The Chaff
ALL I GOT IS MY BALL AND MY WORDS Karl McDonald rinity students have a reputation for being posh and, by extension, rich, but we all know that that’s not necessarily the case. And the Ball is a significant expense. In order to solve this apparent difficulty, I’ve done some thinking about where corners can be cut. The average Trinity Ball line-up will consist of some acts people are actually excited about seeing and some acts that are excited about having people see them. The former tend to fall somewhere in between universally familiar and vaguely cool, so as to placate both Arts Blockers who could literally end up being too ashamed to attend an event with a pure pop act as the headliner and Hamilton people who aren’t likely to be inclined to understand the artistic merit of minimal post-dubstep with autotuned wolves over it. The acts that people don’t recognise are mostly drawn from the ranks of aspirational Irish groups who are in the midst of a push. Those in charge of trying to get them to make more money than they cost feel like it might be a good idea to give them a run-out in front of a horde of people pretty much honour-bound to be too drunk to really care what’s happening so long as it’s loud. All of this costs money though, not just in terms of fees but in equipment rental and sound guys and logistics and that kind of thing. My suggestion, as an attendee of several years’ standing, is that the Ball be reduced to three stages. The first one, where the main stage has been heretofore, will have three consecutive Rubberbandits sets at 11pm, 1am and 3am. The second stage, in Front Square, will effectively be Coppers. A solitary man will play all the hits and nothing but the hits from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s and now, grabbing hold of a microphone at ten minute intervals to ask if everyone’s having a good night tonight at the Trinity Ball and announcing specifically before slow songs that it could be a good time to go in search of the shift. He will take requests and announce them with dedications.
“Walking into Front Square with the lights on and the music spilling out and everyone you’ve ever met in college in formal dress is a unique expierience and worth whatever the tickets cost”
Meanwhile, on the third stage, a single 808 bass drum will play on loop at 180bpm for the entire night as an unskilled temporary employee triggers basic arpeggiator patterns on a borrowed MicroKorg. This will keep the ubiquitous constituency of water-drinking huggers happy and out of the way, robbing them of their need to go wandering around to check twice what’s on in the same tent before inquiring of strangers about the quality of their night to express their love for having everyone all together having fun like this. In this model, everyone gets what they want. Those that want bangers get bangers. Those that want hits get hits. Everyone gets to see the Rubberbandits. The whole thing, excluding the presumably not excessive cost of getting the Rubberbandits to just play for six hours straight, will cost nothing. Ticket sales, admittedly, might become an issue without the lure of a few touring acts, but I have several suggestions for that eventuality too. Firstly, reduce the ticket price to ten euro, or eight euro if you’re found to be sober enough to be likely to buy a lot of pints inside. Secondly, you could pretend the person improvising anonymous electronic music was David Guetta. Thirdly, a poster campaign around college saying, “seriously, ask a grown-up how much of the actual sets they remember seeing the last time they were at the Ball.” Combine the three and you’ve got a guaranteed sell-out, with the profit margin for those with an interest still protected. Sometimes though, as permanent Ball enemy Jessie J reminds us, it’s not about the money. Walking into Front Square with the lights on and the music spilling out and everyone you’ve ever met in college in formal dress is a unique experience that’s worth whatever the tickets cost, no matter who’s playing. And, whether you end up with an amorous taxi ride, a trip to McDonalds or a visit to a morally suspect newsagents rumoured to sell wine even at 6am, you’re not likely to have had a bad time. So enjoy.
If you’re looking for more of Karl, why not download his podcast, Them’s The Vagaries? It would make his day: http://
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