehouse is a sober recognition that shit going south can spell disaster for not just an evening, but an entire space where genuine culture thrives.
Some of my personal rules when spreading the word about a show are not to spend a cent on sponsored posts, as I don’t trust algorithms, and I don’t want to feed the evil beast of social media empires who seem dedicated to promoting isolation – creating disconnected, depressed humans is in their interest, meaning we’ll spend more time on screen.
In the more than a decade I’ve been doing this, I’ve attended and hosted phenomenal nights of music, seen unbelievable bands and artists make magic in a space they can truly make their own. My criteria for booking acts has always been simple: if I’ve seen them live and they’ve blown me away, they’re getting on a bill at some point. That’s as true for the acts at Smokin’ Soul as ever.
It’s now 2023. Sydney’s live music culture has suffered more than a decade of lockout laws, overzealous authorities and corrupt bureaucrats, to say nothing of the pandemic lockdowns. Spaces have been shut down with depressing regularity, social media has become ever more dystopian.
And yet each time I organise a show with a crew the weariness of swimming against the tide falls away, and I’m energised by the purpose of doing this – to make space for genuine art, culture and community. I’m proud to put a full night of bands and DJs together, to make it affordable and sustainable, especially when snacks are provided, and still actually pay the acts decent coin.
I’m thankful for the crew supporting these shows – Annie aka Mama Smoke, the amazing Dan Kilp on sound, all the bands and DJs who are killers, and to Polos and the Soul Shack crew collaborating on this one. It takes a whole community to make actual culture, so hats off to everyone who contributes in big ways and small.
If you’ve made it to the end of this very long yarn, cheers! I’ll be writing more about warehouse shows in general and this one specifically in the coming days and weeks.