Back before the internet there were fanzines. Aka printed out paper magazines.
I know, primative shit, right? Like actual words on paper.
This is how us Old Heads knew what was cool, ordered band shirts and cd’s and had any interaction with each other. Literally in every big time ‘zine there was a pen pal section and you could trade letters with people THROUGH THE MAIL.
You know that box outside of your house that is always full of bills and other shit you don’t want to read? Yeah those boxes used to also bring joy in the form of post cards or letters or even mix tapes from your best friend you had never ever met because of 'zines.
I had a zine. I know you’re shocked, but I had a few. However this isn’t about mine. This is about a service that started with a really big time Zine that I used to drive to Los Angeles to buy sometimes if I had to. This is about a thing Maximum Rock And Roll did called “Book Your Own Fucking Life.”
The idea was to give independent bands access to venues and places to stay while on tour. It was like the yellow pages.
When I was in my 20s and 30s my house might as well have been in BYOFL.
I hosted many bands as they passed through. You’re on tour? Cool. Here’s my living room. I have like zero food in my house and a wine rack full of wine from the Bakersfield dollar stores (this is a thing, we’ll talk about this another time…) and like half a couch, but fuckin’ a, you can stay here.
I never had anything bad happen. Touring bands are just happy to have somewhere to stay that they don’t have to pay for, since pay while on tour if you’re anyone but Taylor Swift or Korn basically sucks ass. And even touring for Korn sucked at some point. (Source: me, I know it sucked.) At some point any artist that wasn’t mancufactured by a reality show or megamillion deal with a record label had to tour and it sucked.
Living in San Luis Obispo, we got a lot of bands on their way from LA to SF who would stop and play shows here back in the day. And they often didn’t have places to stay, money to stay here or even money to like… eat?
Enter Casa De Bellish. AKA Gutter Trash Mafia Headquarters.
I’ve had BBQ’s and pool parties and beach outings and cheap af champagne breakfasts in my apartments. I’ve hosted people in Shell Beach, Grover Beach, Avila Beach, Chico and fuck I basically lived in two different band houses in Bakersfield with my former fiance. My door is always open and what little shit I have is available to help you get to the next date.
Before you get the idea that it’s SEX and DRUGS and ROCK AND ROLL, it super isn’t. Sorry to disappoint you. Bands on the road are fucking tired. They’re hungry and they’re broke and they’re sick of everyone’s shit. I’ve had more people come into my house on tour and just want to eat Top Ramen and drink a PBR and watch a movie without their bandmates farting in their face than anything. My couches were always better than sleeping in a BandVan.
Every single person I’ve had stay in my house felt like they had to do something in return. The Band from Boston for example, cleaned my apartments swimming pool because no one ever did and made me breakfast. The band from The Bay Area who ended up staying with me because they were friends with one of the guys who worked for Deadsy while I worked for Deadsy, made me breakfast. The band from Bakersfield watched cartoons with me and my ex husband while we ate eggs the day after their show and cleaned the living room and put the futon away. When The Band From Boston let me know that their merch person was touring with another Band from Boston and he deseperately wanted a shower, I picked him up and brought him to the apartment. He’d already stayed with my roommate and I before and I just gestured to the towel closet and told him everything was in the same place. He brought me frozen burritos.
I literally held on to a 80 dollar bottle of scotch one of these hooligans left at my house that a fan had given them until I saw the band again later on in the year. They were super surprised and said they wouldn’t have been mad if I had drank it, since I let them stay at my house so many times.
There is a reciprocity to this as well. If I ever traveled to see any of the people I let stay in my house, I had a place to stay if I wanted. I usually had my own hotel rooms booked, but if I didn’t I could crash at theirs if they had one. I always had a place to stay no matter where I went. I touched down in Boston one year and imediately had bar buddies to join my former roommates on our adventures and be my tour guide since I had done the same thing for them.
I still have this mentality, although I have a much smaller house and rarely get the opportunity to have 8 punk rockers sleep in my living room floor anymore, my door is still open. My heart is still trusting and my tiny couch is here for you whenever you book your own fucking life.