Jake Laderman — DIY BABES ZINE

A Passion for Rock 'n' Roll

Jake Laderman’s passion is live music. Luckily for punters and himself, he’s landed as venue booker for two grassroots music venues in Naarm/Melbourne.

By Billie Estrine

Mon. Aug 12 2024

Where did you grow up?

I grew up in the Southeast of Melbourne, in a suburb called Sandringham. [It's] right near the water, in the middle of the bay area. [It's] not a very musical place at all. If you grow up on the South side, you want to leave. It's a really nice area. It's got no art culture, so it's common for people from that area to hit 17 and be ready to go. Everything musical is up this side [in the inner north].

When did you start becoming interested in music?

My whole life, super young age. Probably as early as four or five. My dad would play that War of the Worlds sound clip. It's really famous, [the book is by] H. G. Wells. [The audio is] an album that was recorded in the 80s, and it's about an alien invasion. It's like a film score [and] I was obsessed with that. My dad showed me that, [as well as] Bowie and The Beatles, and, of course, when you're young, you think all that stuff's lame. Until you get older and realize it's not lame at all.

When did you start playing in bands?

14, I want to say. Not very good bands, probably pretty bad until 19. When people ask to hear my first band, I'm like, "Yeah, listen to the band I did when I was 19, not the one I did when I was 14."

Is the community created by music something that drew you into the underground music scene?

Maybe not at first, but the more you immerse yourself in it, the more you realize what an amazing community it is. When I started as a young kid playing in bars, it only takes one experience of playing with another band to be like, "Oh, this is a really cool thing. I just met you, but we're playing this show and having a good time." Then you just want to do it again. You're like, "We're playing this show. Do you want to play that show?" A couple of years, and you just realize how broad it is, how many people are involved. How far it extends to music venues, bands, and radio.

It's such a tight community here in Melbourne—even in Australia in general, but particularly [in] Melbourne. You can't go anywhere without seeing a familiar face, and it's the best. I can't really imagine myself not doing bands or spending my weekends doing that because it's just the best.

When did you become involved in the Naarm/Melbourne underground punk scene?

I started playing in bands, maybe at age 18, when I was allowed in bars. But it's changed a lot since then. I'm now 33, so that was 15 years ago. So a lot of the people, we were just talking about Billiam. For example, Billiam was little at that point.

I feel far more connected with it now that I've been in it for a few years. I know so many more people and [have] seen a lot of people play in various bands and evolve. A lot of the younger people come through and write incredible music, and [there are] great success stories.

Do you think that being involved in a subculture is political?

Yes and no. You [may] get involved in a subculture for reasons that aren't political, but in doing so, you learn a lot. [You] stand by things you and all the people you love believe in and see how it affects them, maybe then becomes political.

For you personally, is it political, or has it evolved?

I think being part of this subculture is not politically motivated. I had the chance to hear opinions that were pretty different from what I would have been surrounded by if I stayed in the [southern] suburbs. The community [is] driven towards people [and] I wouldn't say the area I grew up in is very focused on that.

How did you decide to work in the music industry?

When I was finishing school, my parents were like, "What are you gonna study?" I didn't have an answer for them because I just wanted to play music. So, I took a year off. I just wanted to play music, so I did that for a whole year. Then that year wrapped up, and I was like, "I just want to keep doing this." My parents were like, "Ah, I don't know." I continued [playing music], then studied event management, with no real goal of working in the music industry. I [still] just wanted to play music and having a whole lot of time without any motivation towards a career; I think I sorta landed in it. I surrounded myself with various areas of the industry. [I] learned label stuff by putting out my own records. I learned to book by booking my own bands. Eventually, [I was like], "I think I can do this for other people or other venues." [I] got a job working for The Last Chance, a small venue, 110 capacity dive bar.

I'm really lucky because the scene is pretty much my obsession to a degree. So it's cool, [I] get to book all my favourite bands, and then I was very lucky to fall into the same place, [in] the Tote, for that same reason. I work for some great people who run two grassroots-level venues purely [for the love of it]. So, [I] don't think I was ever fully motivated to work in the industry, but it's all I know and all I probably want to do now. You learn a lot by just doing.

When did you start working at The Last Chance?

2017, so seven years ago.

Has the way your job at Last Chance operates changed over the years?

Well, back then, it was a pretty loose operation from the get-go. It's one dive bar venue that, at the time, admittedly wasn't very popular in the community. So, the shows we were getting were maybe less successful at that time. I think it's taken a lot of time and energy for all of the people involved to be like, "How can we do this better?" I think the owners have done very well [because] they've always been artists-focused and artist-friendly with the deals. Over time, when you're supporting artists, eventually, people realize they like the place. It's not so much that it's a cool place [it's that] these people really care. When the pandemic happened and everything was gone, a lot of the greedy people really made themselves known. [Especially] a lot of the venues, and around that point, the venue got a bit more traction.

Post-pandemic, I'd say it became a bit of a tighter ship. We had our shit together a bit better. Now that they own the Tote as well, it's very different. Proper hours, more employees, [and] more bookings, procedures, and social media strategies have become a bigger thing now.

What part of your job evolved in that time?

Personally, there was a long period where I was booking The Last Chance alone. Now, between the two venues, four people are involved in the booking, and I overlook the whole thing. It's a team effort. There are three rooms at the Tote, the main room, upstairs, and the front bar. Then, at Last Chance, there's one stage, but we do matinee shows, too. It ends up being up to 20 shows a week. Across the two venues, it's a lot.

Yeah, one person cannot do that all.

No, I'd go crazy.

Can you tell me about The Last Chance to Save the Tote crowdfunding campaign?

The Tote went up for sale, and one day, my boss said to me, "I've got a crazy idea. We're gonna save the Tote. We're gonna sell a fuck ton of t-shirts, and we're gonna raise enough money to save the Tote."The Tote's asking price was six million dollars. My boss always has a lot of crazy ideas, and I was a bit like, "Okay, sure." Then, sure enough, [they] got all the art together and put it on the internet. It went completely viral. It was on major television networks. It was getting covered everywhere. All the newspapers and morning radios. It hit every possible PR thing you could ever [have] happen. So they got a lot of traction, and all these celebrities started sharing it. They managed to raise half of the funds and personally invested the rest of it.

What's great about it is [that] the Tote was always such a loved place. But [in] the years preceding the campaign, it suffered because there were complicated feelings towards the previous owners. What's so special is [that] it's community saved and belongs to the community. There are things in place now that will [ensure] it is always a music venue. It can't be anything other than a music venue, at least for our lifetime.

Can you tell me how that works?

It took me a while to wrap my head around it. The building is owned by a foundation; the business is structured as a foundation. It's essentially an organization run by five people who run this foundation. They each have to mutually agree for it to be sold to anyone who has plans to make it anything that is not a live music venue. Those five people, there is no way any of them will ever do that. I know all of them. Not many people know all of them, but none will ever. It'll be a music venue, confidently, for the next 60 years.

So we're super lucky. I don't know what it means for personal investment for the owners and their financial situation. All I know is that it's a struggle, but they did it to save the Tote because it's a really important place in Australian music history, dating all the way back to the 70s.

Awesome. Since the Tote has been saved, you've become the venue booker along with three other people. You told me how many shows you book per week.

Yeah, about 20, it's close to that.

When you're booking bands, do you try to ensure there's diversity on the stages?

Absolutely. A few years ago, it was really hard to do that because every band was dudes, and historically, it's been a bit of a boys club. A couple of big social movements in previous years saw voices of all kinds of minorities coming forward and speaking out about an inclusive scene. I think that, slowly but surely, it's worked. I feel like there are a lot more minorities in the music community, whether it be gender, race, everything. It's something that we definitely focus on. It can always be better. Undoubtedly. It's something that we strongly encourage to anyone booking a show, and [for] the shows that we do have control over, it's a core focus.

Does playing in local bands create connections that you lean on when booking gigs for Last Chance and the Tote?

Yeah, absolutely. Everyone's friends. The coolest thing about being involved in the music community for me is [that when] I go out and see a new band, I'm like, "That band was so sick. We need to book them." I think this is why I love the job so much because it's so interconnected with my life. I love live music, the local community, and all the radio stations that play it. I pay very close attention to emerging bands. I'm lucky that it connects that way. 'Cause it's just natural. I don't have to think too hard sometimes. It's just like, "Oh, what about that band? They were great."

Can you explain the difference between bands organizing their gigs hosted by venues and your work booking shows at each venue?

I'd say a good 90 percent of them are bands that want to play. Bands that will reach out to the venue and want to put on a show and the lineups involved with that show fall on the artist involved.

Then there are times [when] there are gaps, and you gotta get creative. Every venue really relies on patrons. They have to sell drinks and food and have a service in order to make money. There'll be the odd Friday or Saturday night or even Wednesday night that you have to fill with something. Sometimes, that involves putting together a lineup and putting together a night.

At the moment, we're coming up to one year of the Tote being under new hands, [so] we're working on the first reborn day of the Tote. That's been super fun to book because we collectively have booked some bands that I never thought would ever pay attention to it. It's such a loved venue that it's turned out really well, and I'm excited for everyone to see it. It's going to be cool.

How long was the Tote closed?

I don't think it closed. It was maybe closed for a week, max. The whole time it was on sale, it was still trading. But the problem is, without sending too much shade to the previous owners, they weren't very popular. So nobody really wanted to play there because then no one wanted to give them money. Everyone wanted to support the people [who supported] them. And there are a million other great venues.

I touched on this before, but a big life event like COVID really put into perspective how fragile income can be, especially for live music venues. So everybody wanted to support the venues that supported them. Maybe this ties in with the scene becoming political. That was a very unique thing to happen. It was a crazy thing to happen in our lifetime that drastically affected everybody, especially artists who struggle to make ends meet.

Yeah. Now, they can't even play and make money that way.

Yeah.

Is the size of the band also what sometimes changes the organization of the booking responsibilities?

Most of the time, when a band wants to play a show, they have an idea of who they want to play [with] already. Occasionally, it's very rare that this happens, but sometimes, an artist will hit us up and be like, "Who should we ask?" We can make suggestions then, but usually, they have a pretty clear idea of who they want to play with.

Go out and support your local music venues!!

Check out The Last Chance on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thelastchancerockandrollbar/#
And the Tote: https://www.instagram.com/thetotehotel/#

Billie Estrine

Naarm/Melbourne, Australia

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