My Adventures in Promoting

My first thoughts about stepping into the world of putting on gigs came back in 2018. I’d been scouring Instagram and Facebook for fresh bands, frustrated that the so-called indie rock scene felt stale. Arctic Monkeys and Kasabian seemed to be drifting away from their guitar roots, The Stone Roses had disappeared back into retirement, and Liam Gallagher was working with Adele’s songwriters. It felt like the torch was burning out, and without new blood, local venues risked being overrun with nothing but tribute acts.

Pack of Animals

That search led me to a handful of young bands who carried the right influences, the right swagger—artists who, given the chance, could spearhead a real renaissance for UK guitar music. One in particular was Pastel, a Welsh outfit with Mancunian DNA. I started following them around, chatting to the lads about music and what the scene was missing. At its core, the hunger was simple: people wanted a band—or better, bands—that truly mattered again, that could spark excitement and ignite something bigger than nostalgia.

Seeing new talent fighting to make big, meaningful music lit a fire in me. But it was obvious how difficult it was for these acts to break out of their own backyards. Norwich, in particular, was starved of new touring bands. I started to wonder if I could play a part, even though I had next to no idea how the industry worked. Most venues in the city felt like locked fortresses—cliquey, inaccessible to outsiders.

Plastic Circus

Then came Covid. The world stopped. Live music seemed like a memory for a while. But as things started to open up again, I noticed a new promoter working with a fresh venue in the city. They were booking acts I knew, and my interest was instantly reignited. I reached out, half-expecting to be ignored, but to my surprise I was brought on as their “new bands guy,” helping to promote showcase gigs.

What looked like a dream quickly turned sour. Disorganisation and poor planning turned the whole thing into a disaster, and for a moment it felt like the end before I’d even begun. But the manager of the venue we were using saw my passion and gave me an opening. That spark became the birth of This Is Music.

The early days were rough. The gigs we’d planned at that venue collapsed, so I shifted to another space known for live bands. It had a full backline, was reasonably priced, and seemed like the right fit. My first show there was chaos—bands pulling out, schedules collapsing—but I scraped together a line-up with Derby’s Shadows of a Silhouette headlining and a local support band. Attendance was thin, and I got my first taste of the local curse: friends and family of one act vanishing before the next took the stage. On top of that, the venue staff seemed to have it in for me from day one.

But credit where it’s due: Shadows of a Silhouette tore through their set like their lives depended on it, and we ended the night with a proper celebration. Still, the venue made their feelings clear, cancelling the other gigs I had lined up for the year. It wasn’t the warmest of welcomes into the world of live music promotion—but it was a start.

Undeterred, I returned to my old stomping ground in the city,where the boss welcomed me back to put on my own showcase gigs. Naively, I thought three-band bills featuring what I considered some of the best young guitar outfits around would be enough to draw in curious crowds. At first, it worked. The first two shows pulled close to 80 paying punters apiece, and the energy in the room was electric. Spirits were high, the vibes were right.

Silvertone

But momentum didn’t last. The next couple of gigs saw numbers dwindle—not through any fault of the bands, who were brilliant, but perhaps through timing, competition, or simply the fickleness of a city spoiled for choice when it comes to live music.

Then came the night no one could have predicted: what would turn out to be my final  gig at the venue. Disaster struck before a single chord rang out—the drains overflowed, forcing the venue to shut its doors. Three acts, travelling in from Rochdale, Sheffield, and even Cornwall, were left stranded without a stage. One of the most frustrating nights I’ve ever had to swallow. Still, friends, one of the bands, and I salvaged what we could with pints in a local boozer.

Soon after, the rest of the year’s shows were scrapped due to a change in policy and new plans for the venue. Back to square one. But by then I’d gathered a small band of regulars who came to nearly every gig, and their support made it all feel worthwhile. The bands themselves had been nothing but grateful and professional—so the drawing board came out again, and fresh plans began to take shape.

Bogle

Out of the ashes came This Is Music: Feelin’ Supersonic—an all-dayer at one of my earliest haunts in Norwich. The idea was simple: cram as much talent as possible into one bill, keep tickets cheap, make it for charity, and celebrate live music in all its raw glory. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, as it turned out, the appetite for new acts from across the country just wasn’t there—or at least, not enough to make it the roaring success it deserved to be. I promoted it relentlessly, both years, and it wasn’t for lack of effort or lack of talent. Still, the highlights were undeniable: stunning performances, bands giving it their all, and the gratitude of acts who had travelled miles to play. They deserve all the credit in the world.

The Challenges I Faced Along the Way

Looking back, the road hasn’t been without its hurdles. There were quite a few, but the criticism most often thrown my way was that nobody cared about who I was putting on. Yet, without sounding self-congratulatory, I can say with confidence that I’ve showcased some genuinely exceptional talent.

Broadly speaking, the challenges fell into two camps: the difficulties of promotion, and the wider struggles caused by today’s musical climate.

Promotion: The Gatekeeping Dilemma

One of the biggest obstacles was — and still is — gatekeeping. Of course, venues have their own interests to protect. In a tough climate, they need guaranteed ticket sales to keep the doors open. But here’s the catch: if venues only book their “preferred” acts, the scene becomes stagnant. Fewer spaces to play mean fewer opportunities for fresh voices, and ultimately, less diversity in the music that reaches audiences. For a scene to truly thrive, venues need to take risks and embrace variety. Everyone — promoters, bands, and venues alike — has to work together. Without that, gatekeeping strangles growth before it even begins.

Getting audience engagement

Another major problem is the audience engagement. Take Oasis as an example: they sold a staggering 1.4 million tickets in the UK alone this summer. That figure completely undermines two of the common narratives we’re fed: first, that guitar music is “dead,” and second, that people aren’t interested in live shows or can’t afford them. Clearly, the appetite is there.

Yet at grassroots level, the reality couldn’t feel more different. Convincing the average music fan to part with even a fiver to see three or four up-and-coming bands at a local venue is often like pulling teeth. As a promoter, finding yourself practically begging people to buy advance tickets isn’t just exhausting—it’s demoralising.

I remember seeing Oasis at a tiny arts centre when they were just starting out. If people hadn’t turned up to those shows in small, sweaty rooms, there would be no massive reunion gigs filling stadiums this summer. And here’s the brutal truth: if Oasis were starting out today, they’d probably never even get the chance to make a debut album, let alone sell out Wembley.

Putting a coherent bill together

Another issue, though, lies with promoters. Not all, i could name several great ones around the country, but some need to put more care into their line-ups. Bands are usually grateful for any slot, of course, but when you throw a heavy metal act, a delicate acoustic singer-songwriter, and a shoegaze band onto the same bill, you’re almost guaranteeing the crowd won’t stick around for everyone. Too often, gigs are cobbled together with little thought—three or four local acts booked just to shift tickets to friends and family. That creates a revolving door of people dipping in and out, not a proper gigging experience.

Crafting a coherent line-up isn’t easy, but when it’s done right, it turns a gig into a real night to remember—something that keeps the audience in the room, discovering new music, and sustaining the grassroots scene. Without that, we’re just throwing nights together and hoping for the best, when what we should be doing is building something worth staying for.

Finding an Audience in the Digital Void

Then there’s the modern battlefield: the online world. We’re told Instagram is the place to build a following, but the reality often feels like shouting into the void. You can pour hours into creating content and still wonder if you’re reaching the right people. What’s worse, it’s become harder than ever to make listeners believe in a band they don’t already know. The age of mythologizing new acts seems to be gone. Instead, people wait for a stamp of approval from some higher authority before they’ll take a chance. That spark of discovery — of finding a band on your own and championing them — feels rare these days.

Deciding where to invest your energy—whether in online promotion or traditional, on-the-ground efforts—feels like a gamble. Some things sell themselves, others don’t, and that’s the dilemma: you can only push so far before the outcome is left to chance.

One thing I will say, though: the bands who work relentlessly on their own behalf tend to find a way through. Right now, it’s a challenging and frustrating period for grassroots live music, but we have to keep fighting to keep it afloat.

Norwich, at least, is blessed with venues that are more than capable of hosting incredible shows. They run things with real professionalism, and every act I’ve brought here has been impressed by the technical quality and care behind the scenes. That’s something worth protecting.

And no—I haven’t given up yet. Even after setbacks, there’s still fire left in me. This Is Music Nights may well rise again before too long. Another roll of the dice? Absolutely. Why not.

Photo Credits - Brownxmedia and Ga Chun Yau Photography