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Reggae on the River @ Eel River
#1
4-6/8/6

You might be wondering why I'm posting a show that hasn't started yet. Actually for me, it started months ago. Rock Med broke off with RotR several years ago and for the last 8 years, I've been supervising their psych ward. L-BP-B has been my trusty sidekick for these adventures. This year, we're taking in a crew of 30+ people including MDs, PAs and RNs. Note that this is *not* medical. It's just psyche. I leave tomorrow.

Remember when RotR was a one-day affair? We'd go up, do the show, and then turn around and go home? ED and KB might remember. PPFY has been caught in the wake. It's garantuan now - 6 days.

My Prius is in the shop again. Last week, I had a $900 repair. It's the first one I've paid for on the Prius, but that's a big chunk of change and after my horrible experience with my Dad's Camry earlier this year, I've spent several thousand at the Toyota dealership. I wouldn't even go there anymore, but with a Prius, I'm stuck. Last week's repair didn't work. So it's back. I've got a rental 2006 RAV 4WD and if they can't fix it in the next few hours, that'll be the ride to RotR for my family. I'm so sick of Toyota. If I have to pay any more, I may sell the Prius and buy another new Honda. Meanwhile, I'm ignoring the phone so if Toyota calls, I'll deal with them when I get back from RotR. If I get back, that is....
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#2
Heavyweight Dub Champion
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#3
http://www.championnation.net/
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#4
Quote:Going behind the scenes at the reggae revolution
by Heather Muller , 8/6/2006

David Moss scratched the two-day stubble on his jaw and looked up at the sky, as if from the heavens an answer would come.

“We can fix this,” he said, more or less to himself because no one else seemed to be listening.

At the moment, he had three things to fix: an unruly partygoer needed to be wrestled to the ground, a woman who had been hauled off for psychiatric assistance had left a large Rottweiler locked in her vehicle, and then there was the otiscope.

Moss — or the Mossman, as everyone called him — needed an otiscope.

As director of medical services at Reggae on the River, he had an entire medical unit — called Jah Med — at his disposal. He had a crash cart, an automated external defibrillator, four treatment areas, 10 hospital beds and even a psych ward.

He had a 200-person medical team that included volunteer doctors, nurses, physicians’ assistants, nurse practitioners, midwives, chiropractors, massage therapists, psychiatric experts, paramedics, emergency medical technicians and other first responders.

Jah Med could bandage wounds, suture cuts, run IVs and administer medication. It could, if necessary, restart a heart. But a medical doctor was examining a man suffering from a profound earache, and the Mossman couldn’t find an otiscope.

He found a drink instead. A woman carried a blender of peach-colored liquid around the med unit, offering refreshment to Mossman and his fatigued team of volunteers.

When asked what was in the beverage, she smiled and said, “Important nutrients.”

It must have been a nutritionally deprived group of people hanging around one of the two primary medical outposts at Reggae on the River, because everyone drinking the concoction seemed to feel much better.

The psych services team eventually was dispatched to deal with the disruptive partygoer, and security was called to do something about the Rottweiler. Mossman gave up on the otiscope, threw away most of his drink and hopped on a quad and headed down the hill toward the bowl, where more than 10,000 concertgoers swarmed around the stage.

JAH RULES

Diana Totten heads the Critical Incident Team, a 12-person group that handles Reggae’s stickiest problems.

Most of these problems have to do with police and the event organizers’ strong determination to keep law enforcement personnel outside the venue gates and inside a dusty command post set up along U.S. Highway 101.

At the command post Saturday a book about narcotics enforcement held down a few papers set on a table, while law enforcement officials passed the time in an air-conditioned motor home parked nearby.

But narcotics enforcement was notably absent inside the event, where vast quantities of Humboldt County’s most famous agricultural product were openly consumed.

Security personnel turned away attendees possessing bottles and cans at the three gates into the bowl, while people carrying — and even using — glass bongs 2 feet tall were waved through without a second glance.

Totten said the extensive emergency infrastructure in place was designed to minimize the event’s impact on the local community, because local law enforcement and medical services are already so scarce.

The outside is kept out, she said, and the inside kept in.

But by Saturday afternoon, two days into the four-day event, the inside was beginning to spill over.

The Critical Incident Team responded to a report of a man threatening to shoot another concertgoer.

The man was knocked to the ground by members of the team, and then spider-strapped face down to a backboard with his hands zip-tied behind him.

The man was then transported by ambulance through the gates to a waiting Humboldt County Sheriff’s vehicle parked at the command post.

“I don’t think he has a gun,” Totten said, climbing onto a quad as the Sheriff’s vehicle pulled away, “but now I have to go back and search his car.”

She drove to the event’s northern perimeter, where an SUV was sitting with the driver-side door still open.

Crime scene control, like most things at Reggae, was visibly relaxed.

A woman sitting near the vehicle waved her hand dismissively. “I already took everything out of there,” she said.

Totten looked through the vehicle anyway, and then radioed a tow truck to haul it away.

She climbed back on her quad and called to the woman. “Did he have a gun?”

“No way,” the woman said, shaking her head. “There never was any gun.”

Then Totten sped away.


TRIPPING THE NIGHT FANTASTIC

Josh Smith staffed an ambulance parked along the rim of the bowl. A paramedic and the son of fire Chief Eric Smith of the Eureka Fire Department, Smith said Saturday afternoon that things so far had been quiet.

“Too quiet. Scary quiet,” he said.

“There was a guy with a head injury, and then a woman suffering withdrawals from heroin. I guess she thought Reggae was a good weekend to stop taking drugs,” he said, shaking his head.

“Go figure.”

But when the sun went down, the quiet ended abruptly.

Within a 5-minute period shortly after dark, 10 emergency calls went out.

Seven field teams on quads and on foot were dispatched all over the compound to people who had ingested things that did not entirely agree with them.

Some were unconscious. Some threw up. Others behaved in ways that concerned Jah Med staff.

In some cases, the psych team was called in.

Marc Velez, an acupuncture student from Santa Cruz and a 12-year veteran of the Reggae psych team, said the approach typically used is to subdue, distract and soothe the patient.

“Trippers,” as they’re called, are removed from the crowd and taken to the psych unit, informally called the Tripper Tent.

“After they calm down, we walk them back to their tents and tuck them in tight,” Velez said.

And when things don’t go that smoothly, there’s always Plan B. Physically wrestling trippers to the ground and removing them from the venue is a not uncommon occurrence at Reggae.

“Talk-downs and takedowns,” Velez said. “Those are our specialties.” When the talk-down fails, the takedown goes into effect.

Amid the flood of emergency incidents Saturday night, Velez got a report of a tripper on the outskirts of the bowl.

Members of the psych, medical and security teams converged on the area, where Velez attempted to convince one young man that it was time for him to call it a night.

Polite negotiations continued for more than 15 minutes, while the man became increasingly agitated.

Finally, all of the teams converged on the man and knocked him to the ground. Six men struggled to hold him down while he fought and screamed, and after an extended scuffle he was dragged to the Tripper Tent.

While the takedown had been aggressive, the moment was still pure Reggae. The burly security guards who, moments later, would wrestle the tripper to the ground, danced in place around him while awaiting the order to move in.

REGGAE MASH

“Are we running the party or are we part of the party?” Mossman asked.

He paused momentarily to give a smiling thumbs-up to two topless women riding past him on the back of a quad.

“What? Oh, sorry. We’re running the party. Definitely running.”

And by all accounts, they’re running it very well. Even the California Highway Patrol stated in a news release Saturday that the festival had gone “relatively smooth with no major incidents.”

“Hey,” Mossman said, “we have actual medical doctors acting as first responders all over this event. How good is that?”

By some estimates, Jah Med treats and releases back to the event as many as 150 patients a day.

Miki Pimental, a Jah Med volunteer and emergency room nurse from San Francisco General Hospital, said that the goal is to keep as many people as possible out of local hospitals, which would be unable to handle the volume.

Jah Med operates 24 hours a day during the festival, and all services are delivered at no additional cost to participants.

“It’s like a MASH unit,” Pimental said.

Patients who require more treatment than Jah Med can provide are transported to local hospitals.

Such was the case with the tripper Velez had helped remove from the bowl.

An hour after the takedown, Smith and his fellow paramedic, Jeff O’Neil, transported the man, in four-point restraints, to a local hospital.

A few minutes later a dispatcher called for law enforcement to respond to the hospital for a report of an unruly patient.

“Five staff members are attempting to restrain him,” the dispatcher said, “and they are not succeeding.”

Back at the event, psych services coordinator Gene Ching was philosophical about the incident.

“Most people want to cooperate with us,” he said.

Those who don’t cooperate inside the venue are unceremoniously placed outside.

“I think when we look back on this, we’ll see that those were the worst 30 minutes of the entire event,” Ching said.

But Jah Med had little time for reflection Saturday night.

Pimental and her partner Andreas Fischer were dispatched to a report of a man vomiting uncontrollably after eating banana bread laced with marijuana.

“This is a completely different experience from working an emergency room,” Pimental said. “Everyone is so appreciative, because without Jah Med, there would be no Reggae.”

She threw on a backpack of medical supplies and danced through the crowd toward the patient.
http://www.eurekareporter.com/ArticleDis...leID=13669
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#5
So I'll start with the climax and work outwards. The climax was Heavyweight
Dub Champion. They were originally scheduled to close Friday, but the show ran so late that they were bumped to a prime slot on Saturday. They have this oppressive apocalyptic sound with firedancers on stage and such - it was the first time I'd heard of them. 15 minutes after they took stage, we had four comabtive trippers in our little geodesic psych dome, with another one piling in every 15-20 minutes. It was insane, as insane as when the Dead would go into those dark and scary space jams and the space tent would overflow. You should have seen us jam. The band got off stage and the trippers began to subside slowly. Stacy, who had been watching the show, said it was the best act of the weekend, and she's very selective about her reggae music. HDC+ is now the official soundtrack of the Dub Lounge.

The new venue is a monster. So huge. So unmanageable. So much dirty fun. The krew performed like never before and we've all been debriefing each other over email since we got back this week. So many crazy stories. More to come...
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#6
Great art inspires violence.

I'm not being cynical. I'm not being ironic.

I'm slowly learning.

Osama, you one-note wonder.

Me, I have bigger fish to fly.

Not a typo. I'm a surrealist.

--cranefly
I'm nobody's pony.
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#7
So I carpooled to RRR with a dub lounger, and she told me this story of how we were walking together Saturday morning at RotR and she found this groundscore - a burrito-sized baggy of shrooms and she held them up and I instantly took them from her and stowed it in my jacket and kept on walking, and then later handed them over to another volunteer. I had no memory of this whatsoever. None. A blackout? I haven't blacked out like that in years, but given the chaos of RotR, I was willing to beleive it might have happened. Since a lot of Dub Lounge people were at RRR, this story was retold many times that day and I just shook my head with each retelling, amused and somewhat frightened by such a black out. If you've ever held a large bag of drugs, there's an amazing sensation of power, one that isn't easily forgotten. It's like holding a fully-automatic weapon or a live hand grenade - the feeling of sheer power, sheer illegal power. How could I forget that?

Later, she realized that the story wasn't about me at all. It was someone else. I was flattered that she mistook me for him, relieved that I didn't black out, and amused at the irony of it all. But that I was so willing to accept that I might have blacked out such an event is some testament about the magnitude of the weekend.
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#8
I just heard some Sean Paul at the mall at lunch and had a flashback on how godawful he was at RotR. It's been a running joke with me and BP. His daughter likes Sean Paul. I was telling him to check some Sean Paul out, but in a chiding way. He did eventually and couldn't beleive that I recommended it. That being said, I do enjoy crossover reggae, of course, and listen to him when I catch a track on the radio. So I was enthusiatic about seeing him live, but my lord, what a talentless schlub. He can't sing, can't dance, had no stage presence, kept calling us "mothafockers!" I mean, come on, I'm listening to your damn music, don't call me that. He had four dancehall queens doing some stripper steps and that was the only thing marginally entertaining about the performance. There was a rumor that he was too twisted on shrooms to perform, but that just doesn't wash with me. I don' care how high you are, when you're on stage, you gotta put out. Hell, I worked for the Dead. Those guys played better when lit. Sean Paul is just a wussy, just an overblown pop wussy, and he's giving reggae a bad rep. I'd blame most of the young gang violence we saw this year on his fans.
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#9
One of the people on the security crew was exhibiting bizarre behavior - talking about teh FBI and drug dealers and all sorts of psychotic nonsense. He was sitting harmlessly in the security area staring at a smashed watermelon and we were all checking in with him. Since he was staff, no one really knew what to do. All of a sudden, he leaps on top of a generator (the one for security and medical) and locks himself to the top with a kryptonite lock, breaking the key in the lock. Then he starts yelling psychotic crap from that perch. We couldn't cut the lock. There was a locksmith on site, or at least his truck was there - there's a whole other story about that which I'll share next. We called for that locksmith but he never showed. We opened the genereator to try to figure out how to detach the rail he was locked to. Then we realized that if we just took of his shoe, we could probably work him out. The generator was atop a steep hill, covered with poison oak, so we trussed him up as best we could, freed him then brought him to be 5150ed. Of course, that didnt' work. As much as I've pleaded with RotR to get a functional system to get rid of borderlines, it's still hasn't happened. He's back on site soon enough and we get him and his stuff to the gate and release him. Veeeery weird. No one is comfortable about how that one fell. It was our Sunday night twilight zone moment, when we were all burnt from the weekend. At that point, I had been up for four days straight, save for a few cat naps here and there.
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#10
Quote:by BOB DORAN
MOST OF THE 15,000 OR SO PEOPLE ATTENDING THIS SUMMER'S REGGAE ON THE RIVER NEVER SAW THE BANNER, although many had seen it in the past. For years, the backdrop for the festival stage included a large piece of canvas with the word "Unity" scrawled in black over splashes of red, green and gold. It was retired a few Reggaes back, but this year someone pulled it out of mothballs and mounted it on the back of the stage, perhaps as a means to connect the festival's new location with its deep roots. If there was a catchword for the festival over the years, unity was it.

As the festival approaches it's 24th year, many in southern Humboldt are wondering what happened to the spirit of unity that once drove Reggae. In recent weeks the community has been torn apart by the revelation that the Mateel Community Center, the nonprofit organization that ostensibly runs Reggae, is in "a severe financial crisis" due to a shortfall in revenue from the festival over the course of two years.

A letter sent out by the Mateel board of directors and its executive director, Taunya Stapp, explained that this year the event's production company, People Productions, had projected a net income from Reggae of $250,000, then on Oct. 21, the board had been told that "perhaps there would be a profit of $16,000."

This is a major blow for the Mateel, since the festival typically provides the bulk of the organization's operating budget. The board asked for community input, in particular at the Mateel's upcoming annual meeting, set for this Friday, Nov. 17.

While some saw the letter as a cry for help, others took it as a slap in the face to longtime Reggae producers People Productions. Battle lines were drawn, and counter-accusations showed up on the letter to the editor pages of the local papers from People Productions' CEO Carol Bruno and her supporters and staff.

The dispute heated up on "Thank Jah, It's Friday," a morning talk radio show hosted by former People Productions partner Paul "P.B." Bassis.

Responding to a caller, Bassis argued, "What is so disturbing about Taunya Stapp's finger-pointing at People Productions for the Mateel's unbelievable account of financial woes -- this organization, and I will only speak to what I factually know -- this organization received in proceeds from Reggae on the River in a 10-year period of time, in the neighborhood of $2.25 million. How that organization possibly squandered that much money to run a community center in Redway is astounding. It can only point to mismanagement of the organization."

Speaking directly to Stapp (who was not, in fact, listening to the show) Bassis said she should be ashamed, concluding, "You came to this community two years ago to take the job of director of the Mateel, and if you take us for fools and dumb-asses, you are absolutely wrong."

The story made waves throughout southern Humboldt, old wounds reopened, longstanding resentments were stirred. This reporter received a call out of the blue from "a concerned Mateel member" who wanted to be sure the Journal would have someone at the coming meeting.

Asked about her concerns, she said she'd rather not give her name or speak on the record and handed the phone to Hoy Kersh, a Whitethorn resident who has been an M.C. at Reggae off and on for years.

"It's all about the money," said Kersh bluntly. She hopes that "enough people show up at the meeting that we could force Carol and P.B. to step down, somehow break that contract.

"They're so arrogant that they're not going to listen to anything we say. I hope we can bust them on fraud, that we can show that they lied and cheated and stole our money. Then the community could take Reggae back, maybe could start off with a little smaller show and do it ourselves."

It's clear that unity -- at the very least, between the Mateel and People Productions -- has gone out the window. How did this come to pass, particularly given the fact that Carol Bruno was a key figure in building the Mateel? What will this rift mean for the Mateel Community Center and Reggae on the River, two crucial Humboldt County institutions? For any sort of understanding a look backwards is required.

As the '60s became the '70s, hippies who'd lived in San Francisco's fabled Haight/Ashbury District and other parts of the country took to the hills, heading back to the land. A fair number landed in the southern part of Humboldt County, where a 40-acre parcel could be had for a low down payment, mainly because no one else wanted what was seen as useless land. As they grew in numbers, a counterculture enclave developed, and with it a sense of community.

photo of the Mateel CenterAt a Community Congress held in the Garberville Fireman's Hall in the winter of 1978, the late Jim Deerhawk read a poem in which he gave an identity to that community. Merging the names of southern Humboldt's two rivers, the Eel and the Mattole, he declared that the bioregion would henceforth be known as Mateel. The new name was attached to the community center the back-to-the-landers established in the Fireman's Hall.

In addition to its role as a gathering place, the Mateel Community Center was used as a dancehall and performance space for groups like the First Feet Dancers. The Winter Arts Fair was established as an annual event, one where you could buy tie-dyed T-shirts, hand-woven shawls or cups and bowls made by local potters like John and Carol Bruno.

Then in 1983, tragedy struck. An arsonist set the Mateel and several other buildings in Garberville ablaze and the firehall burned to the ground. It was at that point that the mythic story of Reggae on the River began.

Carol Bruno has told the tale many times; she told it again when the Journal met with her in the offices of People Productions on Rusk Lane in Redway, a stone's throw away from the Mateel Community Center, a beautiful hall that's known in SoHum as "the house that Reggae built."

"We had an insurance policy," Bruno began, "but we didn't have enough money to rebuild, and the [firehall] location wasn't a spot where the building could be large enough for a boogie place."

Bruno and her friend Shelby proposed putting on a music festival featuring reggae music to raise funds to rebuild. They called it Reggae on the River since it took place on land along the Eel River not far from the Mendocino border, a place called French's Camp owned by the Arthur family.

"The first year it lost money, and I was going to get sued by the community," Bruno recalled. "The second year I think we made $400 or $600. Then the third year I think it made $1,800, and then it just went up from there. But every year it worked we'd be, 'Yeah, it made money!'"

It took a five-year search to find just the right place to rebuild the center. "Enter Evelyn Rusk, who lives right over there today," said Bruno, gesturing toward the window. "She and her husband owned the property that's now the home of the Mateel."

Bruno recalled the "leap of faith" required in committing to buy the property and build on it. "It was amazing that it happened. Reggae kept making more and more money each year and somehow we were able to accomplish it. It wasn't without struggle. We didn't have much money at all. For quite a few years when we did the festival everyone worked for free, then everybody worked for really cheap wages. I was paid $6 an hour for a lot of years."

As the years passed the hall grew, and with it the festival. In 1991 (the first year this reporter attended) it expanded from a one-day boogie to a two-day campover. By that time it was drawing bands and reggae fans from around the world -- and becoming a big business, one that required a year-round commitment. Somewhere along the line, with assistance from local lawyer Les Scher, Bruno licensed the name, Reggae on the River, for the Mateel. "So it would always be protected," as she put it.

Bruno had a big job: She ran the festival -- "with help from a whole lot of people," as she is quick to point out -- and she also ran the Mateel.

"I was never 'executive director,' I was director," she emphasized, differentiating her past role from the Mateel's current structure. "We considered it more of a team. I was the staff person responsible for making sure that things happened. We had a hall manager, Richard Fisher. Then when he left for Hawaii, P.B. [Paul Bassis] came on as hall manager."

In between Reggaes, Bruno and Bassis produced an assortment of concerts at the Mateel. "We had to to keep the cash flow going," Bruno noted.

Bruno and Bassis were in positions of power, and with that power came challenges, some merely jealousy and second-guessing, but also serious questioning about the role the Mateel and Reggae played in the community. The nonprofit Bruno headed was bringing in some serious cash through Reggae, and she and Bassis were paid employees who no longer received $6 an hour.

A survey circulated in the mid-'90s asked, "what the community wanted the Mateel to be," as Bruno put it. "The community said they didn't want it to be a production company -- they wanted it to be a venue where events could be held. That's when we left and formed our own company."

Bruno and Bassis formed People Productions as a limited liability partnership in 1994. "We used our own capital to produce events, and contracted to produce Reggae on the River," said Bruno. "The Mateel [became] the community center that the community had requested."

While Bruno had been in charge of producing Reggae since the beginning, the name, Reggae on the River, and the festival itself belonged to the Mateel, not to her. People Productions used its own money to finance other events, reaping profits or losses, but Reggae was still financed by the Mateel, and profits went to the community center.

Kathryn Lobato Manspeaker was hired in 1995 as the Mateel's executive director, filling the leadership vacuum. She'd lived in SoHum since the early '70s, had been a Mateel supporter since the Fireman's Hall days and brought with her a long history working with local nonprofits.

"When I came on as executive director the community center had been in the new location for a few years," said Lobato in a call from her Garberville home. "The external part of the Mateel was finished, work was need on the interior. There was still a sizable mortgage on the building and there was a shoebox full of bills that were unpaid. We had debt. Reggae wasn't making that much money. I think the year I came in it made under $100,000 profit. We were really scraping by."

People Productions had just gone through its first year producing Reggae and it was time to work out a new contract. It was not easy, initially because the contractor/employee relationship was brand new, but it never got easier.

"Working out that relationship has always been problematic. I think at the core of it, it's because, on paper, Reggae on the River belongs to the community center, every aspect of it. They hold the trademark, they own all the contracts, they sign all the permits with agencies, they hold the lease with the landowner, because Carol was one of the founders, she feels a proprietary interest in Reggae.

"Now, if Reggae on the River was a for-profit business, Carol would be an owner. She would have equity, she would have a retirement coming, she would have all kinds of things that she doesn't have, that she feels entitled to. And a lot of people feel she should have those things. That is the core issue, and it's been almost impossible to deal with."

By all accounts, Lobato's tenure as Mateel E.D. was productive. She set about fulfilling the community vision of a shift to more of a community center and less of a boogie hall. Heading into the turn of the century, she brought in grant funding from the California Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts and foundations to start up youth programs and further assess the community's desire for the organization. Even Bruno praised her leadership -- "even though we had our differences."

Those differences came to the forefront periodically, when the time came to renew the Reggae on the River contract. Though the details of negotiations are not available to the public, most people agree that they have long been fraught with difficulties.

After a particularly bitter contract battle in 2002, Lobato decided, "it was time for me to do something else," and left her position. Three members of the Mateel board, including the board president, refused to sign the 2002 contract, stating: "We have significant objections. We do not believe this contract adequately protects the Mateel."

The search for another executive director resulted in the hiring of Cindy Matheson, an experienced nonprofit administrator from Boston who was clearly out of her element, and lasted all of seven months on the job before resigning.

At that point the Mateel board decided to try a management team with three staffers running the organization together. Retired income tax specialist Rob Stern was recruited to fill an open seat on the board around the time the tri-management team was put in place. When it became clear that that model was not workable, the decision was made to find a new executive director.

"I think the board was unanimous in the belief that we needed a strong administrator," said Stern in a call from his home in Redway. "We wanted somebody with a community background with financial and management expertise."

Taunya Stapp fit the bill. "We knew that a lot of her responsibility was going to be administering the contract with People Productions for Reggae on the River. It's the biggest financial deal the Mateel has going -- somebody has to be watching the store for our side. But she was also in charge of diversifying our funding base and I think she did a good job at that."

When Stapp was hired at the end of 2004, she set straight to work trying to figure out what was going on with Mateel finances, basically by studying the books. A month and a half later she met with the board.

As she explained in an interview in her office in the house next door to the Mateel, "My analysis was, 'You've got a serious problem because you have a one-income stream of revenues that could be jeopardized.' At that point the lease [for French's Camp] was still fine, and they didn't see that anything was going to happen to Reggae. I told them, 'You need to diversify as fast as you can; you need to look at your core competencies and at what this community needs. The Mateel needed a long-term plan, a capital assets plan and an update of the strategic plan.' The board debated it and came back to say they agreed."

That was early 2005. At that point, Reggae business was taking some unexpected twists. For one thing, People Productions founder Paul Bassis had announced in December 2004 that he was leaving to start his own booking, promotion and artist management business, Infinite Entertainment.

Then the Arthur family, owners of French's Camp, the site where Reggae has been held since the beginning, made it known that they were not happy with their lease agreement with the Mateel. While family matriarch Pat Arthur claimed she wanted things "to be quieter," her son, Mark, let on that, "We as a family want to develop the west side of the river and that wasn't permitted. Personally, I would like to see more events [at French's Camp]. Maybe not just one big event; there could be four weekends, maybe a little hip-hop one weekend, a little old school another, who knows what else."

With the French's Camp lease due to expire in September 2005, Stapp and her staff began looking for a new site for Reggae, while, said Stapp, "trying to figure out why the lease went bad. My time was going into dealing with the search and the Mateel's resources were going into that. Then, suddenly, in June, Tom Dimmick pops up and says,' Hey, what about my property?'"

The Dimmick Ranch, located just upriver from French's Camp, seemed like a dream come true. "It made sense. It's a beautiful place; it's located well. It seemed serendipitous," said Stapp.

"At that point we were into legal negotiations, and not only about the lease. Carol Bruno approached the board and said, 'I may have a year left on my other contract, but I'm not going to do this [work on the move] unless you renegotiate my contract.'"

Paul Bassis had reentered the picture, serving as negotiator for Dimmick. Stapp found herself simultaneously overseeing negotiations for the lease with Dimmick while negotiating a new contract with Bruno to operate the festival, one that included an $180,000 fee for People Productions. (The fee, which goes to Bruno and does not include People Production staff work for Reggae, went up to $185,000 in 2006.)

When Reggae 2005 came and went, net proceeds proved to be less than expected. As Bruno explained, "It was pretty much across the board, everything cost more. That was mostly inflation hitting Reggae on the River. Everything cost more. Every single thing went up. Except ticket prices."

According to Stapp, the Mateel made a net profit of only $103,000. "We were anticipating something more like $240,000," she said. "That was what we had budgeted. And that wasn't the move year -- this was the last year at the old site."

Regarding Bruno's explanation of the shortfall, Stapp said, "It sounded a lot like what we've been told about this year: high expenses, unexpected expenses. You know, 'Whoops.' The other thing they said was, 'We've always expected Reggae monies are eventually going to decline, and the Mateel shouldn't have counted on the money.'

"We didn't find out [about the 2005 shortfall] until September or October. By that time we had run our budget on our anticipated revenue projection, so we had to go to our reserves to cover."

While the shortfall was a hard hit, things got worse. As Stern pointed out, you could say that that $103,000 profit was really no profit at all. "The Mateel had to spend around $100,000 out of its coffers to take the equipment and supplies off of the Arthur property, since our lease with them had expired," he said.

Reiterating his support for Stapp's role in negotiations, Stern noted, "One of the changes in the [most recent] contract has to do with our need to have better accounting and budget controls. A lot of accounting rules in the contract were basically not followed.

"They [People Productions] keep saying a budget is not a promise. But when the board approved the budget last spring, it showed a $288,000 profit. I grilled them, asked, 'How certain are you? You have this new permit, are you asking for enough tickets?' They asked that we rely on their professional expertise to be able to produce. Then in July we got a budget update that raised [the expected profit] to $309,000, that [took us] straight into Reggae on the River."

"We revised the budget at the end of July," said Bruno. "We added some bars and crafted different ways to make more money for the festival."

As People Productions Chief Financial Officer Suzie Mattila put it, at that point the projections were "optimistic." That was just before the time Mattila calls "the vortex," as festival weekend arrives and with it a series of financial surprises.

Bruno mentioned a few: an RV that someone smashed into a tree, new demands from county inspectors for the wastewater system and the backstage kitchen, more security for Piercy, 50 cars that had to be towed, a larger volume of trash than anticipated, requiring additional dumpsters and larger payroll for the recycling crew.

"I've asked friends who are promoters in the city, 'Is it just us doing this wrong? Is there a way to accurately predict [expenses]? You know what the response was? 'Welcome to the music business.'"

As Mattila described it, the weekend of the festival is always a blur of money in and money out, bills paid onsite and cash income from T-shirt sales, the beer booth, camping, etc., deposited in the bank.

"I've got all that information, but it isn't collated and it isn't in the computer, so I'm thinking maybe we did well enough to compensate for some of the overages. Who knows? About a month later I find out."

According to Bruno at the beginning of September 2006, "We notified them that it looks like the bottom line will not hold. We told them, 'We need to have a meeting,' but they were doing the Hoedown [a Mateel-produced concert at Benbow Lake], so they couldn't meet with us until Sept. 26."

"We never heard another word about how all these costs were piling up," said Stern. "It wasn't until a month after Reggae that we started getting inklings. When we got word that it was down to $16,000, that was pretty drastic.

"This was a little hippie festival that grew way, way big, into a $3 million affair. And when I hear from Suzie Mattila that there's this huge 'vortex' starting in July and she don't know what's happening until she puts everything in the computer, that makes me nervous."

Mattila says she's looking at this as her last Reggae as People Productions CFO -- maybe. "Let's just say I'm retiring if I have to work with the Mateel again," she concluded. "If I don't have to work with them, I might stick around."

"And I think that pretty much goes for the entire staff here," said Bruno.

She was not sure exactly what will happen at Friday's meeting, or even whether she'll be presenting her usual report on the festival. "We haven't had any communication from them."

Bruno doesn't like to think about the potential of the Mateel closing its doors for lack of funds. "That would be a real drag. We all love the Mateel. Gosh, you're talking to one of the founders."

What happened to the spirit of unity? What does the word unity mean at this point? Bruno is quiet for a long time thinking. "I think unity still exists," she began, then Mattila interjected saying, "My basic feeling is that somebody from out of our community came in here, had a board that didn't know what they were supposed to do, came in like gangbusters saying People Productions had to be brought under control. She convinced them they would be audited and lose their homes if they didn't do what she told them they needed to do. That's certainly not our style. The whole board is convinced that we're not doing it the right way and that their director knows how it should be done."

"And," said Bruno, "they feel no need to communicate with us. It's been a history of obstructionism, of bad communication, of one drama after another."

Another People staffer, Katy Stern, sticks her head in the door. "How would you classify it, Katy?" asks Bruno.

"Disrespectful," says Stern.

"Unity requires respect," says Bruno. "They don't trust us."

If the Mateel and People Productions can't come to agreement to work together, what happens to Reggae? "I don't know what the Mateel's plans are," said Bruno. "They don't talk to us."

By chance, Paul Bassis was visiting People Productions' office when the Journal spoke with the staff there. He offered his own solution to the crisis: The immediate resignation of the Mateel's executive director and the entire board of directors, a clean slate.

"My disappointment with the way the Mateel has been managed has gone on for quite some time," he said later. "There are a lot of people who have worked long and hard on Reggae on the River who are very upset with this board of directors and its executive director, who seems to be the tail that's wagging the dog."

Down the lane at the Mateel, Stapp is sticking to her guns. "The money that went into this hall, the money that went into French's Camp, the money that went into Tom Dimmick's site, it all came from the community. The fact is, all of this is central to this community. Reggae on the River is huge. I think all options need to be examined.

"To me, this is not about People Productions and the Mateel, this is about the sustainability of the Mateel and what people want from it for the future. With planning we can avoid this sort of crisis. Unfortunately, because of all the politics and the social nature around this -- and the nature of the contractual limitations -- we have to do this battle first."

Could the Mateel put on Reggae without Bruno and People Productions? No one really wants it to come to that, but, said Mateel board member Stern, "I can't believe they're the only company in the world that can do it. They do have a lot of support in the community. A lot of people love Carol Bruno and P.B. and all the things that have been done over the years. The Mateel would find itself in a difficult place if that relationship would just end. That doesn't mean we haven't discussed what might happen if they no longer would produce [the festival].

"The Mateel has never done anything to try and terminate the contract. The Mateel doesn't have a plan to terminate the contract. The only suggestions of a termination of the contract have come from Carol Bruno."

Is Stapp considering resigning? She laughs at the question and says no. "If the entire community says, 'Taunya we want you to go,' I'll say bye. You know they've taken out three administrations here. It's got to stop somewhere. I'm not here because it's fun, and I can tell you I'm not here for the money. I get $32,000 a year for this job. I have a second job just to survive.

"The thing is, the last thing the Mateel Community Center needs is another executive director being run out on a rail. If they have legitimate concerns, bring 'em. I can answer every one of their questions. This is a public organization. I'm accountable to the public and the members.

"This hasn't happened overnight. This problem is 20 years in the making. We need to have the community tell us what they expect of the Mateel Community Center's largest asset. What kind of return? How do you want us to use this? We can't do this by ourselves anymore. We need the public's input. We need to resolve this. We need to do the work."

What happens next? Only time will tell. A couple of alternatives to the current situation have been offered: licensing the Reggae on the River name to Bruno, or selling it to her outright. Bruno said she'd consider either. Stapp is waiting for direction from the Mateel membership.

One thing for sure, the meeting at the Mateel Friday at 5:30 will be contentious. According to the press release from the Mateel, the public is invited to stick around "after the meeting wraps up at 8 p.m. for good times and great music at the end of the year Community Jam party." It's hard to say if the spirit of unity will prevail at the meeting. Maybe it would help if everyone could boogie together after the battle is over.
http://northcoastjournal.com/111606/cover1116.html

Yes, I know all the people mentioned in the article. It's a nasty fight.

To add insult to injury, Toyota never paid for my rental despite promises, both written and verbal, so I got to go chase them.
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#11
Two nasty legal fights. What do Rock-Med and the Mateel have in common? DM.
I'm just saying. :twisted:
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#12
hippies are just bad with money. we don't see that much of it unless we're slingin'. perhaps that's what's leading to our demise... Cry
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#13
Mateel split with People productions and hired 2B1, but Dimmick Ranch felt that was in violation of the contract so they have stated they won't honor the new 10 year lease. This means Mateel & 2B1 might not have a venue, just the name 'Reggae on the River'. Meanwhile, Dimmick & People have announced they plan to do another reggae on the site the first week of August, working title 'Reggae on the Ranch'. Confused? Yea, well, this is SoHum (south Humboldt) and they grow a lot of pot up there. A lot. There's bound to be some contact high... :weedman:
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#14
Quote:Mediation meltdown: Reggae at an impasse
The Willits News
Article Launched: 02/14/2007 11:29:11 AM PST

Mediation between the Mateel Community Center and the man who owns the land on which the Reggae on the River festival is held has failed, according to a press release from the community center.

Landowner Tom Dimmick had previously announced he was terminating the lease because the Mateel had breached its agreement by firing People Productions as producers. Dimmick also said he plans to work with People Productions to put on a competing event there at the same time Reggae on the River is to be held next year.

The Mateel reacted by insisting their contract with Dimmick was still valid. Prior to entering mediation, Dimmick had reportedly asked the Mateel to buy out its lease with him. The Mateel board had hoped to persuade Dimmick to honor the contract. That attempt has apparently failed.

"Mediation has ended," said a short statement from the community center issued Sunday night to the Redwood Times. "The Mateel...is actively pursuing all available remedies in case the interference in the event has not ceased."

In a later press release, Mateel Vice President Garth Epling released details about the Mateel's contract with new producer Boots Hughston. Under the arrangement, Hughston will pay

the Mateel $300,000 up front for the Reggae on the River licensing if the event is allowed to happen. Hughston has also agreed to a 50-50 split on net profits, with the first $300,000 of net going to his production company. The Mateel would not be forced to undertake any borrowing or financial risk to itself.
In its prior contract with People Productions, the Mateel was responsible for providing the startup money.

The contract with Hughston also specifies the Reggae books will be "completely open" to the Mateel and, presumably, to the community. Access to financial records was a longstanding bone of contention between the Mateel and People Productions.

Mateel Executive Director Taunya Stapp said Dimmick's announcement that he and People Productions will be putting on their own event "constitutes nothing less than a for-profit takeover of our nonprofit, community-supporting event."

Stapp also refers to the "longstanding contentious relationship" between the Mateel and People Productions as well as the "disturbing implications" contained in an independent audit that was unable to be completed because People Productions did not provide the requested documentation.

The press release makes no mention of what actions the Mateel is contemplating at this point, beyond an assurance Reggae 2007 will go forward.

Efforts to contact Dimmick were unsuccessful.
http://www.willitsnews.com/business/ci_5225927
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#15
And we're back, back on the original site. After a few years in the expanded Reggae Rising (<!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="http://brotherhoodofdoom.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=7&t=849">viewtopic.php?f=7&t=849</a><!-- l -->) and it's horrible collapse, the original Reggae on the River returns to the Eel. I'm not even sure what that means.

Yesterday, I got my supervisor's manual in the mail. It's 70 pages long. WTF?!?!?

My psych crew 'the Jedi Nite Krew' is not complete, which is one more reason why I must go consult with Darth Maul tonight. This dark side stuff sounds pretty appealing - you get double-ended lightsabers, can eventually shoot lightning bolts from your fingertips, and there's this bit about ruling the galaxy. Sounds fun.

I leave on Thursday.
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