“We thought we were closing, we thought this was over... But our friends at Nympho and our community said: ‘No, we want this space.’"
It was a grounding opening mihi from Rebekah Bristow. Just over two weeks since one of Tāmaki Makaurau’s most iconic dancefloors announced closure, Neck of the Woods opened its doors once more to the public. But instead of heaving subs, flashing lights, and sweaty moments of connection upon te papa kanikani – visitors were invited to share kai, coffee, and kōrero about a more sustainable way forward. Over $150k had been raised in less than two weeks, and the music lovers arrived with rolled-up sleeves, ready to rebuild a venue that aspires to not only continue to survive, but one day thrive.
Attendees of last Saturday’s hui were reminded that this would be the first of many, but that few concrete solutions would be decided prior to the venue’s reopening Matariki weekend. A fitting and necessary time to kick off the new chapter, with staff that needed to get back to work and a killer line-up of some of the city’s finest selectors. The purpose of this hui was to peel back the curtain and start a conversation.
To start, a breakdown of the current operating model for Neck of the Woods (Neck), which is relatively similar to a lot of other music venues in Aotearoa:
In order to ensure that the space is as accessible and widely representative of the DIY scene as possible, Neck does not act as a booker/promotor for the bands and DJs that you see on their stage. Instead, they operate as a third party venue space, charging set venue hire to promoters and creatives to organise their own gigs. Promoters and artists then sell their own tickets and take home that profit, i.e. Neck of the Woods does not make money directly from tickets or door sales.
Currently, the only other major stream of revenue is bar sales. In general, alcohol consumption is dropping, and Gen Z are drinking less. Independent Music Venues Aotearoa’s 2024 research report found that on average, venues in the Auckland region sell 1.5-2 drinks per person at gigs. Neck of the Woods owner Jonah Merchant acknowledged that the decline in alcohol consumption, on the whole, is pretty awesome for music culture: punters are showing up to appreciate the music, not get drunk. But in the end, a venue which has been forced to operate under the guise of hospitality rather than cultural infrastructure (like a theatre or gallery, for example) draws the short end of the stick financially.
With those two primary sources of revenue comes a much larger list of costs: rent, staffing and security, legal and compliance, production, sound, cost of goods, repairs and upkeep for a high wear-and-tear environment, and the costs of looking after the legendary Ghost Soundsystem. The nail in the coffin is that most of those costs go up for Neck on a busy night, with little increase in revenue due to the unpredictability of bar sales and ticket sales going directly to promoters and artists.
“These big picture issues aren’t going away. Crisis crowdfunding is not a solution"
Upon questioning from the crowd, Merchant revealed that Neck of The Woods needs to be increasing yearly revenue by about $100-150k in order to sustainably keep going.
“These big picture issues aren’t going away,” says Merchant. “Crisis crowdfunding is not a solution, and we’re very aware that now, for better or for worse, we’ve sucked all the air out of the room for others to carry out emergency crowdfunding.” He thinks there’s an opportunity to use the attention on the plight of his venue to catalyse conversations on wider changes that are needed – for many independent venues to survive.
A few other players shared their thoughts on the issue. Independent Music Venues Aotearoa members Taylor MacGregor and Lucy Macrae (also the co-owner and booker of Whammy, Double Whammy, and Public Bar) spoke on their organisation’s role as a representative for venues in conversation with local and central government. Representatives for Artist For Others, a charity that supports artists to use their art for social good, Daylen Schmied-Pape and Erika Dunser shared some insight from the perspective of an arts collective turned registered charity.
Much of the hui was spent discussing feedback and suggestions that had been gathered prior to the day, and hearing from attendees. There was talk of activating the space during the day, but that “would need to be part of a raft of ideas,” says Merchant, because currently the venue is already used during the day – for maintenance, repairs, load-in and set up. Not to mention the logistics of working around artists and promoters, staffing costs, and trying to convince people that a dark underground club is where they want to host their daytime workshop or event.
Whilst an obvious (and potentially inevitable) solution is to hike the charge for venue hire, this would put immense financial pressure on promoters and artists – who are also the ones starting the Givealittle pages, organising fundraisers, and compiling compilations to keep Neck’s doors open. It would also raise the barrier for entry into the grassroots scene, and ultimately result in more expensive ticket prices.
Expanding non-alcoholic options at the bar is something the venue says they’re looking into, to ensure people are satisfied with the options available, but ultimately won’t make as much money as historical bar sales due to different behaviour patterns: people generally aren’t binge-drinking lemonade.
“We should have a Government and Councils who are investing in what we do.”
Ideas surrounding registering as a charity or working alongside other venues to form a sort of cooperative were also floated, as more long-term conversations around private funding grants and collective purchasing power. This raises a rather fraught question of what it means to view the arts as charity, rather than essential cultural infrastructure worthy of public investment.
“We shouldn’t have to be asking for private funding,” argued Macrae. “We should have a Government and Councils who are investing in what we do.”
The most likely short-term solution that the Neck of the Woods community can expect on the ground is a sort of membership system. What this looks like in practice is still up for debate, but the meeting prompted suggestion of a weekly or monthly membership fee in return for potential perks like coat check, training, and wānanga around the sound system, early access to limited runs of merch, and there were even references to the likes of the 95bFM Private Functions of the 1990s: exclusive parties accessible to volunteers, staff, and bCard holders. In-house Neck events aren’t a viable regular option due to the space’s third-party nature, but an annual gathering of sorts could be on the cards.
A system through which members of the public can support multiple venues via one membership fee was also discussed, in order to pool resources and reduce saturation that may occur if many venues were to adopt the same idea. Pay-it-forward systems and tiered membership fees were proposed in order to keep the kaupapa accessible. For many, the tangible perks of membership weren’t a priority, and just knowing that they’d be contributing to a bit more consistent revenue for the space on a regular basis was enough.
The relentless determination in the room was palpable, and it’s a can-do spirit our grassroots scene is known for. But should it really be up to the same community who poured their paychecks into the Givealittle to keep the lights on? The hui attendees, Neck of the Woods’ regular punters, and artists performing aren’t the only New Zealanders who benefit from the existence of that space. The live music sector contributes $17.3b annually to our economy, and our music export pipeline relies on the training grounds of indie venues. For every taxpayer dollar invested into live music, we see a return of $3.20 in benefits to the community, yet there’s a serious disconnect with where this investment is going. Schemes like the Major Events Fund throw huge amounts at shows run by offshore touring companies, while grassroots venues see little investment that could be circulated locally and reinvested in the growth of emerging talent. Conversations about community-driven, short-term boosts to revenue must be part of a bigger picture kōrero around funding and supporting our indie venues as the cultural infrastructure they serve as – that sentiment rang true throughout the hui.
Ultimately, permanent solutions were never going to lay roots at the first hui. But attendees last Saturday left the club with a strengthened understanding of why our venue operating models are failing, what broader conversations we should all be engaging in for their survival, and what near future change we might expect from Neck of the Woods… in all their reopened glory.
