Id like to say a word for the people who run the concert series. Having done so for 27 years.

I've read all the complaints in this thread, and as a performer can make just about every one of them. And add a list of my own. But, running a concert series is a phenomenal headache, too. When I started running the concert series I did, I only had 8 bookings a year. Divide that into the number of people who send cassettes and records (in those days), and try to bring some musicians back once every three or four years, and the math pretty much speaks for itself.
For the first few years, I listened to every cassette or record anyone sent me (no matter how good or bad.) I wrote to every person, and tried to encourage them in the most positive way that I could. Some, I was able to book two or three years later, and I made sure to explain the limitations for slots that I was working with. Some sent music that didn't fit the focus of my series, which was American traditional folk (I worked in a Museum which limited my ability to book musicians from othe countries because of our by-laws.) Some cassetes were very good, but the music was electric, or too singer/songwritery to fit the series. And, while most musicians would agree, people who run a series DO have some idea what kind of music their audience will respond to. I used to go nuts when someone would say, "I can play for any audience, just let me get up on stage."
Not so, my friends. I was grateful when someone said to me that my music wasn't a good fit for their audience. Beat driving three or four hundred miles for a percentage of the gate to play before an unappreciative audience.

From the coffee house runners perspective, they can come up with almost as long a list of complaints about folk musicians. I just about had to beg a lot of the musicians I'd book to send me photos and PR material. Too often, they wouldn't do it despite repeated requests, and when I couldn't get much of a news release printed, or get photos in the paper and they drew a small crowd, they blamed it on me.

And, if you think folk musicians get lousy pay, try running a coffee house. I stand up and PRAISE everyone who runs a coffee house! They end up putting up and feeding the performers, often end up paying for the endless long distance phone calls they have to make, sweat bullets when the audience doesn't show and they have to pay for the use of space, and haven't brought in enough at the gate to pay the performer. Their hand always ends up going in their own pocket. I was fortunate because I had a Museum staff to help with publicity, set-up and refreshments, and at least some of the cost for long distance phone calls came out of the Museum's pocket. Like everyone else who runs house concerts or coffee houses, I did it because I enjoyed doing it.

As the years went by, and the number of unsolicited cassettes and records multiplied many-fold, I found it impossible to write a personal letter to everyone, no matter how much I wanted to. I was just too swamped with requests. At the same time, the audience was getting older, and smaller, and most concerts were losing money. It finally came time to let it go. I don't regret a minute I put into it, and I imagine that very few people who have run coffee houses or concert series do, either.

So, here are my kudos for people like Fortunato, who not only did my booking for a split night at the Royal Mile, in Silver Springs, MD. but arranged for a house concert in D.C. And to friends who offered the use of their house, and then came to hear me the next night at the Royal Mile. Here's to Kathy Westra who persisted in booking the Gospel Messengers in D.C. last summer, and Dennis and Judy Cook who offered hospitality for Brother Joe and Corrie, and a luxurious brunch for us the following morning. Folk bookers, hosters and hostesses, sound folks, ticket sellers, CD sellers, food givers, lodging providers and all the rest... You are wonderful. So are most of the people who do the bookings, at their own expense. Even the ones who never booked me because they thought I wasn't good enough. And sometimes told me so...

Jerry