We’ve all heard, “Pay for Performance.” It’s a catch-all phrase for those who crush it to get additional pay in a business environment. It makes sense and works as a motivator in many situations.
It would be intriguing to take the concept one-step further though, and see if we can coin the line, “Pay for a Performer.” My wife and I batted this around last week after returning from a stand-up routine from social observer David Sedaris.
I had read some of his books, and found them entertaining. I got my wife to join me for a night out on the town to hear his wry observations on life, which turned out (to us) not to be very wry. Instead, we thought much of what he read fell flat.
The audience seemed to feel otherwise. They were prepped and ready to laugh raucously. It seemed they knew the punch lines and prepared the canned laughter before-hand, erupting repeatedly at just the right moment, while we shook our heads, glanced at each other and shrugged our shoulders, wondering what was so funny.
Sedaris was okay. He was mildly amusing. But he was not worth the price of admission. That was (and is) the rub when you make a financial commitment to attend an event like this. Someone gets famous, so they command a high price of admission for tickets. You, as the consumer, have to decide, “Is he worth it?”
Since we don’t go out much, and the event was being held at Bass Hall in downtown Ft. Worth, a neat venue, we decided a night out on the town was appropriate, despite the $77 price for one ticket. Part of the fun is looking at other people, how they are dressed, carry themselves and interact with their fellow attendees.
Ultimately though, to determine if you invested wisely, it depends on how you felt about the performance afterwards. We agreed the price of admission was worth about $10 per ticket, about twice the price of a high school basketball game. Some of that fee should go to Bass Hall for the nice facility, and the other portion to Sedaris.
Short of watching a YouTube clip of Sedaris beforehand, quizzing others who attended one of his performances or reading previous reviews, there’s no sure way to get a strong feel for whether you will like him (or any other person who gets up on stage, for that matter). We apply for crap shoot status when we order tickets.
Because of that, and the general exorbitant price of tickets to go see “name” performers, a large majority of people stay home and watch TV or read a book instead. “Not gonna pay to see that guy.”
We relate to that mindset. After seeing Sedaris live, we relate to it even more.
There is a solution. It reminds me of a political rally I attended in 1984 in a Milwaukee church. The backers of the candidate passed the hat afterwards. I think that concept should be used for big-time bands, comedians, authors, and the like.
Pay them a nominal fee to show up, including food, lodging, transportation. Then, how they perform determines how much people will donate to the hat. Put them on notice.
So many of the rest of us in the world live by this principle – we get paid for what we accomplish. Let’s apply it to those who seek our hard-earned dough by entertaining us.
When the hat is full, the announcer can give the number. “Thank you for attending tonight. Mr. Sedaris earned $1,100 from your donations. You all gave an average of five dollars.” Sounds about right.
It would be intriguing to take the concept one-step further though, and see if we can coin the line, “Pay for a Performer.” My wife and I batted this around last week after returning from a stand-up routine from social observer David Sedaris.
I had read some of his books, and found them entertaining. I got my wife to join me for a night out on the town to hear his wry observations on life, which turned out (to us) not to be very wry. Instead, we thought much of what he read fell flat.
The audience seemed to feel otherwise. They were prepped and ready to laugh raucously. It seemed they knew the punch lines and prepared the canned laughter before-hand, erupting repeatedly at just the right moment, while we shook our heads, glanced at each other and shrugged our shoulders, wondering what was so funny.
Sedaris was okay. He was mildly amusing. But he was not worth the price of admission. That was (and is) the rub when you make a financial commitment to attend an event like this. Someone gets famous, so they command a high price of admission for tickets. You, as the consumer, have to decide, “Is he worth it?”
Since we don’t go out much, and the event was being held at Bass Hall in downtown Ft. Worth, a neat venue, we decided a night out on the town was appropriate, despite the $77 price for one ticket. Part of the fun is looking at other people, how they are dressed, carry themselves and interact with their fellow attendees.
Ultimately though, to determine if you invested wisely, it depends on how you felt about the performance afterwards. We agreed the price of admission was worth about $10 per ticket, about twice the price of a high school basketball game. Some of that fee should go to Bass Hall for the nice facility, and the other portion to Sedaris.
Short of watching a YouTube clip of Sedaris beforehand, quizzing others who attended one of his performances or reading previous reviews, there’s no sure way to get a strong feel for whether you will like him (or any other person who gets up on stage, for that matter). We apply for crap shoot status when we order tickets.
Because of that, and the general exorbitant price of tickets to go see “name” performers, a large majority of people stay home and watch TV or read a book instead. “Not gonna pay to see that guy.”
We relate to that mindset. After seeing Sedaris live, we relate to it even more.
There is a solution. It reminds me of a political rally I attended in 1984 in a Milwaukee church. The backers of the candidate passed the hat afterwards. I think that concept should be used for big-time bands, comedians, authors, and the like.
Pay them a nominal fee to show up, including food, lodging, transportation. Then, how they perform determines how much people will donate to the hat. Put them on notice.
So many of the rest of us in the world live by this principle – we get paid for what we accomplish. Let’s apply it to those who seek our hard-earned dough by entertaining us.
When the hat is full, the announcer can give the number. “Thank you for attending tonight. Mr. Sedaris earned $1,100 from your donations. You all gave an average of five dollars.” Sounds about right.