The last is frequently the purview of John McHale, who, under his Breakeven Booking shingle, has served as one of the Magic City's high priests of concert promotion for more than two decades.
"I love working here," McHale, 41, says on a recent Thursday night as he scans digital tickets at the green wrought-iron dividing the carnival-istic Wynwood streets from the palapa-covered Gramps patio stage where rising indie Latin chanteuse Sophie Castillo will soon perform. "I get to see minds blown all the time."
In a world in which we possess technological access to almost everything, our hubris and laziness paradoxically make it easier than ever to target, segment, and segregate us by interests and prejudice. In antidotal contrast, McHale's curated bills are ceremonies of frisson, of synergy, of cultural and social cross-pollination that allow us to be mugged by something unexpected and cool again.
In response to the self-posed question, "What did you come into the world to do?" the French writer Émile Zola averred, "I am here to live out loud!" McHale is considerably more reserved — his ultra-chill mien makes Snow White's Bashful look like a narcissistic exhibitionist on a meth bender. He has come not to live out loud but to live out loudness — a fact that has gained him fans far outside the city limits.
"Because I grew up in hardcore, I can extra appreciate John's hustle," says Wesley Eisold, frontman of both hardcore heroes American Nightmare and darkwave conquerors Cold Cave, who will return to Gramps on April 6. "Cold Cave has performed everywhere, from squats to stadiums, and what always makes the difference is the integrity and approach of the promoter. Some people just work differently — from a place of love. That's a backbone you can't buy."
"Breakeven has always done right by us," adds John "Porcell" Porcelly, the legendary guitarist of seminal hardcore bands Youth of Today, Shelter, and Judge. "It's cool to have people setting up the shows who have been involved in the hardcore scene for a long time and actually get it."
"To me, when you're into music, you want to share it," McHale demurs. "It's part of the deal. You know, 'You've gotta hear this.' That's really all I'm doing — just on a somewhat larger scale."
Breakeven's Origin Story
Like many of us, Breakeven Booking was conceived in the back of a car: Tagging along with his older siblings on errands and jaunts, McHale would listen as his sister's Depeche Mode Songs of Faith and Devotion and Soundgarden CDs went toe to toe with his brothers' dubbed Sabbath, Maiden, Faith No More, and Danzig cassettes.Yet McHale never felt obligated to choose a lane. The dissonant melody felt more like a call to adventure — to the wild hunt for new music — than anything else. Eventually, he discovered hardcore, thrilling as a young teen, and went to local performances by Sick of it All and Agnostic Front, which teetered on the knife's edge of chaos. He played in several fledgling bands and got plugged into the scene. He booked a show headlined by South Florida hardcore heavyweights Where Fear and Weapons Meet with some friends at a park and had an epiphany: DIY was not a noun but a verb.
"Hey, don't just take a turn at Atlanta," his pitch to beloved out-of-state bands soon went. "Come a little further south, and we'll make it worth your while."
This is how McHale came to book South Florida dates for the first national tours of future legends like Modern Life Is War and Comeback Kid. How he enticed Blacklisted, Title Fight, and others to tour tropical. How he booked shows at Club Q where future Florida legends like Poison the Well and Morning Again cut their metallic hardcore teeth; at the Alley; at the Talent Farm; at the late visionary civil rights lawyer Alicia Apfel's multimedia Space Mountain; and, for many years, at Churchill's Pub.
McHale had been booking at Gramps occasionally as well — mostly indie rock and psychedelic bands he thought vibed with the ambiance. But when OG hardcore punk band Negative Approach sought a change of scenery after a trio of Churchill's stops, McHale thought a rager under the Gramps palapa might be a fun lark. Turns out, the show was a serious hit. Horizons broadened, McHale ran with it and never looked back.
"John does so much for the Miami music community," says Oly Vargas, Gramps' venue director and indie songwriter. (Look up her track "Waiting Around" — you're welcome.) "He works damn hard to bring awesome shows down here and does an incredible job while holding down a day job. He's a real one and a great person with a big heart. He's taught me a lot."
Yet even as his national rolodex swelled, McHale never forgot his local roots. "John is one of the most genuine and sincere people you will ever meet," says Alex Leon, frontman of recently reactivated Miami hardcore greats All Hell Breaks Loose. "He never gave up on South Florida bands — even when a lot of other people did — and his efforts have provided an essential and consistent lifeline to this scene. Since the late Nineties, John's always been the dude in the front row, wearing a hoodie and screaming the words to every song — and never a part of any drama or nonsense."
Unlikely Concert Promoter
On paper, McHale is perhaps not the ideal candidate to be a concert promoter."I've always had pretty bad anxiety," he admits, "and this is a business where you get sacked with so many random challenges and issues." He's entertained thoughts of retirement in the past, particularly after booking a bucket list band like, say, Gorilla Biscuits or Obituary. "But there's always something cool on the horizon — something I really want people to see," McHale says. "It's my life's work at this point. My head's always been down, just pushing through, pushing on."
He pauses. "Maybe I just don't know how to quit. Maybe my roots are too deep to walk away. I can't explain it. But I love it."
And so, for a grateful city, the loudness persists.
