By Gili Malinsky
By Bob Ruggiero
By Hilary Hughes
By Peter Gerstenzang
By David R. Adler
By Devon Maloney
By Brian McManus
By Jessica Hopper
Tales of musicians from nations like Syria and Cuba being kept at bay by the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (formerly the INS) have become commonplace since 9-11. But European and Canadian musicians, too, are finding the consular walls unmanageably high.
Veteran U.K. anarcho-punks Subhumans, who finally landed a gig at B.B. King Blues Club July 19, had been successfully touring America since the early 1980s when they applied for new visas last July, assuming they were leaving more than enough time to get their paperwork in order for their scheduled tour of the U.S. that autumn. But when the U.S. embassy in London still hadn't processed their documents by mid October, Subhumans had to call off the first half-dozen of their stateside shows and then rebook an expensive set of last-minute (and non-refundable) plane tickets.
No wonder so many acts are now looking to other shores. Part of the reason is purely financial: Filing fees, travel to the local consulate, legal help, and what Ian Smith of the U.K.'s Musicians' Union calls "the thousand-dollar bribe" for premium processing can quickly add up to two grand per head. And even then there's no guarantee of getting a visa, which itself is no guarantee of getting in: The border officer at the point of entry makes that call. Figure in up-front costs for promotion and advertising, and it soon becomes untenable for some musicians to continue playing here.
At least the USCIS steers clear of any obvious political or musical profiling: No-gos hail from all genres, with metal from Canada (Cryptopsy, Into Eternity) and Norwegian (Nightwish, Marduk, Entombed, Satyricon) perhaps the hardest hit. When the drummer for Swedish death metalers Dimmu Borgir revealed a decade-old conviction for bicycle theft, that was enough to get him bumped from their upcoming U.S. tour, in fear immigration officials would otherwise nix the whole band. "We couldn't take the risk," says their guitarist Silenoz.
Mainstream acts have had their troubles too: British pop groups including the Libertines and Cooper Temple Clause have tussled with the U.S. visa man, as have eastern acts like Czech avant-punkers Sunshine and Slovakian Beatles-tribute band the Backwards. Not even marquee names like Kylie, Sting, and Blur have proven immune. "We had a situation very recently where George Michael was asked to queue," said Smith, of the Musicians' Union, "but Grosvenor Square [site of the U.S. embassy in London] decided that it would be quite a good idea just to get him in through the back door."
photo: Nuclear Blast
Phone calls to consular officials at $21 (15 euros) a pop don't help either. Dutch guitarist Peter Visser of Holland's indie-rock Bettie Serveert recently told a local music site he'd had to make seven of them for the band's upcoming tour.
"It's really harder now," says Alix Madarasz, the French American manager of Parisian techno label F Com. "It just makes you feel you're not really wanted in the U.S." With visa procedures that sometimes require artists to produce bank, phone, or property records, she says, "some of the guys just don't feel like going anymore."
One of those guys is the label's star DJ Laurent Garnier, who very publicly canceled a U.S. tour scheduled for March because of what he called on his website "completely unreasonable demands" that now make it "almost impossible for an artist to come and perform in the United States."
And the strong euro makes ignoring the U.S. easier than ever. "We are dealing in a global market for the leading artists, whose schedules are completely full and who have the ability to choose among the many offers they have," says Marc Scorca, president of the trade organization Opera America. "My concern is that they will choose not to come to the United Sates because it's just too difficult."
Some evidence indicates that's already happening. CMJ showcase manager Chris White says his festival has definitely featured less foreign talent of late. When he started six years ago, he says, bands had "a willingness to do whatever it took to get over here." But since the visa procedures have toughened up, he says, "They're more willing to say, 'We just won't do this, never mind.' If you can tour Europe without any hassle, certainly you're gonna think twice about touring the States."
British singer-songwriter Julian Dawson, for example, had breezed through the visa process for most of the 1990sbolstered by a major record deal with BMGuntil his luck ran out last year: His visa got held up and gigs were lost. Now, he says, "There's very much the feeling, 'Do I have to be known in Denver?' And that's a new feeling for me because I've focused very strongly actually on America. It's a big place to crack, and I've put a lot of work into it. I'm very sad to let it go. But my feeling at the moment is that it's being made next to impossible."