By The Landlord
“Buy the ticket, take the ride.” – Hunter S. Thompson
“When you're born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat.” – George Carlin
“If I have to climb to heaven on a ladder, I shall decline the invitation.” – Mercedes McCambridge
“Lottery tickets are a surtax on desperation.” – Douglas Coupland
“Nothing annoys people so much as not receiving invitations.” – Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
“Airplane travel is nature's way of making you look like your passport photo.” – Al Gore
That wondrous whirr, click, stamp, and ker-chunk of human and machine combined, precisely issuing and pushing out that precious paper or cardboard stub-keep-biscuit, especially for you. That often colourful, eye-catching marriage of numbers and letters – graphic design framing information, art and function intertwined, expressing a culture, a society, a world of entertainment, adventure, travel, places, experiences and possibilities.
As a child, I found the creation and receiving of such things deeply fascinating. I remember grabbing and wanting to eat a chocolate-bar-section-sized cardboard bus ticket purchased by my mum, one issued by a conductor twirling a handle on a hand-held machine. It was a system later replaced by Greater Manchester Transports’ cardboard Clippercards, in which as a schoolkids, we dipped our long, thin, clock-in season-type tickets, their smudgy side section of allotted trips gradually bitten off by a machine with teeth.
Technology moves on. A few years ago I witnessed an eccentric young man fully dressed as a wizard, perhaps obsessed by JRR Tolkein's characters, or those of Harry Potter, alight a Number 38 bus, waving the end of his special wand at the card reader, presumably having embedded his Oyster or payment card chip within it, to summon a seemingly magical ker-ching ding of technological approval.
Back in childhood again, I recall holding tight in tiny fist my first ever ticket to a school-trip Christmas pantomime, starring the then locally popular comedy entertainment band, the Grumbleweeds, all in big, brown-and-orange, wide flares and collars, the accompanying ticket a garish theatrical curtain-styled whirl of purple and yellow, and to me looking as if I'd won some precious prize from Willy Wonka.
On holiday as an eight-year-old, I remember climbing up the steep steps of what was already a vintage steam train, possibly Devon's still existing Dartmouth to Paignton line, clutching my own retro-styled, chunky piece of printed square cardboard that likely declared "Child - Ten Pence" , and also discovering there was an near-identical one for Dog - same price.
Some years later, in late-teen and student-time casual jobs, I sat in various ticket booths, from the cold and plastic to the grandly carpeted, issuing, or taking and tearing and checking tickets, those for sorts of events from funfairs and cinemas or theatres. It was a fascinating, if visually saturating, societal study experience of endless faces and gestures, the full spectrum of behaviour, of politeness and rudeness, from the oddball and extraordinary to the herd-like and bland, from the humble to the entitled, across all class, wealth and taste.
These days, our ticketing experiences might more likely be the scanned ping processing of impersonal barcode image, or a frustratingly slow and technically flawed process of self-scanning your passport to get the hell out of that airport and finally home.
But this week, whether as literal or as metaphor in lyrics, it's all about tickets and passes and even written invitations allowing all kinds of access to wherever that might get you. They might all bring admission to an experience or a place. That might be for live music, theatre, film, funfairs, football matches or other sports, or parties, to more imaginary places summoned by a raffle, tombola or lottery. Or more habitually onto trains, buses or planes, with passports, season tickets, or allowing parking passes and, without, ticket fines. They represent entrance to another world, or at least a place, on a small paper or digital document, and declaration of at least temporary status. They might also express wider opportunity and experience, all through the tantalising world of a piece of paper. So let’s also peruse a small gallery of visual examples for inspiration:
Some gig tickets become prized collectables. A couple of years ago, we explored the topic of songs about memorabilia and souvenirs, but tickets were but one small part of that. While I've attending hundreds, or even thousands of events, I tend not to keep souvenirs, but I still have a ticket to a Fall gig from the early 90s, because afterwards I managed to encounter Mark E Smith, who declined to autograph anything, but decided to bite my ticket instead, his gnarly molar marks still indented on it to this day.
Music tickets are a controversial topic, especially in the light of ongoing inflated costs and dynamic pricing by major outlets. Hundreds or even thousands of pounds or dollars for this year's Oasis tickets fuelled by a greedy algorithm is an example of one of the latest outrages. Various artists have, over the years, might somewhat token protest at this.
“I'm very much against the secondary ticket market. I don't know anyone who isn't,” declared Mick Jagger. Yeah Mick. But how much does it cost to see the Stones?
“You think I'm going to ask these sweet 14-year-olds to ask their parents to buy a $100 ticket then run around in latex and lip sync? No way,” said Lady Gaga, but then again ...
The only true hero in this respect is Robert Smith, who genuinely fought against ticket issuers for inflating prices and ensured a ceiling cap with not add-ons. His logic is hones and logical. “If people save on the tickets, they buy more beer or merch. There is goodwill, they will come back next time. It is a self-fulfilling good vibe and I don’t understand why more people don’t do it.”
Good on you, Robert. You are the Cure for this particular issue. But now it's time to issue you all with a free ticket to our event. We request then, the honour of your presence in nominating songs on this topic, with no passes required at the door. All we need is your presence and your music.
Saint Robert Smith - a ticket to fairer prices
Stamping with approval or tearing with great taste is this week's guest at the ticket booth - Loud Atlas! Put your tickets in the trays below for the deadline at 11pm on Monday UK time, for playlists published next week. Now enter ...
Evidence to experience …
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