 from seasoned road dog and tour manager to the stars (the Hold Steady, Drive-By-Truckers, and others

but who’s asking?) Dave Burton. Today’s inquiry: Is it cool to tip the merch guy? Check out the last column, 

I’ve been working since I was just a pup, growing up in the ‘70s, fixing bikes or mowing lawns for baseball card money in sunny Southern California. When I hit the big time at 16, bussing tables and making pies at an Inland Empire Marie Callendars, I was raking in that sweet tip money and sticking the check in the bank. I was flush. While my savings account ballooned, the record stores and drug dealers of the arse ends of Southern California beckoned.

In the 40 odd years since, I have worked in either the service industry or in rock ‘n’ roll. (That’s with the exception of a litany of McJobs in the temp field, a brief stint as a production accountant for a major motion picture company, and whatever I could do for dough working under the table in the U.K., Ireland, and Europe in the late ‘80s, but who's counting?) 

Those industries have a few similarities: there’s zero HR, and even less fiscal consistency. It’s the wild, wild west of the working world. I have worked tip-to-tail in the service industry from manager to minion. I have been sucked in by the cash-in-pocket model at the end of the night, provided beautifully or begrudgingly by the general public; it is the restaurant equivalent to the 

 of twenty-somethings that keep the modern rock world afloat with their three day festival passes.

It is the restaurant equivalent to the denim-diapered tribe of twenty-somethings that keep the modern rock world afloat with their three day festival passes.

Mellow Yellow

So why, then, has tipping the merch person at a show become such a point of contention? Allow me to explain.

At some point in rock ‘n’ roll history, quality merch people started putting their own tip jars out on the table, and it seemed like the way forward. My first properly paid touring gig was 20 pounds per day and a sleeping bag on the floor of the singer and bass player of 

’s shared room, in the dumps of England, in 1993. I was over the moon. The benefits of the job outweighed any perceived slights. The band wasn’t making much dough, but the perks were plenty–-I mean, what 25-year-old rock 'n' roller didn’t want to hear 

Over time, I began to see those pickle jars showing up at the merch table, and I watched as they got stuffed with dollars in the pre-digital era mercantile exchange. (Let’s face it: the merch person pays for themselves unless they are completely useless and innumerate.) Merch slinger is the first position a young band should fill. Bring someone that you trust 

 of an asshole. That person might become your manager or tour manager or backing vocalist or merch producer. And so they deserve every penny they make.

And yet, merch tips for the merch seller have inspired real brouhaha. Those opposed, invariably managers and business managers and high volume producers, lament the high tip out to someone they feel is already being paid a living wage (albeit, one with no job security or consistency, or benefits other than the last day's wages before a gig is over… in most cases.) Perhaps somewhere, other roadies or even musicians are a little jealous of these gratuities. But the merch person is the first line of defense for all bands that sell the stuff themselves; they know where the party is, who the punishers are, when your family or significant others arrive. They are the keepers of the castle. They have to deal with far more assholes than the rest of the crew party combined, and they are generally the lowest paid person on the crew.

But the merch person is the first line of defense for all bands; they know where the party is, who the punishers are, when your family or significant others arrive.

But for most of us, those that have done that job, or see how hard that person works: What’s the big deal? They are getting the mouth breathers and Q-Anon quacks, the needy guest listers and begging brats. My merch guy, with one of the bands I tour manage, also designs the shirts, does the projections, loads gear, sings a song, provides the Western Massachusetts PMA, and has done so for years. What’s the weekly price tag on that?

So let the slingers sling! There is no better motivation than money, right? Pay them, and allow them their tips.

For younger bands: if the merch seller is getting paid exclusively in per diems and dinner buyout (that’s daily dough handed out by the band and venue, respectively), tipping is a chance for them to make some bread—

 it motivates them to stick around and grow with the band. Consistency is important for bands, or so we are led to believe. How many times have some bands transitioned to new logistical support teams only to have the existing team tell incumbent crew members that the band are overpaying for such-and-such positions? (I’ll tell ya—it happens way more than you’d think.)

Pay your people…Keep the assholes together.

“Speculate to accumulate,” isn’t that the model maxim of a successful business? 

! If they are shite, kick ‘em to the curb. Trade ‘em to another band, for a roadie to be named later. Keep the assholes together. If you don’t want your merch person to have all the tips, set a maximum amount (that’s minimal) but still make a difference on volume alone. (E.g., Instead of enabling a percent of each sale, as is often the case with restaurant/bar sales, set a nominal amount as the ceiling. Say, $1.00 maximum tip per transaction—over a one month tour, that could be a month’s rent for them, or more.) Act like the tip is acorns, and round up to the next dollar. Ultimately, if the team is enabling the tips electronically and not sharing with the people generating said tips, but promising dividends at a later date, that promise and a turkey sandwich will get you a turkey sandwich. Like the saying goes, if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.

Boy Howdy! Hoodie

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It is the restaurant equivalent to the denim-diapered tribe of twenty-somethings that keep the modern rock world afloat with their three day festival passes.

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