A VIP and an IBU walk into a beer fest

(Photo credit: Storify, via Mashable.com)

I went to my first rock concert at the age of 15 in 1975. The venue was Louisville Gardens, and the band was Chicago, which had made it only to IX at the time and wasn’t yet overtly pop. Tickets were $7 in advance, and $8 “on the day of show.”

My most recent name brand concert was the Who at Yum Center in February. Tickets cost somewhere around $75 after Ticketmaster’s various digital anal probes, but for a mere $750 (maybe more; who can remember a spare zero or three?) I might have tithed myself into position backstage as a VIP, fed organic Black Sea caviar with a coke spoon formerly wielded by the late, great Keith Moon, and exchanged pre-curtain pleasantries with Pete Townshend just prior to him ceremonially smashing his guitar atop my tonsure – although it occurs to me that fretboard abuse cost an extra C-note, of which I keep plenty around to light cigars.

In 1975, reserved seats seldom were an option, and sitting was what you did on the floor just before passing out. “Festival seating” was the rule, and an imperfect egalitarianism held sway. Back then, being a VIP meant waiting outside the venue just like everyone else, for long hours in crotch-high snow drifts, until the doors finally opened, all the better for dashing to the prime standing area in front of the stage.

Unfortunately, the Who’s entourage can attest to how this festival practice can go tragically awry, as in Cincinnati in 1979.

I’ve no interest in debating the shifting sands of multi-national musical economics. Rather, I’m wondering how long it will take before VIP packages at craft beer festivals begin reaching the rarified heights of musical performances, insuring greater exclusivity, access and perks for those with the cash to buy into the compound.

If we’re not careful, attending a beer fest might soon cost as much as buying a bottle of BrewDog, and those unable to afford it will be compelled to make do with MadDog.

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In the absence of Pollstar for beer fests, a comprehensive survey of such matters is beyond my shrinking attention span, although my educated guess is that a process of escalation already has begun in earnest. I’ll cite as a convenient example ticket packages available for the Brewers of Indiana Guild festival in Indianapolis on July 20, while hastening to add that this doesn’t constitute my singling out the Guild for scrutiny; after all, it’s my own trade group. In fact, I imagine BIG is coming to such strategies of ticket pricing rather late in the game.

VIP Experience: $100 (very limited, online only)
Includes early admission (2:00) and access to exclusive VIP Experience Tent (special tappings and food pairings), tasting glass and unlimited beer samples

Early Bird: $55 (limited, online only)
Includes early admission (2:00), tasting glass and unlimited beer samples

General Admission: $40 (advance purchase)
Includes tasting glass and unlimited beer samples

I’m as gung-ho as they come about the work and activities of the Brewers of Indiana Guild, and the reality of “what the craft beer market will bear” isn’t the major issue plaguing my conscience. Just the same, my first reaction to this year’s “VIP Experience” entry tier was to wonder whether it includes access to Three Floyds’ house tattoo artist.

Will vestal virgins be on hand to hand-stitch hop pillows? Can we schedule a keynote speech to the VIPs by the late Michael Jackson, via séance? And let’s not forget the silver trays with pork belly rilletes prepared after slaughtering a hog raised entirely on spent Oberon grain from Bell’s.

(Yes, Bell’s is a Michigan brewery, not an Indiana brewery, but if you want World Class Beer to be a high-rolling sponsor, you’ve just got to give a little)

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Conversely, selling $100 tickets for the approbation of the über-geeks (or the trend-hopping hangers-on, or the multi-national brewing execs seeking the next big thing to utterly ruin) doesn’t necessarily strike me as illegal, immoral or fattening — so long as we’re all committed to improving the overall experience for the sweaty throngs paying general admission, and not just for the new governing classe of craft beer elites with their roped-off backstage areas and gold-plated sample glasses.

It’s true that attending an arena rock show nowadays costs much more than it did during the Ford Administration, but most of the time the experience is far better technically than it ever was before, when to be honest, you were far too stoned to remember. Contemporary sound systems are pristine, and big screens enable the folks in nose-bleed seats to view the proceedings in relative comfort without missing a lick. The bands are better, too. After 30 years, they’ve actually learned to play their instruments.

Back out on the pitch, those $40 beer festival ducats still comprise the bread and butter on the fest’s bottom line, and we need to see to it that these attendees are not subjected only to the mud and the blood and the (leftover) beer, while the VIPs strut the corduroyed catwalk, pinkies extended, constantly checking their iPhones to make sure the beer they’re drinking is the truly rare Rye Barrel release, and not that commoner’s Boubon Barrel version that just ANYONE can buy – and subsequently hoard.

If you’re asking me (and you are, right?), it’s the general admission attendees who are far more likely to evangelize craft beer and help us reach the next percentile by broadening the exposure, bringing more craft beer drinkers into the tent, and perpetuating the egalitarianism that should be the foundation of the revolution. Let’s not forget it.

Paging Mr. Townshend, Mr. Peter Townshend – say, if you’re not using that axe, Pete, might I borrow it for just a moment?