XL Cover Story: Concert gigs in private digs
Austinites Bruce and Liz Rouse open their home to musicians -- and to fans looking for a better venue
By Michael CorcoranJanuary 15, 2004
Bruce and Liz Rouse have to laugh about the phone call they received a couple years ago from a frantic fan at the airport. "He said he'd flown in from Houston to see a certain artist, who was scheduled to play a club called the Rouse House, but he couldn't find the address in the phone book," says Bruce Rouse. The man had asked a band setting up at the airport stage if they'd ever heard of the venue, and one of the members just happened to have the Rouses' number.
"The guy was a little stunned to find out that the concert that night was in our living room," says Liz. "He apologized for calling us at home, but we said for him to just come on over. It was a house concert. . . . He'd never heard of such a thing and wasn't sure if it was something he'd be into. But he showed up and had a great time."
Among the oldest of those is the Rouse House; Liz and Bruce have hosted concerts by singer-songwriters, some nationally known, in their Northeast Austin home for 13 years. It's a smoke-free, alcohol-free, children-free zone where fans come to listen with ears wide open. And from the outside it looks like any other house on the block.
"We had to practically twist arms to get our favorite musicians to play here in the beginning," Bruce Rouse says. "But nowadays it seems that everybody wants to play our series."
Still, not everyone is down with the whole house concert concept. "We've gotten contract riders specifying staging and lighting requirements," he says, walking to a spot in the corner of the living room and gesturing to standard ceiling illumination. "Here's our stage. Those are our lights."
'Private parties'
House concerts were popular with the late-'50s/early-'60s folk crowd and with chamber music enthusiasts before that. But the tradition goes even further back. "You can trace the roots of what we do to the traveling minstrels of the olden days, who'd play their music in return for a meal and a place to sleep," says Bruce Rouse, who's a research associate at the University of Texas petroleum engineering department when he's not the Bill Graham of Rundberg Lane about once a month.
House concert performers sing for much more than a hot and a flop these days. "Tom Russell walked out of here with $2,800 -- three sold-out shows at $15 a head," Bruce Rouse says. "I had to beg him for five years to play here. Now he can't wait to come back."
At the 80-capacity Rouse House (which routinely sells out in advance at $10 a head), the musicians' take is generally better than what they'll make at clubs. The up-close and personal setting provides a great way for independent artists to build a grass-roots following. Plus, these folky soirees, which fly under the regulatory radar by terming admission charges "musician donations" rather than selling tickets and calling the events "private parties," rather than concerts, can help fill in off dates during national tours. Duckett, who also runs the Flowers In the Desert house concert series in Brenham, says, "Since we're halfway between Houston and Austin, we're in a perfect position for a fill-in date."
"House concerts are the lifeblood of the singer-songwriter movement," Nashville's David Olney wrote in the Rouses' scrapbook, thanking them after a performance in November. "Thanks for the most positive performing atmosphere imaginable," folk legend Tom Paxton inscribed in another scrapbook. That's right, THE Tom Paxton, as the Rouses had to assure several regulars after they announced the show in 2000.
"We've been fans of Tom Paxton since before we married 41 years ago," Bruce Rouse says. "He's another holdout. He said he didn't do house concerts." But after a dismal turnout at the Cactus Cafe in 1999, Paxton finally caved in to Rouse's standing offer. "He sold exactly one CD at the Cactus show. He sold four or five dozen at our house concert." Bruce Rouse says that because most of the Rouse House audience doesn't go to clubs or record stores, they're eager to pick up product at the shows. Christine Albert and Chris Gage verify that, saying they sell about four times as many CDs when they play residences as opposed to club gigs.
Out on tour, merchandise sales can make the difference between driving all night or staying in a hotel, though Rouse House acts don't have to make that decision. A trio of regulars takes turns putting up performers in their homes. The Rouses would be happy to provide a spare bedroom, but the aftershow amateur "song circle" sometimes lasts until 3 a.m. and it's hard to sleep through group renditions of "If I Had a Hammer."
An attentive audience
Because the Rouses give all the door money to the acts, and serve free refreshments, they actually lose about $100 per show, most going to the cost of their monthly mailings (the main promotional tool besides word-of-mouth.) But it's an expense they're happy to eat. "We just figure that in as part of the entertainment budget," Bruce Rouse says. "And it's the best money we've ever spent."
With the renewed popularity of residential performances, these self-proclaimed "amateurs," who moved to Austin from their native Canada in 1968, have become players on the national singer-songwriter scene. The Rouses have taught seminars on hosting house concerts and are often pitched new artists by a variety of booking agents. "The first time we got a contract in the mail, we were scared to death," says Liz. "Now we just sign them and send them out and it's no big deal."
"At house concerts, there's a lot more socializing with the audience after the show, which can be a wonderful thing," says Christine Albert. "(The access) is certainly part of the appeal to fans, but sometimes it's tiring. It's like you're 'on' all night." She appreciates the place to unwind between sets.
Austin songwriter Slaid Cleaves says that playing in someone's living room can be an intense experience. "Compared to noisy, smoky nightclubs, it's literally a breath of fresh air. But it's a little disconcerting to have 50 people totally focused on you. You can't phone it in at a house concert: the audience will pick it up right away."
Local musician Nathan Hamilton finds it "frightening and exciting" to perform under the microscope. "I love playing with my band, but sometimes it's a nice challenge not having the band to hide behind."
In 13 years, Bruce Rouse has had to shush only one audience member. "She complained during the break to her friends and then stormed out," Bruce Rouse says. "And afterward her friends thanked us."
Introductions over lemonade
Bruce Rouse says the key to a successful house concert series is to book only the acts that "light a fire in your belly. If you don't truly love the artist, it's just not worth it."
Rouse House regulars have come to trust the Rouses' tastes. If the couple were to burn them with an inferior act, they might not come back. A songwriter series is only as strong as its weakest John Prine cover. "We give out perfect attendance awards at the end of each year," says Liz. "If you've been to every show, you get to come at half price the next year." One fan has not missed a show in 13 years.
Most of the attendees are regulars, but the Rouse House also gets its share of first-timers. "We try to buddy up the newcomers," says Liz Rouse. Introductions are made over lemonade before the show or during intermission, when most of the crowd gathers outside on the patio. "We have three married couples who met here," Liz Rouse says, then laughs. "And one of them brings a single friend every time."
Word of mouth is, after all, the best form of advertising for concerts that that don't want to draw too much attention. One host, who's had monthly shows in his West Lake Hills home for the past eight years, agreed to let this newspaper photograph his New Year's Eve show under the condition that his name and address not be revealed. "Nothing good comes from publicity," he says, recounting the "nasty-gram" he received from the city after his series was listed in a music business directory. "It's a private party, not a business," the host said of his music series. "I don't take any of the money."
Going public could lead to problems, as in the case of the Texas Firelight Theater, which is really just a patio in the back yard of a home belonging to a Houston couple that racked up $2,000 in legal bills in a struggle with their homeowners' association. Comparing their events to pizza parties, where everyone chips in for the pizza, "except we all pitch in for live music," the couple eventually won their neighbors over. Now, the homeowners' association's Web site even advertises TFT shows.
The Rouses, whose "reservation only" policy, with a list of guest names, legally qualifies their events as private parties, say they've never heard a peep from the city, never had a complaint from neighbors. They don't think what they do should be treated any differently than, say, a Tupperware party, albeit one where a line forms outside the front door about half an hour before the 7:30 p.m. sharp starting time.
"Our neighbors are very curious about what's going on over here," Bruce Rouse says, with a laugh.
No downside
The house concert concept is foreign to many, but sometimes even the sponsors seem clueless. Albert and Gage found themselves in an uncomfortable position when they played a crib gig in South Dakota a few years ago. "The party had started hours earlier," Albert says. "After we set up, the host said, 'OK, it's time for the concert' and started collecting money from each guest. "Some people were grumbling, 'I can't believe he's charging us for the band at his party.' "
These days, there's no excuse for such nightmare gigs. One need only Google "house concerts" to find Web sites that describe the concept and give advice to prospective impresarios. House concerts even have their own SXSW, the yearly Folk Alliance, to be held in San Diego on Feb. 26-29. The Alliance is where promoters scout new talent and unknown artists build a buzz. "That's where we found Angus Finnan," Bruce Rouse says proudly of the unknown who blew everyone away at a show last fall. Folks often come to the Alliance as fans and leave excited about transforming their dwellings into concert halls.
That's what happened with the Rouses, empty-nesters with two grown daughters, after they attended a seminar at the 1991 Kerrville Folk Festival.
"Our first act was Jon Ims, the Nashville songwriter," Liz Rouse says. "The night he played in our living room he had the number one and number two singles in the country ('She's In Love With the Boy' by Trisha Yearwood and 'Falling Out Of Love' by Reba McEntire.) We thought, 'Well, that's a nice start.' "
During the Rouse House's maiden year, the couple had to fill their schedule with acts they were lukewarm about. But as their series got better known and the average pay to artists rose from about $400 a show to $800, the couple got to pick and choose their faves, who've included Ray Wylie Hubbard, Kate Campbell, Vance Gilbert and Butch Hancock. In the past 13 years, the Rouse House has hosted more than 120 artists.
As she happily thumbs through her meticulously kept scrapbooks, Liz Rouse says, "These house concerts have really changed our lives. They're so much fun and we feel like we're truly helping musicians. There's not a single downside."
This Saturday morning at about 8 a.m., the Rouses will start moving all their furniture out of the living and dining rooms. They'll vacuum and dust and set up rows of folding chairs for the night's sold-out performance by Allen Shamblin and Steve Seskin, who've written hits for the likes of Tim McGraw and Randy Travis. In the afternoon, Liz Rouse will whip up some refreshments and Bruce Rouse will man the ever-ringing phone and set up the performing area.
It's difficult, but fulfilling work, as is playing the guitar and singing. And like their favorite musicians, Bruce and Liz Rouse work hard to make it look easy.
mcorcoran@statesman.com; 445-3652
