< n I I I (
l. I I' I
HUS I NESS
Let Them Entertain U.
At a meeting of college concert bookers,
everybody wants to see or be signed
Attention, music fans: Otis Day and the
Knights are available for hire at your
next school concert. OK. so the origi
nals were only lip-syncing in the movie
"Animal House,” and the backup musi
cians aren’t even the same guys who played
thoae cinematic Knights. But Otis, my
man. is still one and the same—and what
more do you want for a $10,0(X) fee? Of
course, for half that, you can get Larry
iBud) Melman, the cackling regular on
"Late Night with David Letterman.” or for
$2,000 (pi us expenses) you can book George
iSpanky) McFarland, the chub in the "Our
Gang" series. True. "Spanky" is now a
57-year-old grandfather who likes his
afternoon nape, but he can still spin tales of
what it was like to be one of the great child
stars of the '30s in his one-man, two-hour
show, "A Little Bit of Yesterday."
How do acts like these ever get to college
campuses? Well, the process very often
begins at the annual convention of the Na
tional Association of Campus Activities.
This year in Washington about 2,000 pro
gram honchos from 600 schools mingled
with 200 performers—as well as assorted
agents and T-shirt, poster, beer and soda
salesmen—all pitching for a piece of the
lucrative college market. Entertainment
on campus can add up to big bucks: many of
the student programmers, who pay $ 150 to
register, come to the convention with budg
ets as high as $60,000.
Scouting tilsnt: For six days student-activi
ties chiefs scouted hot comedians, such as
Emo Philips, checked out rent-a-beach-par
ty operations, and saw 25 Hicks, ranging
from "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" to
cult classics like "Eraserhead " But for
every true headliner, there were several
unknowns doing Cat Stevens and Harry
Chapin imitations in The Club 750—a
showcase so named because that's the most
its performers charge per campus appear
ance. In one corner of the exhibition hall,
Mark Wenzel, who bills himself as "the
official mime of the 1986 World’s Fair,"
passed out fliers to everyone within arm's
length of his booth His manager, never
more than an earshot away, revealed to
anyone who cared to listen that his client
boasted an even greater distinction as The
Man Who Started Mime in Theme Parks:
"Mark was at Sea World in 1972!"
Struggling singers Kiki Ebsen and Timo
thy Drury hope NACA might
launch them into the bigger
time. They're familiar with the
vicissitudes of show business:
she's the daughter of Buddy
Ebsen of "The Beverly Hill
billies," and he’s the son of
James Drury of "The Virgin
ian." "Appearing here,” said
Ebsen, "gives us the opportuni
ty to be seen by a whole part of
the country that we normally
wouldn’t be exposed to."
The clout exerted by school
representatives varied almost
as much as the talent. Some,
PHOTOS BY JOHN TROHA Bl.AC'K STAR
Just add water: Rentable, portable beach party
like Bill Ostroff who has spent $110,000
this academic year as director of concerts
at Northwestern, came more to see and be
seen than to sign "I'm here to have a good
time and to establish a better working rela
tionship with the people I’m on the phone
with five or six hours a day,” Other book
ers, with slimmer resources, also had mod
est aims Susan Haynie. one of a five-mem
Hip hop*: Comic Philips
ber delegation that drove up from East
Carolina University in Greenville, N.C.,
said, "I'm here to generate ideas, to get
resource material, to make contacts.”
While most of the convention's exhibi
tors pushed entertainment, some focused
on more serious matters. Independent
agent George Greenfield urged student or
ganizers to participate in Hungerthon—a
nationwide fund-raising day in May—by
scheduling benefits for the hungry and
homeless here and abroad. (The project
will be jointly sponsored by USA for
Africa, Hands Across America and the Na
tional Student Campaign Against Hun
ger). MTV, the rock-video cable channel,
offered to sponsor a free concert this fall on
the campus that raised the most money for
the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.
Miller Beer added a sobering note by pass
ing out "Don't Drive When Drunk” litera
ture along with free glasses of brew.
No ‘Rotobud’: The performers, though,
dominated the show, and the leading light
was clearly Emo Philips, the cable-and
club comedian who seems an amalgam of
Pee Wee Herman, Woody Allen and a court
jester. Asked why he sought college audi
ences, Philips responded, "I do a lot of col
lege dates. College audiences are the hip
pest, most intelligent audience for their
age group.” Then, in curious Emoesque
fashion, he added, "I think it’s important to
influence people while they’re very young,
so when they’re on their deathbed they’ll
be saying 'Emo' instead of ’Rosebud’.”
When you’re trying to entice student book
ers, it seems, it helps to carry a big shtick.
Dody Tsiantak with David Tischman
in Washington