A Decade with Folk All Y’all in Memphis

Like many ten-year commitments, this one started by accident.

One of my all-time favorite singer-songwriters, David Wilcox, was scheduled to play in Memphis in November of 2014. But … then he wasn’t. When I reached out via a web form to ask what was going on, David’s manager replied and said the show had been canceled because of a venue issue. 

So I did what any reasonable person would do.

I offered to host the show myself. At a private home. In two weeks. 

Now, I of course had plenty of experience presenting concerts. After all, I’d had a friend play a show in my backyard a few months prior, totally acoustic and with a motion-activated floodlight as his lighting, so I pretty much had it all figured out. Oh, and I’d been a booking agent/Tour Mom for a few years, making such wise showbiz decisions as sending a Mississippi-born artist to Minnesota in January (still sorry, Cory). 

So fine, I wasn’t exactly an expert. But I was absolutely passionate about David’s work, and despite being a fan for decades, had never seen him perform live. So I borrowed a PA system (and someone to run it), rented a messload of chairs, and set up a website so it would look like I knew what I was doing: FolkAllYall.com. House shows run on invited guests giving donations, rather than selling tickets to the public, and I proceeded to over-stuff a dining room with, somehow, 110% of the number of people who’d RSVPd. At the end of the night, when I handed over thousands of dollars in donations to David, he grinned and said, “This is a sustainable business model!” 

Two musicians sit on stools, effortlessly performing with acoustic guitars beneath the soft glow of the stage lights and green curtains, their melodies flowing like an auto-draft of creativity.

Granted, David meant sustainable for the artists, but that didn’t matter. It immediately struck me that house shows could make a significant difference in the lives of touring singer-songwriters. Instead of loading in and out of bars and coffee shops, playing while football games glowed over their heads, and maybe walking away with a couple hundred bucks while hoping the closest motel would be both affordable and pest-free, I could provide an oasis. As a house show host, I would be more than a venue or promoter. I’d be a source of hot meals, warm beds, and attentive audiences, along with generous pay-outs. 

So that one show with David turned into two, and then three. And within a year, other artists and agents took notice. I started planning concerts with artists I hadn’t even pleaded with to come, and word spread that there was a little bungalow in Memphis where folks like John Moreland and Charley Crockett would play. It was absolutely beautiful to see people connect with these amazing artists, and deeply rewarding to know I was making at least one night on the road a little easier. Hearing world-class performers sing while they folded t-shirts in my laundry room was a nice perk, too. 

Black and white photo of a musician passionately playing keyboard and singing on stage, accompanied by a skilled bassist. Musical instruments and microphones surround them as the attentive audience is seated in the background, captured in an evocative auto draft moment.

But ack, the no-shows!

Because I was following all the local rules to present house shows, I wasn’t announcing the location address or selling any seats in advance. I relied on emailed RSVPs to know who was on the guest list, and as it turned out, that first Wilcox show was an outlier. Most of the time, only about 50% of the anticipated guests showed up. Which was not only a total waste of my chair-arranging effort, but it risked making the artists feel let down. 

So I pivoted.

I began to explore the idea of public, ticketed shows. The only minor details I needed to hammer out were where I’d have them and how I’d pay for them. 

Around that time, a lot of my musician friends had just joined this thing called Patreon, where they shared exclusive content with supporters who pledged various levels of financial support. I didn’t see any venues or concert series using the platform, but I thought it might enable me to continue the house show model of not taking a dime of the door money but still generating enough income to cover expenses like web hosting and credit card processing. 

As for venue space, that was a constant evolution for a couple years. I presented in two different office spaces, a church, a radio station, and eventually, did a long run with the nice people over at Studio688, who also had a full sound system and  –  bonus! – an actual sound engineer, John. Bringing John onto the scene really changed things, not only making the shows sound better but also giving our live recordings the benefit of board-quality audio. 

But having a paid employee also meant we were at a new level for show expenses, and the only way I could think to cover them was to make another pivot. So in late 2019, after more than 50 shows, I partnered with Crosstown Arts to move the series into their gorgeous new listening room space, The Green Room. And of course, the first artist we hosted? David Wilcox. 

 

It was an incredible opportunity to grow the series, and our patron support increased with the greater visibility. Pledges still weren’t quite covering our bare-bones expenses, but they were closer, and I could make up the difference if needed. I had the chance to present five shows in the new space and then had to cancel the sixth, which was scheduled for March 13, 2020.  

Yeah, that March 13, 2020.

Like everything else, the series went dark during the pandemic, and like our artists, I had a career crisis of my own because of a COVID layoff. I wasn’t sure when, or if, we’d ever get back on stage. But I should have known it was inevitable, because touring musicians are indefatigable, and as a long-serving Tour Mom, I’m pretty hard to knock down as well. 

Not counting a game open-air effort from Tré Burt, our first official show of The Vaccine Era was with The Black Opry Revue, a then-new collective of Black artists inspired by and elevating the legacy of country and Americana music. In one night, seven artists shared their stories and souls, and once again raised my hopes of what Folk All Y’all could be. 

A group of ten people stands together on a stage with a dark green curtain. All y'all can see they're smiling, dressed in casual to semi-formal clothing, bringing a touch of modern folk charm.

When I began the series, I was too busy being ecstatic that one of my idols was coming to perform to think about a mission or long-term goals. After the first year of presenting shows, though, I realized I’d hosted more beardy guys named John than women, so I made a conscious effort to have gender-balanced booking. After noticing a pretty distinct pattern in other venue and festival line-ups, I was mindful that my majority-minority, 52%-female city see itself in the artists who perform. And it’s always been crucial that my LGBTQ+ community knows that they are welcome and protected anywhere I am. 

(Please notice I didn’t say I “work” to do any of that, because inclusion isn’t hard. There are A WAFILLION amazing musicians in the world, and holding the door open to folks who usually get locked out isn’t work.) 

So now here we are, and it’s somehow a decade from that very first official show. This Saturday is, holy wow, our ninetieth concert. I wish I could claim I intentionally booked an artist named Teneia for this tenth anniversary but not even my full-time marketing brain thought that far ahead. 

Join us for an unforgettable night as Teneia headlines a music event celebrating 10 years of Folk All Y'all. Mark your calendar for Saturday, Nov 2, at 7:30 PM, at The Green Room at Crosstown Arts. Don't miss this auto-drafted lineup of talent and harmony!

Just summing up the series history took this long so I can’t possibly detail all of the unforgettable moments that have taken place along the way, but I can tell you that, if the very kind words from past guests are to be believed, I reached that goal of creating a tour oasis – a place where, over and over again, musicians say, “I needed a night like this so much.” And along the way, we’ve created a community I’m so proud of it makes my own kids kind of jealous.

Speaking of those kids, one is in college and the other is about to head there. I’ve had some job bumps over the last year, and had to really think hard about what I can give to the series going forward. I can sense another pivot coming, but this isn’t the time for that discussion (unless you have a sponsorship check falling out of your pocket, in which case, let’s talk!). 

But this is the time to reflect and celebrate, and above all, share how grateful I am. Grateful to the audiences who’ve given each of these artists a chance to feel appreciated and fulfilled in Memphis. Grateful to the many series supporters, my patient partner, and the magical elves at Crosstown Arts in particular, for making the highly improbable consistently possible. Grateful to the artists who give their trust and their hearts to us month after month. Each one of you has helped make our city a beacon and given me a chance to turn my passion into a purpose. I love all y’all. So very much.

And if you haven’t joined us yet, good news! Anyone who comes with an open heart and silenced phone is always welcome. In fact, hey, see you Saturday?

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