Did The Intern Show Up? Vol. 5: The Bands

Bands, bands, bands. Before working here, what I knew about bands was roughly this – that they wrote and played music, that they put out albums, that they toured, that they ended up on my iPod if I liked them well enough. All of that is still true, of course, but I’ve come to realize a couple of other things as well. Namely, that bands are made up of people, and people…people are interesting. I don’t have to tell you that, though. You’ve read this column before (RIGHT?). You’ve heard the stories.

As for the bands…there are a lot of different kinds of bands. There are bands that show up early to load in and soundcheck. There are bands that don’t show up until ten minutes before their set is due to start and have to use someone else’s line-checked equipment. There are bands who wander around the downstairs area of the bar alone or only amongst themselves. There are bands who hang out in the green room upstairs. There are bands who want you to hang out upstairs with them. There are bands who could care less that you exist as long as you settle with them at the end of the night. There are bands who know what they’re doing on tour and who are grateful that we know what we’re doing on our end to help them out. There are bands who have never been on tour before and either look terrified or act like idiots, sometimes both. There are bands who will pack the bar unexpectedly. There are bands who think they’ll pack the bar and end up playing to ten people, five of whom were on the guest list. There are bands who don’t understand how a door deal works. There are bands who complain about getting a door deal until they see how much they’re actually making. There are local bands who are always, always late. There are touring bands who forget equipment or bring too much of it.
Basically, there are bands. I could keep going with this list for another couple of paragraphs, but you would get bored reading it and I’d get bored with repeating the same sentence structure over and over again, so I’m going to spare the both of us. Chances are I won’t (and don’t) remember all of the members of all of the bands that come through KFN. That would be pretty impossible, actually. I’ll remember the Italian frontman of the Rolling Stones tribute band named Crazyfish, though. I’ll remember the soft-spoken singer of Woven Bones who so genuinely cared if people enjoyed the show. I’ll remember the guys from Animal Tropical, with whom I’ve honestly had the most fun in the green room ever.
Because like I said, bands are made up of people. And people have the power to surprise you, or infuriate you, or make you laugh, or help you remember how much you love doing what you do. That’s what this job has been about for me. Getting to know people, remembering how to genuinely care about people, learning how to look past the often-tattooed exterior and connect because you’re both in the same place at the same time – so why the hell not? It’s a pretty cool concept.
This week’s post is short, I know. But I feel like I’ve said my piece for now. When you spend so much time talking about why you love something it’s easy to run out of the right words.

-- Emily Simpson

Did The Intern Show Up? Vol. 3: They Like Me, They Really Like Me!

Yo man, I’m stoked to tell you about this jawn I’ve been thinking about all week for the column. It’ll be so punk that nothing will be able to bum you out for the rest of the day. Did you understand that? Yes? Good. That means you’ve been paying attention. If you haven’t, first know that I’m glaring at you right now. Then click on my name at the bottom of this entry and go educate yourself. This is invaluable knowledge I’m providing right here. Take advantage of it, love it, learn it. Say “thank you” in the comment section to stroke my ego.

Now that I’m done being obnoxious (because seriously, what fun is having your own column if you can’t take advantage of it every now and then?), I feel like it might be time to explore the strange dynamics of affection within an environment like Kung Fu Necktie. Keep in mind, before we begin, that the entire staff – with the exception of maybe two bartenders, oh, and me – is of the male variety. Unsurprisingly, this results in a lot of name-calling, teasing, waving around of rude hand gestures, etc. Think pulling each other’s pigtails, except…well. None of them have pigtails. Although now I can’t stop picturing Steven and Jamie with pigtails, so I’m sitting in this coffee shop laughing alone at my computer screen like a complete asshole. THANKS GUYS. I’m gonna go Photoshop that later.

That part of things was pretty easy to figure out, as it’s more or less spelled out in the dude manual or wherever the collection of appropriate male-male interactions is outlined. What’s been a little more challenging to discern are the dynamics of affection between the guys and myself, and I think that’s true for both sides. We’re now almost three weeks into the summer though, the semi-but-not-too-awkward tension of introducing a new presence into an established group fading quickly, and I think I’ve started to figure it out. So now, I would like to proudly present to you, my loyal (or maybe not-so-loyal) readers, a series of moments collectively titled “How I Know That People at KFN Don’t Hate Me.” I know, I think it’s a pretty great title, too. Remember, save your praise for the comments.

Jamie is pretty upfront about what he thinks about everything, so he’s the easiest one to start with. The day after we met, I sent him an e-mail with my phone number attached in case he ever needed extra help running shows at some of the other venues that R5 books. His response included his own phone number as well as this gem of a sentence: “It’s good that you’re not a know-it-all moron like Steven’s last intern.” Then the next time we hung out he tried to convince me that death match wrestling is the greatest sport on the planet. That’s about the equivalent of twenty gold stars in the Jamie Getz book of life.

Now I already knew that Steven liked me because he’s got some control issues (not a bad thing in this line of work, to be honest), and his allowing me to do certain things is like hanging up a flashing neon sign proclaiming approval. So that’s cool. But hey, remember the part of the last column when I admitted up-front to being a huge Facebook creep and said that it would feature prominently in this column? Yep. More screen-caps! I’m going to let this one speak for itself. Just know that when I saw it for the first time I caught myself wanting to say “Awww,” out loud. Ridiculous.

Did The Intern Show Up? Vol. 2: Lingo.

Today’s post is brought to you courtesy of 75-degree days and homeless foot fetishists trying to convince me to take my shoes off in Clark Park (West Philly, I love you so much). Steven’s response to the text message I sent about that? “You should have asked him for $$$$$$!” My boss, ladies and gentlemen. Encouraging park prostitution since 2010. All of this is true.

So let’s talk for a second about how I now sound like every other middle-aged punk and skate kid in the city of Philadelphia. The first week here, I had no idea what anyone was talking about roughly 60% of the time. There would just be these words, and people would say them to each other and nod like they made complete sense while I sat in the corner with what I’m sure was a really attractive confused look on my face. Yes, of course, I understand what you’re saying. Except for the part where I don’t, not at all.

Steven finally noticed that one day when he did his whole pointing vaguely and asking me to do whatever thing and I just looked at him. He took pity on me and tried to break down the lingo so that I could a) understand what people were saying and b) actually respond without sounding like an idiot. Here’s what I learned:

• jawn – functions kind of like the word “widget,” used to refer to a random thing; can also be used to refer to a girl; i.e. Can you get me that jawn over there? or Damn, look at the jawn in the purple cut-offs.
• punk – used to refer to anything cool or widely accepted as being awesome; i.e. Fishtown Pizza delivers for free? That’s punk. or Ticket surcharges are so not punk.
• hoagie – what people in Philly call their sandwiches
• bummed out – frequently used to express disappointment, sadness, mild anger, or frustration; i.e. Man, Chicken would be so bummed out if he saw this.
• yo – always an acceptable form of greeting or way of grabbing someone’s attention
• stoked – really excited; i.e. I’m so stoked for the Post Post show in August! That band is rad.
• man – the regional replacement for the word “dude,” which people will make fun of you for using

Did the Intern Show Up? New column!

Over here at WGTB, we get pretty excited about new columns, especially in the summertime. And this one is gonna be good. Below, the first installment of DJ Emily Simpson's “Did the Intern Show Up?”: A Diary of Long Nights & Even Longer E-mail Threads From a Philadelphia Music Club.

Hello! Welcome to my new column, a venture that could just as easily be titled “What I Did During My Summer Vacation” and exists more or less for the purpose of my telling absurd stories about the people and problems I deal with on a daily basis. Since June 1, I have held the not-exactly-coveted title of intern for Kung Fu Necktie, which is hands-down the most unique bar-slash-music-venue I have ever seen. Located in Fishtown, a neighborhood of Northeast Philadelphia, it holds about 120 people at full capacity – think along the lines of DC9 or the backstage at The Black Cat.

I’m sure you’re wondering why they would even need an intern. Sucks to be you then, because I don’t have the answer to that particular question, even after the thousandth time I’ve been asked. What I can tell you (briefly) is what I actually do. I am officially or unofficially in charge of: updating the website/calendar, maintaining the Facebook and Twitter pages, keeping track of the sound techs, working as “band liaison” (aka telling them how to get their drinks at the bar), printing will-call ticket lists, losing at pool, checking IDs, working the door, helping out the bartenders, moving amps, filling out paperwork to settle with bands after shows, and texting my boss reminders about absolutely everything. There’s more, never fear. The duties of the intern – or the slave, as some of the patrons have taken to calling me – are endless and varied.

Doesn’t my job sound fun? Don’t you want to move to Philadelphia immediately and have a cage match or drinking contest to decide who gets to keep it? No? That’s okay. I actually kind of adore it. A lot of that has to do with the people, who I swear on a huge stack of vinyl I am not making up or exaggerating at all. Here’s a brief introduction, so in the future you can pretend to have a vague idea of what I’m talking about. Or not. It’s completely up to you.