Gig Posters

Before social media, a show existed first on a wall. A gig poster slapped on a venue door, the band's name in huge letters, a date, a time, a strip of tape already peeling. That humble object, made to last a week, turned into an art form of its own.

A short history of the gig poster

In mid-sixties San Francisco, Wes Wilson drew dozens of posters for Bill Graham's concerts at the Fillmore and Chet Helms's shows at the Avalon Ballroom. His lettering melted, stretched and filled every inch, Art Nouveau curves colliding with clashing colours. The psychedelic poster was born, and with it the idea that a flyer could be something worth keeping.

The genre still runs on the same codes: type that takes over the sheet, bold colours, visible print texture and the feeling that the paper has lived a little.

Getting the concert-hall look

Go for massive type, tape and red ink, with an imaginary 9 pm date in Tunis. Or try the unplugged version, burgundy on aged paper, with a headline show in Sfax. Or simply drop a red lightning bolt on cream paper with a halftone screen.

And if you want a whole stretch of wall to look like a venue entrance, split one image across nine posters, hung 3 cm apart.

How to hang them

Gig posters forgive a little chaos: slightly crooked, clustered, mixed with photos and old tickets. On brick or concrete the effect is instant. In a tidier room, line up three at the same height to keep the energy without the mess.

All printed in Tunisia, delivered to the 24 governorates and paid for at the door. The tour stops at yours.