An Open Letter To Cheapskates

Dear pop icon, country superstar, or rap mogul,

Just thought I’d let you know — word has begun to leak out. While the outside world gazes with vicarious envy as you spend lavish amounts on fast cars, the finest threads, and gar- ish jewelry, insiders know you’re just a cheapskate. And they’ve started to talk.

Don’t stand there (in that $1,000 Vanessa Price haircut) giving me a quizzical look (through your $383,000 Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses). You know exactly what I’m talking about. While you, your managers, and agents take home six-figure bankrolls every night, you pay your drummer as little as $200 per gig.

Your bodyguards earn more. Hell, I’ve been paid more to play in the dirtiest, smelliest, grungiest dive bars in San Francisco. Seriously. You should be ashamed. I have to ask — how do you sleep at night (in your $6.3 million Baldacchino Supreme bed), or look at yourself in your ($1,300 Bella Venetian) mirror, knowing you’ve perfected the black art of squeezing blood from human stone?

You may ask, “Why should I care? Drummers are a dime a dozen. If one of them doesn’t want the gig, another one will.” After all, your drummer doesn’t have to deal with nearly as many headaches as you do. You provide him with a perfectly good coffin-sized bunk on the tour bus and free munchies backstage with the crew, while you travel in your $45 million Gulfstream V-SP private jet and scarf down $500 entrees at the world’s finest restaurants.

No. Your drummer’s problems are far more mundane than yours are. He just needs to pay the mortgage, bills, and health insurance, buy clothes and braces for the kids, put food on the table — you know, frivolous stuff like that. With a little coupon cutting, he should be able to stretch the $600 to $800 (more like $400 to $600 after taxes) he earns per week far enough to cover all that, right?

Never mind that your drummer studied with respected teachers, practiced thousands of hours, attended music school, and probably knows more about music theory than you do. None of that can compare with your innate talent for rhyming words like “cat” and “hat” (a skill you share with Dr. Seuss, among others).

Face it, ace — the convergence between the paths taken by you and your drum- mer is as much the consequence of dumb luck as any other factor. So if you want some respect, show some respect for those people who make you sound good every night. It’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice.

A Note To Drummers: Not all bandleaders are as tight-fisted as this, but — without naming names — some very famous ones are. So if you’re less concerned about the size of the venues you play, and more interested in sharing an equitable slice of the pie, join a band in which you are an equal member. Better yet, start your own band — but just don’t forget where you came from.

Andy Doerschuk