grill salutes the musicians who put bums on seats in New Zealand’s public establishments.

"What I want to know,” says Mister Bones with a wry grin, “is how come the sound guy gets paid more than we do.”  

Notorious minstrel duo Bones and Paul have been performing, both separately and in tandem, in pubs in and around Auckland for donkeys’ years, and for the most part are in it for the love. It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll; at the end of the uphill journey to the middle lies the pub gig. The money’s not great, the work is hard, the reception unpredictable and the logistics a flaming nightmare.

Whipping out a set for a fee or a cut of the door charge may sound to would-be giggers like a god-sent opportunity, but the reality of coordinating band members, bagging a sound guy, publicising the event, transporting equipment and the hours of rehearsal required in order to deliver a quality performance makes a remuneration rate of 150 bucks for a three-hour performance somewhat paltry. This is not a game for the semi-committed. Those musicians hardy enough to work the pub rounds are more likely to be in it for the spirit of the performance than dollars in the jar.

But live music is a key component of the making of merriment and a successful pub gig makes money for the bar and the performers; hopefully with a respectful yet receptive audience who are drinking responsibly and feeding back an encouraging vibe. “The audience are just as important as the act,” says Paul, speaking not just for the band but also for the bar which has invested in the presence of live entertainment.

“Everyone takes a risk on the turnout.” The size and calibre of the crowd (for which the degree of publicity the gig has received has a lot to answer) can make or break a performance in an environment where the atmosphere is key. Demoralising as it is to play in front of an audience of five comprised for the most part of bar staff stationed behind immobile beer taps, Paul has learned from experience to treat those occasions as “great paid practice”. But by the same token, memories such as nigh-on 100 Chinese tourists “dancing their balls off” to foot-stomping Irish classics around the floor of The Dog’s Bollix make it all worth it.

Audience turnout is relevant in more than just one sense to the success of a pub gig. It’s not just a matter of bums on seats and beers in hands; the wrong crowd can numb an atmosphere with sterility or, on the flipside, dissolve into a rabble. It only takes one.

Bones cringes at the recollection of the loud-mouthed lummox, lubricated by liquor, who improvised a Donald O’Connor impression on the floor of a small-town watering hole during his band’s set, followed by a demonstration of aerial stool-spinning – much in the style of a Japanese samurai taking on a mythical dragon. Having ducked numerous low-flying missiles and wondering why the offending patron had not been removed from the premises hours earlier, Bones made enquiries at the bar only to be informed; “Oh that’s just Pete, mate, he’s all good.” Something of a local legend, it would seem.

According to Bones and Paul, the pitfalls of pub gigs are often centred around (though naturally not limited to) the provision of sub-standard sound equipment and personnel by the hosting facility. “We arrived at the gig,” says Bones of a charity gig at a venue located a considerable distance from home for which the band had been assured the sound technician was a seasoned pro, “to discover that he only had two direct inputs to cater for a band of 10 instruments.” Several 80-foot lead cables had to be procured in order to link the stage to the sound desk.

Dead pre-amps, sloping stages, spilled beverages and busted strings are only the tip of the iceberg, though inconsiderate venues can dampen a performer’s spirits too. “If you’re paying for the band, turn off the pokies and the big screen!” says Paul. “Don’t make us compete with the rugby.”

Herein lies the conflict of interest between the band and the bar. “Pubs are there to sell booze,” Paul continues, “and the music is secondary to the selling of alcohol. It’s a pity that in New Zealand musicians are so tied to the pubs.”

But such is the nature of the beast; opportunities to play outside of a pub context are limited and, whilst a mixed bag, pub gigs are by and large the best way for local Kiwi musicians to share their skills and enjoy an audience. On a good night, it’s hard to say who’s having a better time; the entertainers or the entertained.

Bones recalls with resigned humour prolonged struggles with tinny sound equipment, the tedious trials of both under- and over-enthusiastic receptions from audiences, dangerous liaisons between instruments and beer, and a gig where a hasty pub-wide whip-round had to be organised in order just to pay the sound technician.

• Sarah Habershon is a journalist for grill and has more than a passing acquaintance with pubs and the bands that play in them.