TOBY ELLIS IS… Cut Off – “Mucho Show! (My First Few and How to Build Your Very Own)”

I was all set to spill the secrets and the sidebars I picked up in Miami last month at Nations, and even dive into some juicy stuff about drink design that I get asked about all the time.

Maybe you’d enjoy hearing about the day trip to Toronto last week via the High-Speed Ferry from Rochester, NY that took us past Toronto’s Oldest Pub (The Black Bull) and into Martin Zikmund’s bar (where he makes occasional guest appearances, and obviously never on a Monday afternoon, lol) where my girlfriend, my mother, and I downed Raspberry Lemondrop shots and sipped on Bloody Caesars and Frozen Raspberry Twisters. Yum. At noon. On a Monday. I sound horrible, I know. But I’m saved by the simple fact, we were on vacation. And besides, I had just taken my Acrophobic mother to the top of the world’s tallest building, the CN Tower. (Nice view, McLean.) Though the glass floor that I sat on some 1815 feet above the pavement was a little much, even for an adrenaline-junkie like me. We needed something to calm the nerves and Jack Astor’s had the cure. Yes, so much has happened since the last installment of Cut Off, I really didn’t know where to begin. And I never know where (or is it when?) to finish. Hence, the original name of this column, “Cut Me Off.”

Then after last week, I spent a lot of time thinking about our family in Biloxi whose future was washed out from under them and how I could help them with words. But what do you say? What can you say? Words won’t bring back their jobs, their possessions, their normal daily lives. But donations will, so I made one, and you can too.

I even wrote a rough draft of a column that I am pretty sure will hit close to home with a lot of you out there, that starts off and ends up at the same place: with a group of my fraternity brothers from eons ago, who made a surprise visit to my bar in Vegas just last week. The guys who got me my first bartending job, and showed me the ropes, standing before me more than 15 years later, watching me “do my thing.” But I’m giving that one a month or two to marinate. Stay tuned.

So with a deadline looming and so many different stories swirling in my head, I went back and skimmed my last flairbar.com column to see where we left off, and realized: I’m still an idiot. Lucky me. And that made this column flow like delicious, cheap red table wine. See, I showed you how to walk before I taught you how to crawl. Silly me. That is, last “month” I told you how to deal with butterflies and the jitters before taking the stage. Then I realized I skipped the part about putting together a show that will get you on that stage in the first place. So let’s backtrack a bit. Ten years ought to do the trick. Let’s see if we can help you take those shadow passes, stalls, and exchanges and put them together into something that will get them cheering in the aisles.

I popped my cherry in a mall in Syracuse, New York in or around 1995 at the TGI Friday’s in-store competition. Only one other bartender wanted to compete against me, so I was pretty sure I was going to either win or come in second. (Clever, huh?) I spent two weeks practicing a move where I laid a Midori bottle sideways on my foot, and then flipped it up into a pour. Kind of anti-climatic, but I’m stubborn and this was the move I wanted to hit. That and a couple of single bottle moves and one two bottle move I sometimes hit, was the extent of my flair. But I pour tested fanatically and knew all my “spec” cold. Competing was something I knew I just wanted to do.

The day of the comp, the first test I had was the draft beer pour. You had once chance to draw a pint of beer with a 3/4” head, exactly. I was jazzed. With one hand on the tap handle, the other clutching a chilled 16oz pint glass, the manager conducting the test said “Go.” With one swift motion I pulled down the tap lever, snapped it right off the tower, and with the other hand, I squeezed the glass so tight, it literally shattered in my bare hand. Ok, so now beer is helplessly pouring all over the bar floor and I am clutching onto a broken Coors Light Tap Head and what remains of a defenseless pint glass with a look of “now what do I do?” on my face. My manager burst out laughing. A sign of things to come, many of you will be amused to know. Most people would probably throw in the towel with such an ominous albeit embarrassing launch into competitive bartending; not this kid. The adrenaline rush which I am guessing caused this ridiculous feat of strength, felt so good. Only downhill skiing gave me the same rush. I was hooked. Apparently, there was nothing in the rules about destroying bar equipment and shattering glass during this portion of the competition, so I was allowed to take another pull, on one of the still operable taps. I aced it, and the rest of the BOH testing including 43 out of the 44 freepours.

We held the freestyle portion of the comp early during a slow night, so it was just employees and regulars watching. The owner, who ironically hated the Friday’s concept (and especially flair) but bought into it to make money, decided to come in and interrupt my routine to order a glass of wine. I still remember him arrogantly waving his hand at me while saying “Toby, get me a glass of Meeerrrrlllooohhhhh” as he tried to impress some seventeen-year old waitress he was escorting, instead of his wife. What an asshole. (Don’t worry, he would become the first franchisee to have a store closed on him by corporate Friday’s. That’s how bad he was as a businessman.) I don’t know if the judges gave me extra points for dealing with him, but most of the crowd knew exactly what had happened, and were equally disgusted with his obvious lack of taste, class, manners, and common sense. I worked around the idiot, got back into my show, and ended up winning. I was to go on to Regionals in my hometown of Rochester, NY at the same Friday’s that I had visited with my entire family nearly twenty years earlier. (Five years later I would end up working behind this same Friday’s bar in Rochester, NY.) Seemed rather karmic to me. And it would turn out, that this was the contest that would change my life, and in time, many other people’s too. This was the contest that really gave me the “virus” which led to me dreaming up barmagic.com and the FBA.

I can still remember the twisted mixture of excitement and nausea that churned away in my stomach as I sweated it out in the back of house. At Friday’s comps, you aren’t allowed to watch other competitors, because you are thrown three surprise drinks into your round, from a list of 100 to 250 drinks, depending on what level competition you were at. And I’m not talking about Long islands and Cape Cods, I’m talking about drinks like “One Free Hour in the Candy Store” whose recipe includes 6 stemmed cherries or “Mexican Runners” that required an almost never used doubly-concentrated lime mix as part of the prep for the cocktail, and even “Ramos Gin Fizzes” that called for an exacting number of drops of Orange Flower Water. This was serious stuff. Every bartender got the same three surprise drinks, so we were sequestered in some dry storage room for a couple of hours, to ensure fairness.

Although I didn’t know it, I had won the BOH “compulsory” portion of the competition which consisted of all kinds of testing: pour tests, recipe tests, current events quiz, garnish and mix sensitivities, and so on and so forth. It’s why I laugh to myself now when a competitor whines about some of the more technical comps being “too hard.” What a joke. Try a comp with all the regular speed and pour test rounds, plus wine opening, mix sensitivities, fruit cutting, current events quizzes, price quizzes, suggestive selling tests, etc, etc. To make it past even a few rounds at the Friday’s World Championships was no small feat. In those days, flair couldn’t carry you very far. You had to know your shit, backwards and forwards. And yet still, most of us that competed went through all that agony and grueling GRE-like studying and testing so we could get up on stage and tear it up.

I had my music ready and a pretty well-planned out routine ready to go for the three drinks I picked. I had some moves that would work with whatever bottles I could use for the three surprise drinks. When I was announced onto the bar, I walked on and “slipped” these gigantic play $100 bills into a judges hand while I pretended to look the other way, as if I were bribing him and nobody could see me… which got some laughs and helped break the ice. (I’m realizing this looked a lot funnier than it reads. Apologies.)

Friday’s rounds were long back then… twelve minutes on the bar, with all kinds of boring service-related stuff you had to do to get points like suggestively selling appetizers, cleaning the bar top, and lighting a cigarette. One judge is instructed to pull out a cigarette and leave it dangling in their mouth at some point or otherwise very visibly prominent during each bartender’s round, for us to light. Well, I was competing at a store where the hometown hopeful to go to nationals worked and she was competing against me that very night. The judges included her bar manager, head bartender, and three of her regulars… none of whom seemed to happy to see me, Mr “who the hell is this kid?!” who was beating her in the first part of the competition. I can still recall frantically searching every single judge’s face, hands, and bar top for a cigarette or a clue as to who would pull it out and yet… nothing. Three, five, six minutes go by and not a fag to be found, as my friends across the pond might say. Finally, I noticed one judge holding one hand behind his ear. Seemed a little odd so I quickly peeked around his head and noticed he was hiding an unlit cigarette back there. Thanks, asshole. Not to fear, I’m a bartender, I’m used to dealing with obnoxious pricks. So I pulled out my lighter and gave him a smile like “Nice try” and got my points. He was pissed that I noticed. It’s sad how rigged the judging of the Friday’s comps were in this way. That the judging panel could be literally stacked with people who were there to ensure their hometown bartender would win.

But I fumbled my way through brain fart after brain fart, and was actually kicking ass. I could feel it, just a touch. I was giving this girl a run for her money and people were nervous. I had two drinks expertly stacked on the bar, as I had done night after night for more than a year, while I worked on a third. And then, in what became one of the most traumatic moments of my competition career, I watched helplessly as the stack teetered over and crashed down on the bar top. I can still heat the “thunk” of the glasses hitting the wood as the chorus of “Ooooooooo” filled the room. I can still see the liquid spilling all over the judges score sheets and I can still see the annoyed, disappointed faces of each judge as I feebly tried to recover.

Think, damnit, think. Recovery, recovery. So I grabbed a bunch of straws and started passing them out, motioning for the judges to suck the spilled drinks off the bar top. That got a couple laughs. The rest of my routine was a nerve-racking blur. I vaguely recall throwing a Friday’s Freeze over my shoulder. I think I remember a clap or two as I walked off the stage. Mostly, I remember shaking uncontrollably, wanting to die, and feeling like my twelve minutes suddenly turned into two hours. It was over, I blew it. I had the competition and a trip to Divisionals in the bag, and I totally blew it. Doesn’t it totally suck when you lose a competition?! Not when you get beat, that’s fine… but when you yourself do something that loses the whole thing for you. Like knock two of your own drinks over.

Then you have to suffer through everybody coming up to you with those well-meaning comments about how good your round was and how “nobody could tell” that you felt like puking your lunch all over the bar as you watched everything you spent weeks or months working for, come crashing down. People like Ken Hall, Alan Mays, Christian Delpech, Nicholas St. Jean… I wonder if they can relate. Probably not. The reason they are on top is how few mistakes they make while they perform these jaw-dropping shows. Then there’s people like me, who often feel like we’re just happy to get through our show without breaking every glass in the joint. Happy to make it out alive, that’s how I often feel. And yet I keep coming back for more.

As I stood there and watched a girl who literally could barely flip a bottle take the trophy, a girl I had beat in the one area everybody told me she was unbeatable…the BOH knowledge portion, I was shaking. I thought I had the most embarrassing round in the history of flair bartending. Then I saw the tape and I thought “Wow, that wasn’t so bad.” I mean, yes, I went from having first place locked down to spilling my way into third. But on video, you couldn’t tell I was barely holding it together for the last couple minutes of my show. I faked it well. Have you been there? It’s never as bad as you think. Funny how that works.

I spent the next year studying and practicing like a fiend. I had pages from Friday’s bar manuals taped all over my condo in Reston, Virginia. (My ex-wife was real happy about that, by the way.) I built a practice bar with a working blender in the back yard. A garbage can of broken bottles was an important part of the setup. It was 1996 and there were no Flairco training bottles. You either taped your bottles, sprayed them with “plasti-dip” or some other coating, or you broke cases of bottles. I did all three. I prepared for that year’s Friday’s comps for eight months. Never before (and never since) have I worked so hard for one competition.

With about a month to spare, I had a complete, polished routine that I had performed to the music, in full uniform, making the drinks with water, ice, whipped cream, garnishes, etc., in my back yard… at night… under bright lights…. in a cramped bar setup… with wet, sticky bottles (on purpose), and yes Scott Young… in the pouring rain. I was bullet-proof and I knew it. I was going to win the Friday’s World’s. I didn’t think it, I knew it. I never felt so prepared. Plus, I had been trained by one of Friday’s best: John Fiore. John had made the nationals and worlds three different times and had been Friday’s #1 NSO bar trainer for quite some time. He’d flown all over the world for Friday’s to teach flair…and bartending. I had eight days with him at the opening of the ill-fated Chevy Chase TGI Friday’s. Then I had a couple of days with Alan Mays, who was Friday’s National Champion at the time. And just to keep my skills sharp, I kept a running bet at my bar that anybody (employee or guest) who could stump me with a Friday’s drink recipe would get $20. I’d give them the rolodex and let them pick any card they wanted to. I’m So Blue I Could Smile, International White Spider, P.S. I Love You, Cinnamon Swimmer…. nope, I never had to pay. My confidence was soaring. I could see myself winning the world’s.

Nobody wanted to compete against me at our home store, so we held a required competition that a couple other bartenders and I did, to keep management happy and make it official. One of the greatest Friday’s bartenders I ever had the honor of working with who had been at that store for 15 years named “T” Green, just hopped right up when it was his turn, banged out some drinks and pulled a few very cool moves I had never seen before. One of them, which he called the “Good Foot” involved balancing a tin on the end of his foot, lowering it to the floor while still balancing it, and then performing a two bottle long-pour right into the tin, finishing by flipping the tin off his foot into the air, and into his hand without spilling a drop. Thankfully, that was all he or anyone else had up their sleeve and I breezed through the in-store, as expected.

The regionals were held at my home store, something I wasn’t happy about. I didn’t want anybody crying “unfair” when I smoked the field, which I was going to. I heard there was one guy who might be competition, and he was scheduled to compete right before me that night. During the compulsories, I was pouring a draft beer, just as I had done the very first time I ever competed. The judge was one of my fellow bartenders. I missed the pour and she said “we’ll wait for the head to settle” because it was over 3/4. I said to her “NO, we won’t wait, we’ll mark it wrong.” I wanted to win this thing fair and square. She was a little put-off, a little surprised, but she did not give me points for it. I was just happy I didn’t smash anything during that part of the testing. That was an improvement, lol. I knew I aced almost every other part of the BOH tests. In fact, the judges doing sensitivities commented to me after that test that I was the only bartender to actually quote the manual, verbatim. I was surprised; I figured everybody did this. (They do at the National and World level, I would find out later.)

The first time they brought us on stage was for the pour-off. When I first stood behind the bar with the other competitors in a room that was jammed with hundreds of eager faces, I had a huge anxiety attack. The room started spinning. I felt sick. I remember what my mom (a speech and debate coach and director) had told me which a couple people had echoed since then: pick a friendly face and focus on it. So I did. The room stopped spinning. Slowly, I looked around the room at each face. As I did this, I felt myself calm down and in fact, it seemed like time was slowing down, like everything was happening in slow-motion. It was one of the stranger moments of my life, but it felt good. I can’t remember how the pour-off went, I either won or came in second. but that didn’t matter to me. I was thrilled that I wasn’t feeling nervous. I was actually pumped to do my show. So we headed back into dry storage where we would wait, sequestered, for what felt like hours.

I could hear mad cheers coming from the FOH as each bartender performed ahead of me. It was my home store, and I was the favorite, so I went last. I was so prepared that while the other competitors chain-smoked, practiced flipping, and paced around; I sat quietly reading a book. Afterwards they confided in me they figured I was going to be easy to beat, because I was the only one who was sitting calmly back there. But the calmness faded away when the cheers for the guy right before me started rumbling through the back halls of this store. The nervous energy starting swelling and the anxiety came back. I had the pre-stage bathroom visits to empty the bladder. You know what I’m talking about.

The next moment was a turning point for me. See, this was the first major competition I entered since the train wreck of a show I put on in Rochester just one year prior. I had done a couple goofy little local comps but each time I was so nervous I could barely keep it together. They were not fun, at all.

So I was listening to the frighteningly loud cheers for this guy who was supposed to give me a run for the money, and I was more and more nervous. I remember thinking to myself, “This is stupid, this is not fun at all. Why am I doing this?!?” So out loud, after sitting quietly for several hours, I blurted out “Fuck it, I’m just going to go out there and have fun.” If I didn’t already look like a freak for quietly sitting reading a book, I sure did now as I was making proclamations to a room full of strangers. But I remember one other competitor, saying “right on” or something to that effect. The notion of not stressing about the round and just enjoying the ride seemed to resonate with both of us. Just have fun. What a concept!

And that’s exactly what I did. I was so tired of not enjoying my time on the bar, ever since that glass stack went down. I wanted to actually enjoy those twelve minutes I had been training for all year. And did I ever.

That was one of, if not, the best show of my career. Never before could I appreciate what it was to have 500 people, literally, eating of out your hand. There was an energy and a connection between the crowd and I that was such a drug. I hit every move, and the one or two mistakes I had, I just laughed off and so did everybody else. I nailed an original move (at the time) with a bottle and a tin where during an exchange, I reached up and rang the bar bell. I hit the Chambord roll down the arm and all the “new” bottle-tin stuff I worked on for more than a year. And I nailed the Friday’s Freeze flip to a stall, balls on. Time seemed to move so slowly and it was so much fun that night. I won the regionals, and afterwards, I remember feeling as though each of these 500-some people had seen “me.” That’s the only way I know how to describe it. That I was able to show the true, inner me, the bottle-flipping freak, to a room full of strangers… and they loved it.

The US NorthEast Divisonals were to be held a month later in Warwick, Rhode Island. Four of my fellow bartenders flew up to cheer me on. It was to be the first competition that my longtime girlfriend (and now ex-wife) and my mom would ever see, even though both had seen me practice for several years. One of my best friends was also driving six hours to watch me. I was pumped. These were the best Friday’s bartenders on the East Coast I was up against, every one of them very serious about competing. None so much so as a guy from just outside Boston, who apparently had an entire busload of fans there to cheer him on. He was the favorite to go to Nationals. His name was Joe.

Turns out Joe and I tied for first place during the day testing, so the whole competition would be decided on the bar, later that night. I felt so relaxed, so ready. I couldn’t wait to begin. The next eleven and a half minutes could not have gone better. I was on fire. I had this baby in the bag. So I’m right on time with my music, preparing for my big finale… the frozen drink stalled on the back of the hand, flipped up and then over the shoulder and landed again on the back of the hand… to the beat of the music. Music which was probably my best mix ever. (Shawn Oana would have been proud, if he had known me back then.) So I picked up the aerosol whipped cream can to top the Friday’s Freeze with and… it was empty. The room came to a stop. You could hear the bar back let out a very clear “oh shit” as she ran through the crowd to get a new can. Why didn’t I check the whipped cream?! I thought to myself.

I tried once again to salvage the moment with some magic/jokes. It sort of worked. Eventually the whipped cream showed up and I finished the show. But my music had ended and I lost all my momentum. Most importantly, I went over the twelve minute time limit. There was a one point penalty, per judge, for each minute over the time limit. So I lost six points for the empty can of whipped cream. And in the end, I lost the Northeast US Divisionals… by exactly six points. I lost to a guy named Joe “The Rocket” Pereira who went on to win the worlds that year. We actually became good friends and I returned to do a show at his home store shortly after and also flew to Dallas to cheer him on when he won the World’s. But I felt vindicated that my only loss was to that year’s World Champion. Sort of.

I flew to Quest that same year and began competing with the big dogs. While forming the FBA, I had ample opportunity to pick the brains of guys like Alan Mays and Ken Hall, who taught me volumes about competing. My second year of Quest I roomed with the guys from Vegas (there were only about 8 of them back then, not like the 200 of so that live here now, lol). I made the finals and in fact, qualified right behind Alan Mays, Ken Hall and Bill Long in the number four slot. I know, it stunned me, too. Me??… right behind the top three guys in North America, maybe the world at that time?? For those newer to the scene, that would be like standing on stage next to the Delpech brothers and Nicholas St. Jean. I went on to make the finals of more than a couple majors after that, almost every event I entered from that point on. What I learned, for guys like me and you, the average or maybe slightly-above-average joe’s of the flair bartending world, can be summed up like this:

You don’t have to “win” your way into the finals, just let everybody else “lose” their way out of them. Put on a clean, smooth, tight show with a few original, interesting tricks and you’ll be surprised how often you are standing on stage with the big dogs. If you’re an FBA member, there is a long article (shocker) I wrote years ago on competition training tips in one of the original editions of the FBA newsletter “Flairborne.” It’s still accessible in the FBA member’s lounge. Just join the FBA and you’ll have access to that and a ton more really helpful articles, video clips, and best of all, message boards where you can pick the brains of the brightest and oddest minds in flair.

But before you have to worry about preparing for a major competition like Legends or Roadhouse, most of us have to figure out just how to put a show together. Where do you start? How do you do it? What is the process? And how do you take your show from a choppy collection of tricks you’ve half-mastered and turn it into a performance that will bring them to their feet? In other words, what are the secrets to putting together a routine that will end up becoming a truly great show? I don’t know if I’ve had more than a few “great routines” in my entire competitive career, lol… but here’s what I do when I want to put one together.

PICKING MUSIC
First, I collect a large library of music I think strikes a nice balance between “I love it” and “the crowd will love it.” Some songs I love to flip to, just aren’t good “crowd” or competition songs. Then, I do various types of flair to each song, seeing what seems to fit with which songs. At first it might sound strange, but to me, there is definitely “bottle tin” music vs. “two bottle” music. For me, it’s about the pace and rhythm of the song. I don’t want something too fast that it makes me sloppy or pushes me to flip too fast so that I drop. And I like some breaks in the song for bumps, stalls, etc.

Now that I have a playlist of dozen songs or so that I think work best for my style of flair, I forget about the music and focus back on the specific routines. I will take one portion of my show, two tin and one bottle for example, and play all of my favorite “flair” songs while performing this sequence. Usually, the one song I originally picked out to use with this part of my show seems to fit best. But every once in a while, I surprise myself and find a piece of music that goes perfectly with a sequence, that I probably never would have put together in my head. This is huge, at least for me. Having music that helps keep me properly paced and remember moves that I love and the crowd will respond to. In fact, the more I practice to that song, the tighter and tighter that flair seems to get. Without the music, I think I would be lost. Can you relate?

Once I have a song for each section of my show, I perform the rough show, with each song, in order, to see how the whole thing flows…or doesn’t. Sometimes it’s a simple matter of switching the order of sequences around; other times it involves picking different music, or taking parts of the show out and adding in new parts. Point is to be flexible and focus on putting together an overall show. This is not the time, for me at least, to be sweating perfection. This is where you “block out” your show, with the music, moves, drinks, and crowd interaction. It’s a rough draft. Let it be a little rough. Speaking of rough, the rough cut of the music comes next.

Next I mix my music together, to get a rough cut, and start fleshing the full details of the entire routine out. A mistake I still make sometimes, is not giving myself enough “padding” in the music. I’ve seen a ton of other bartenders fall victim to this mistake, too. Don’t forget to leave enough time to ice glassware, juice, shake, pour, garnish and straw. Don’t crowd yourself into a corner by only practicing the flair with your music. You need time for everything, not just the bottle-flipping. And this goes triple if you are choreographing your moves to the beat. Don’t try to choreograph everything from start to finish. Give it some padding.

What I mean is that if you try to time too much of your routine to all the music you use, and you fuck up; you will start falling behind, and then your show will fall apart because you are a) offbeat b) rushing to catch up and c) you look sloppy. If you watch the best of the best, while large portions of their shows are choreographed directly to music, there are spaces between each bit of choreography that are not. This is the padding. You leave yourself room to make mistakes, or take a breath and wipe your forehead/hands, or make your drinks/pour juices, etc. That way if you make any mistakes, you have padding to get caught up without rushing. If you don’t make any mistakes then you have time to play with the crowd, be more precise with your drinks, or possibly even add in a trick or two.

Once I think I have my music set, I will polish up my routine enough to where I think it is a complete show. Then I’ll videotape myself, watch it, and see what it looks like. That’s where I’ll cut some things, add others, and make any final adjustments to the music. At that point, I try hard to stick with that exact routine and polish it up for as long as I can before the comp/show. That is a very important lesson: don’t keep “improving” your show. Instead, spend your last several weeks prior to the comp, polishing the same show, over and over.

BUILDING YOUR SHOW
Most people seem to have a pretty decent grasp of this, but for the newcomers, this might be new information. You should build your show in a way that makes it seem to be getting better and better as it goes on. For most of us, that means starting with some simple 1 or 2 object flair, or maybe working flair. Then moving on to 2-3 objects, and finishing with your “big” moves… whether it be 3 or 4 bottles, really bad-ass bottle-tin, a glass pyramid on your head, a huge multi-tin pour… whatever. But there should be a progression that keeps building up to a climax… just like a movie or a book. One temptation I have fallen prey to many times, or I should say I have crashed like a train wreck with many times, is trying to be too “dramatic” out of the gate. I have tried to start with some intense music with timed beats or breaks that I do specific moves to. I think this is a mistake for people like me and you… who don’t have a “reputation” for putting on flawless, amazing shows. Start with moves that you have 100% confidence with, and work your confidence up first. Start with the stuff you do every night behind the bar and can do with your eyes closed. Get your confidence up. Then, maybe throw in some real powerful choreography or showmanship. It’s not just for you, but for the crowd. You need to earn their trust and respect before you can get too creative or crazy with them, I think.

People like Christian walk onto the stage with that respect from the crowd already, you and I do not, lol. We have to earn it. So Christian has the option to open his show with three objects, and has done this more than once, to let everybody know right out of the gate “I’m not playing around.” He also has another six minutes worth of flair that will be better than that initial three object stuff. I don’t know about you, but I do not. And looking at someone like Christian’s approach/rounds brings up a really good point: you are not Christian Delpech and neither am I. So don’t compete with them on their level. Sound backwards? Stay with me.

GET YOUR POINTS
This applies for shows, not just competitions, at least in theory. Realize your own strengths and weaknesses and play up your strengths. With the recent advent of so many DVDs, streaming video, so many comps… we are finding that so much flair is monotonous. EVerybody looks the same. You need to do something different these days, really different, to separate yourself from everybody else. Here’s how i try to do it.

For a guy like me, I know I simply cannot compete with Christian, Rodrigo, Dario, etc. in difficulty. Not gonna happen. So I don’t waste hours trying to match or beat their juggling patterns and tricks. What’s the point…even if I could “catch up,” I’d just look like…them. But I can still get my points in other areas…originality, showmanship, smoothness, variety. Not to say these guys don’t have all this, but more importantly, that I can, and have, gotten as many points in some of these areas, even more points, than many other people I have competed against so that the difficulty points don’t matter as much.

Look, instead of spending two months trying to put together a 4-bottle routine, why not spend that time on one your strong areas? If you’re really inventive, spend that time making up 10 new tricks and polishing them. Or spend that time on an elaborate, entertaining theme. Or work on your smoothness. Dean Serneels made the finals of King of the Ring (first one) with some very, very basic flair. If he just went on stage with no show, and did those moves, he would not have made the semis, let alone the finals. But he had what many consider to be one of the best “shows” of any bartender to date. Go with your strengths! Look at Flippy. Now his difficulty IS up there, true. But that’s not what gets him into the finals and helps him win. Personality. Showmanship. Chris Fetter. Chris is so entertaining, so bizarre, lol… that the judges want to make sure he’s in the finals just to see what hilarious costume he is going to show up in. Don’t underestimate this. If you do/have some strength that makes for a killer show, and the judges know it, you can sneak your way into some finals.

So now back to the concept of competing against people like Christian. When you’re ready to gun for him, trust me, you’ll know. You’ll feel it. Until then, don’t try to! Set goals for yourself that will make you feel good about your hard work. In most of the big comps I competed in, my only goal was to make the finals. That’s it. And I did…Quest, Legends, Caymans most notably. By setting and focusing on realistic goals, you are much more likely to hit them, and therefore, build on success. If your goal right now, with zero competitions under your belt, is to smoke Tom Dyer or Nicholas St. Jean at Roadhouse, you’re setting yourself up for failure. And worst of all, you’re probably going to attempt all kinds of unperfected, sloppy tricks that won’t work out, and you’ll just look plain stupid up on stage. But if your goal is to have a clean, fun, polished show that puts you in the semis, and possibly the finals, when you accomplish that, your confidence will skyrocket. And then you can build on this. Then you can gun for the top spot.

WING IT OR PLAN IT OUT?
For me, I need an exact routine where I use the music as cues to remind myself of what comes next. While at work I can just freestyle; I find if I try this in a comp or a show I tend to start repeating my flair and/or forget to do some really cool tricks..which in turns starts to make me nervous (because I feel like my show sucks) which in turn leads to errors. I’ve heard some people claim they never put a routine together, that they just “wing it” on stage. The only people I personally know who have had any success with this… are madly talented to begin with. The other few that get by doing this, don’t get by for long. For the rest of us, who have some skills and some talent, but can’t just hop on stage with somebody else’s CD and fake it, trying to is usually a disaster. If you don’t know what works for you… well, lol…then try winging it. Chances are, you’ll realize that showing up to a comp with a Bailey’s bottle and a Ricky Martin song only works if you are from Argentina.

When I have a fully polished, choreographed routine where I literally know every single move I will make right down to which hand I pick up the juice with to finish the drinks, etc; I am a lot more confident and relaxed. Then in the show, if I forgot one tiny thing, no big deal. But this approach eliminates 90% of the “brain farts.” It sucks when you blank on stage. It’s the worst, isn’t it? Having a set routine that you know backwards and forwards is the best way I’ve found to prevent this. The nice thing about this method for me, is that I can listen to my show music on the plane or in a cab or whatever, and just visualize my entire show which is a strange but effective form of practicing it.

Something else that is a big help is knowing when to cut moves out. A lot of bartenders, myself included, try moves out in comps that we really aren’t ready to be trying. It’s so tempting because in your garage, you hit it some/most of the time and it’s what you feel is your “best” new move. And you really want that recognition. Plus the blood gets pumping up on stage and you get a little too excited sometimes, right? I know. But if you can’t hit it when it counts, trust me, nobody is going to share that excitement with you, lol. My advice is “dumb down” your routine just a little and spend time making the show better…the smoothness and showmanship, and don’t waste tons of time working on one move that you can’t hit more than 5 out of 10 times.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember a single round where somebody dropped and dropped and spilled…and won. Something else I am noticing that is becoming more and more important… originality. From both a judging point of view and as an educated spectator, I would highly suggest staying away from the same old shit everybody else has done a thousands times, just because you think you need to “get your points.” I know I just said this a second ago, but also know a lot of you ADD S.O.B.s don’t have the attention-span to actually read all this nonsense. So I’ll hit you over the head with it. I am so sick of that exact same 3 bottle sequence that includes the swipe-throughs with the two-bottle column that leads to the four bottle flash, followed by the 4-bottle columns. I’m not the only one. You notice almost none of the top guys do this bit anymore, because everybody and their brother pulls it out, or did pull it out, last year.

ORIGINALITY
The thing I don’t think a lot of guys get, which Graham Warner, for example, definitely does… is that originality does not have to be difficult (not that Graham’s flair is not difficult, it is), it just has to be…original! Just by adding a few simple, unique flourishes, exchanges, etc, you really improve your show. Watch one of Graham’s routines….he fills his shows with all kinds of really cool little tin exchanges that really aren’t necessarily overly-difficult, but they are smooth, original and visually exciting.

Especially in a comp, where the judges are very knowledgeable, your goal should be to make them say “what the fuck was THAT?!?” (in a good way) as many times as possible. This is straight from Christian Delpech’s mouth, as well. He tries to shove original move after original, difficult move down the judge’s throats so they are literally blown away. Obviously, you and I are not Christian, but the same theory can still help us. Surprise the judges with stuff that is truly “you.” I will bet nearly every bartender out there has a move or two that is unique to them, that may not seem exciting or difficult to them, but would raise the eyebrows of even the most experienced judges and fellow competitors. We have all seen the same old moves… show us something new and we eat it up.

PRACTICE
This is the #1 area I fail in, and people like Christian, Ken Hall, and the rest of the best seem to excel in. You shouldn’t be putting your show together a week before the comp/show. The whole reason you spend weeks, maybe months one the same exact show, is to get so smooth and confident with it, that once you’re one stage, you don’t have to think, you can perform. You know all that confidence you see Mig, Christian, Flippy, Ken, Nicholas,Graham, etc perform with? A lot of that comes from knowing they are going to hit their moves. It’s hard to exude confidence and charisma if you spend half your show bending over to pick up tins and bottles off the ground. So when you practice your show, you should spend at least a week (probably longer) practicing full-on: water in the bottles, ice, juices, garnishes, bright lights, in any special costumes you plan on performing in… exactly as it will be in the show.

Don’t start your music, drop something and say “wait, wait” and start over. You can’t do that on stage, so don’t practice doing that. Work through your mistakes just like you have to on stage. Putting that kind of pressure on yourself not only makes your practice more realistic, it makes you better at dealing with mistakes and pressure.

Also, as goofy as it feels, practice your showmanship, even if only your dog or your girlfriend are the only audience you have. It might seem stupid to be screaming “you want some more?!!” to yourself in an empty backyard, but again, you’re trying to polish each and every piece of your show, so don’t skip over parts just because you don’t have a huge crowd.

On that note, if you get opportunities to perform your actual full show for a live audience, take it. For those of you that didn’t know it, when I worked at Shadow bar, I watched Christian perform the exact same show, every single night, for months and months. The same show (about 90% of it anyway) that he took to the big comps when he was first really blowing up as the top dog. So if you plan on going to Quest, Roadhouse, Nations, etc… do your exact show at some really small comps first, or on your bar, or wherever you can…to see how the crowd reacts to it, and to get more confident with it. You’ll also get better at figuring out what parts of your show to really work the crowd, which moves to build up or which stalls to hold the longest, etc.

And resist the temptation to keep tinkering with your routines. You’ll just end up confusing yourself and brain-farting on stage. Once you set your routine, leave it alone and ust do it over and over and over so it’s automatic. Remember what Vince Lombardi said: practice doesn’t make perfect…. perfect practice makes perfect.

PREPARATION
This is where 9 out of 10 flair bartenders fall on their faces and this is what Ken Hall taught me that has really made more difference than anything else I’ve learned in the past ten years of competing. Being prepared means you’ve thought of everything you’ll need and packed it with time to spare.

1. Your book. Print out all the rules, bar schematics, recipes, itineraries, maps, hotel reservations, etc and bind them in a 3-ring notebook. Add a zippered pocket for a stop watch, sharpie pen, etc. If there is a speed round you have to plan out, have it written out, move by move and put that in your book.

2. Music. Test it out on more than one stereo to make sure it plays, doesn’t skip, and is loud enough without sounding distorted. Then burn three copies of CD and label them with your name and what track(s) to play. I recommend only putting the one track you need on this CD so there is no chance of the DJ cueing the wrong song while 500 people are staring at you when the MC says “3…2..1…GO!” That may mean having a set of qualifying CDs and another set of three finals CDs. Do it.

3. Pack your bottles, tins, and tools. Need one Skyy bottle for your round? You should pack about six of them. Three to put in your well on stage and three to practice with. When you’re on stage, bending over for bottles looks bad. Just grab another one from the well. Plus once a bottle spills, it will spill more than a fresh bottle that no liquid has passed through the pour spout yet. Besides having extras of every bottle you will use, you will want a few Flaircos to practice your routine and big moves with. Bring brand new tins. If you are performing a lot of captures, new tins will release the bottles better. Used tins cause the bottles to stick in the tins. I usually bring an entire brand new sleeve of 12 tins for a competition. And I like to rinse them in really hot water just before using them. Something about a hot, dry tin seems to work better for me. Do you know what I’m talking about? Do you use a certain type of ice scoop at work and also at home to practice with? Better bring it, and also, make sure the rules allow you to swap theirs out for your own. Same goes for any other item that you normally work with. Pack everything carefully in milk crates separated by the cardboard partitions that come in cases of liquor, wrap items in towels, and load the crates into a large “hockey” type bag, preferably one with wheels. One you get good a packing bottles, you won’t have to worry about going to the baggage terminal only to find a bag filled with broken glass.

4. Specialty rounds. Making your own special cocktail? Don’t forget to bring the glass, and any special juices, extracts, liqueurs, etc. And I would strongly recommend when allowed, premixing that cocktail so you’re not scrambling around five minutes before you’re to be on stage, trying to find some Banana Liqueur from the host bar. Don’t rush your setup/preparation for a specialty round, it will just make you more nervous right before your show. Plan in an extra hour or two, to arrive at the venue to set things up, wipe down your bottles, check your music, etc. That way you are relaxed and calm.

5. Prep your own bottles. Set to the required level of liquid yourself, and -then- put pour spouts in. Don’t ever put in spouts, then have you or someone else dump liquid out of that bottle through that spout. Wet spouts cause more spills. In fact, once you’ve set your bottles, blow into the spouts to get any liquid out of them. Then take a water bottle and spray down your bottles and dry them. Who wants to start their show with sticky bottles? Put them all back in a milk crate, and cover with your own towels that you brought from home so nobody will fuck with them. When it’s time to go on stage, all you have to do is drop the bottles in the speedrack, set your tins and glassware and you’re ready to rock and roll.

6. Resist the dark side. Sure, at every competition there are elevator parties, tree climbing contests, late nights at Denny’s, strip clubs, and all kinds of BottleSlinger-like activity going on. It’s easy to get sucked in. Don’t. Wait until the contest is over for that. Hide if you have to. Practice, relax, eat well, get plenty of sleep. Chuck, Levi, Cardone, McLean, Cache and the rest of the late night crew will always be there, on another night. Trust me on this. You will never see Christian, Rodrigo, Flippy, Mig, or Ken out partying the night before a comp. Coincidence? I think not.

ON STAGE
You’ll never hear better advice from the original old-school master competition barback himself, Big Mike “Gravy” Graves: Breathe, have fun. Taking deep breaths increasing blood flow which relaxes muscles. Just listen to your music, begin your show slowly and smoothly and don’t worry about anything that may go wrong, because something always does. Let me say that again: something always goes wrong. Always. Things never go exactly as you plan. Just roll with it and have as much fun as you possibly can. How often do you get the undivided attention of an entire room full of people who actually all want to see you flip bottles without a single asshole yelling “Just make my damn drink!”?? This is your moment, drink it up, one sip at a time. If you drop, take a deep breath, relax and pick up where you left off. Sometimes when you get nervous, the tendency is to rush through your show. Don’t do this!! Calm yourself down by stopping, taking a deep breath, smiling and slowly get back into your show. In the end, no matter what happens, most people will remember how much fun you had, not how many drops you had. And it is never as bad as you think. Never. See you on stage.

My name is Toby Ellis and when I’m not putting together a show, I’m watching yours. So make the most of your time on stage and remember the most important focus of your show: to enjoy it.

p.s. There is a big difference between the type of show you put together for a competition and a show at any old bar or tradeshow. At a competition, you generally have a very savvy, educated crowd who really know their flair. You need to rack up the difficulty and originality points here. Most of this article has been geared towards building a routine for a competition. When you are asked to do an exhibition for the general public, realize most of them have never seen anything like what you can probably already do. They don’t know who Christian Delpech is, so in a way, you are Christian Delpech…to them. “Dumb” your show way, way down doing only moves you can hit in your sleep and instead, focus on your showmanship and confidence. Really sell your moves and work the crowd into a frenzy. Don’t forget the golden rule of flair: simple flair performed crisply always looks better than difficult flair performed poorly. A couple routines that end in tin captures or stalls will drop their jaws. Simple juggling with one or two tricks will blow their minds. And finally, when doing exhibitions, I strongly recommend ending with a multi-tin pour. Crowds always eat that up, even though they aren’t always that practical or possible in competition. Nobody has a clicker or score sheet at an exhibition, so have some fun with it and don’t worry abut being perfect, technical, or difficult. Just entertain them or in other words, “Be the Flippy.”