Arts in the Recession: The Cult of Amateur Radio

Emails of excitement pulsed out of Phonic FM HQ when The Times published a full length feature on the home station of The Blah Blah Blah Show. In truth, such mainstream recognition barely registered a ripple. The regulars on the Phonic message board were preoccupied by missing keys, faulty equipment, the challenge of staying financially afloat and all else that goes with running a 24-7 radio station on a shoestring.

Maybe I'm on the broadsheet fringe of the roster of presenters - many of whom would have only taken their headphones off to check a mention in Kerrang, Mixmag or some other specialist music or technology glossy - but I read it with interest, not least because it fits well with my current series of articles on trends in the arts during a recession, my theory being that lack of subsidy from the exchequer may be a blessing rather than a curse when it comes to cultural regeneration.

Which isn't to say that Phonic FM is run grant-free and we're very grateful for all those who back us. But it is a station run by enthusiasts, not employees, on a not-for-profit basis, has aspirations to become a company run by the community for its community, and in that way fits my grassroots thesis. Commercial radio is beholden to its advertisers to maintain the largest possible audience, while BBC radio has to constantly reaffirm its raison d'etre by demonstrating mass appeal. Listen to most stations on your dial most times of the day and you'll soon begin to wonder if it doesn't all sound a bit samey the presenters are slick but scripted, their music choices defined by a playlist, the playlist determined by committees of producers who in claiming to forecast popular taste are in fact defining it.

Phonic FM presenters work to a very different rulebook. They receive no pay or payola, have no budget or expenses, do what they do only because they like doing it and hope that others like what they do too. There is a steering group that considers pitches by would-be presenters and does its bit towards quality assurance by listening in and providing feedback but it is hardly intrusive in its methods or working to a grand design. Our audience is known only so much as they make themselves known to us, interacting via email, on the phone or via sites such as this. I could pick out my favourite shows, but yours would be different, best located by tuning in: some are name checked in The Times article, others on the station's Wikipedia entry, all on the Phonic FM schedule. All tastes are catered for except those tastes already catered for by our mainstream alternatives, which isn't to say that you won't hear the popular sounds of now, they'll just be mixed in with sonic curios from all eras and genres with the occasional programme such as ours majoring on spoken word rather than promoting its particular musical manifesto.

DAB radio was meant to widen the dial to British listeners. Although I regularly tune in to some digital-only stations, the choice available is still restricted to 60 or so channels, akin to the range available on Freeview TV. The American model of a subscription based satellite service offers more variety - the US market has always been more niche driven, every town having a station dedicated to country, most one grooving on rap and R&B - but at a price to the listener. In Sirius XM, a merger of previous providers, it now also has a monopoly supplier. Community radio has a different ethos. It reminds me most of the glory days of pirate radio - not the 1960s boat-based channels such as Radio Caroline, as ground-breaking as they were, dragging British broadcasting and its monopoly corporation into the modern era - but the nineteen-eighties when technology became cheap enough to fall into the hands of inspired amateur enthusiasts and a station could be run out of a suitcase from a squat or bedsit. Tune into Phonic FM, relax with your favourite relaxant, and you could almost be back there back then...

Arts in the Recession: Pub Theatre

I'm not going to pretend to my more metropolitan readers that pub theatre is a new phenomenon. In the capital, theatre spaces began to establish a permanent presence above the downstairs bar in the early seventies. But then alcohol has always been part of the theatre going experience: the south bank in Shakespeare's day was alive with beer swilling, whore chasing, bone chewing gamblers and thieves who chose between Hamlet and bear baiting as forms of popular entertainment, while music hall was a riot of gin drinking that began in saloon bars in the early Victorian era.

But what I have noticed in recent times is the new variant of pop-up pub theatre: a company takes over an upstairs - or downstairs - room for a month - or a week or a day - and puts on a play or two before moving on. Theatre professionals may sneer at the idea - they have their subsidised venues to protect - but whatever these productionslack in extravagance, they make up for with intimacy.

I know you have an image of amateur dramatics fixed in your head. Let me try and disabuse you of that notion. These days, we have more trained actors and allied professions than we know what to do with. The academies churn out far more media professionals than the media can ever use. Many of these creative types will spend a year or two eking out a living on the fringe before surrendering to a more lucrative career. Even then, most will want to keep their hand in in their spare time. Of those that make it, some will retain a romantic yearning for their days travelling from small stage to small stage in a transit van.

Let's take the Partcular Theatre Company's recent production of Forsaken at Exeter's Hour Glass Inn as an example. The Hour Glass has long used its cellar room as a place of entertainment. During the last World Cup, it became a sports bar for those who hate sports bars. On Sunday afternoons it has served as both a secret cinema and party venue. During peak periods, it reverts to the kind of restaurant that might be a harem canteen. But in September it became a fifty seat theatre not for one but eighteen performances of an original piece of theatre.

What is more, if the evening of my visit was any indication, it was a sell out - for an unknown company putting on a new piece of writing at a venue with no theatre history. That demonstrates an appetite for endeavours of this kind in our more bohemian provincial towns, but what were the secret ingredients of this particular recipe? Theatre audiences eat and drink: they like to meet first to catch-up socially then hand-out afterwards to discuss what they've just experienced. The Hour Glass encouraged these traits by putting on plates of pre-theatre food at a time that didn't interfere with it's always-busy restaurant. The producers helped out by laying on bite-sized performances at 6pm and 10pm - poetry, stand-up, sketches, music. These were free-to-all, but encouraged ticket holders to turn-up early and stay on late. They gave locals and regulars something not to moan about. And the performers could try out material on a willing audience without the pressure of a paying crowd,

The production team did a good job on the publicity, with distinctive posters up all over town and local press and radio backing the venture. But otherwise they didn't pander to the lowest common denominator. The company specialise in new writing and this piece by Helen Davis took on the unlikely prospect of a nun falling in love with a gay man, managed to avoid the potential for farce and prompted those in the stalls to question their own paths through life, so close were they to the characters doing the same on stage. The setting had a cave-like ambience that could contain a simple set design and create some of the magic of theatre. All of those involved had both professional training and experience and no one left disappointed.

Which isn't to say the truly amateur doesn't have its place. Earlier in the year, a local troupe took over the upstairs room of the Globe Inn in Newtown and put on an evening of Pinter and Beckett. Neither were great, but neither were bad either, and those two playwrights have plenty of badness potential. I predict that over the next few years, not all of our large-scale arts will survive pressures on public funding. As punters, we'll be less willing to pay big ticket prices, more interested in cultural soirées that combine a show of some kind with the opportunity to drink and chat with friends. And if we look back on the history of most art forms, it is out of those small scale scenes that most new work has emerged, away from the spotlight where it has a chance to grow without the need to do big box office, just make enough to get by.

Arts in the Recession: Creating a Scene

Times are hard and the public purse is empty. Arts organisations that have previously relied on subsidy to stay afloat might find they have to throw away their water wings and swim for their lives. We on The Blah Blah Blah Show are planning to do our bit by publicising much of what's happening on the local scene and the best of the great beyond. But when I was searching for inspiration for the first of my series on arts in the recession, I didn't have to look far - across the Phonic desk, in fact, to my co-host.

I didn't see her at first. While I survey distant lands, Rachel McCarthy is, shall we say, more grounded. But in under a year of activity, she's made quite a bang on the local poetry scene and now she's getting national recognition, the Poetry Society recently naming Exeter's Stanza the most active group nationwide. How has she done it and what can others learn from her example?

It's not that Exeter was doing badly when she arrived. My first introduction to the world of poetry activists was at a small press festival in the Phoenix Arts Centre in the early nineties when magazine editors and publishers gathered together from all over the country, swapped their publications and even sold a few items to wandering poets or unsuspecting members of the public. We have the monthly Uncut series at the Phoenix's Black Box that combines guest poet and open mic and - in various incarnations - has been going for a couple of decades now. The Language Club in Plymouth runs to a similar format, and a carload or two often makes the trip between Devon's two cities. The Wondermentalist performance poetry cabaret was born in Totnes but now holds regular events in Exeter. Tall Lighthouse still hold occasional readings in the Picturehouse while Andy Brown's creative writing MA at the university means we get regular visiting writers of international repute. The Poetry School holds regular courses and workshops at various Exeter venues while several huddles of poets meet at each other's houses to share their work and wine. Exeter is also the home of Shearsman Books, one of our country's most innovative poetry publishers, with an international reputation and list. And poets got to Phonic FM before us - check out Waves With Words every Wednesday morning and hear their interview with Rachel on youtube.

But there was room for a little one, and some of us began to notice a fresh face among the us ageing hacks, offering her card and hustling for email addresses. Now this was unusual behaviour for a poet. We generally like to serve an apprenticeship before daring to open our mouths, let alone taking on the organiser role. But email and the internet has given us new opportunities to gather together like minds - setup a website and mailing list and you're away. They haven't replaced the leaflet and poster, but they've probably had more impact. And while the press and radio - especially alternative local community radio, of course - have their place, it's targetting the likely suspects that has most impact, that and word-of-mouth.

Of course, you have to have something worth marketing, otherwise you'll just get added to spam lists, soon forgotten. Excite got going with a launch event featuring Greta Stoddart reading from 'Salvation Jane', then shortlisted for the Costa Prize. Choosing the Devon and Exeter Institution as a venue didn't just add credibility to the enterprise, it has real atmosphere, its walls lined with leather bound volumes, its armchairs - and some of their occupants - stuffed with horsehair.

There are three things we don't talk about on The Blah Blah Blah Show - politics, religion and money. So I don't know all the secrets of the Excite treasury. But Rachel is a canny northerner - and former bookie - so I'm prepared to take a few bets. If you offer a performer a set fee, you've got to be prepared to make a loss. Now losing grant money is one thing, but shelling out from your own pocket is quite another. So if you offer a performer a cut of the takings, the risk is split with the added bonus that they are encouraged to promote the event, not just you. Given Rachel has put on a series of more-or-less monthly readings, I'm guessing the percentage approach is one she's adopted. While we're on finances, you've got to get the ticket price right for the night, in the fiver to tenner range depending on the box office appeal of your guest. The good ones will sell a few books to boost their earnings. Open mic is a blessing and a curse - think open audition for the poetry X factor - but probably a necessity for all but the best known main readers - they don't just turn-up, they even pay and often bring a friend or two. Besides, it's how even well known performers cut their teeth and sometimes try out new material.

I'm all for added incentives. Wine, for example. If there's no bar, certain poetry lovers will reconvene at the nearest pub, their devotion to alcohol even greater than their love of the spoken and written word. Certain venues have their own alcohol facilities, of course. Speak to them nicely and they might agree to give you a room for nothing on the understanding your punters will be theirs. Poets and poetry fans are heavy drinkers, that's what you need to tell them. And being other-worldly sorts, none of them drive. But for unlicensed venues, you'll have to provide the booze with the ticket price, a donations jar placed accusingly nearby. And truth is, for every wino there's a couple of water drinkers and all those two-for-the-price-of-one offers on cheap plonk help while they're still legal.

Rachel has been especially innovative when it comes to matching venues to events. That weather girl cheek has got her a long way. If one of her friends has a space big enough for an audience, she's probably filled it by now, and if she's not asked you yet, she'll be calling soon. Whether she crosses their palms with silver, I've no idea, but shops and galleries depend on footfall and getting known so why not offer to get a crowd through their door in return for a rent-free room. The Paragon Gallery has hosted both readings and workshop nights. Her partner in crime Piran Bishop has been persuaded to open up his studio in the recent team-up with Overstep Books. And she's held regular open mike nights at Otto Retro - everything is on sale including the chairs you sit on, and the glasses your drink is served in - the most recent being a Liv Torc book launch reviewed elsewhere on this blog.

The Excite brand is already branching out. Blogs have their place, and Rachel is a blogger in her own right. Its first poetry competition was recently won by David E. Butler. And then there's The Blah Blah Blah Show, of course, the first radio arts magazine to be presented by a one host under five years old and the other under five foot tall...