On the Occassion of Roseann’s 43rd Birthday, Maxwell Tries Wasabi
February 4, 2010 (3:00 am or so)
February in Seattle has a way of turning my circadian rhythms around. So I find myself tired but unable to sleep tonight. This wired fatigue is an interesting place. The mind is quieter and slower. At the same time, a lot of psychic noise disappears, and an unexpected clarity of focus emerges.
Right now, my mind is filled with the taste of Toyoda Sushi and the beauty of the family dinner we had to celebrate my sister-in-law’s 43rd birthday. Maxwell, my nephew, who is in the 2nd grade, tried Wasabi for the first time tonight, tasting it carefully at first, but later asking for maybe just a little bit more to go with his Yellow Tail (evidently also his first raw fish Sushi experience).
As Max was trying the Wasabi, we talked about his cousin Alex’s first Wasabi experience years before, where in an impulsive moment he took a rather big bite and paid the price for it (smoke, as they say, was blowing out his ears). Afterwards, Maxwell asked, only half in jest, whether it was possible for smoke to blow out your ears. And we decided that while we had never personally seen it done, it might be possible, since your ears are connected to your nose and throat.
Then we explained that that phrase was more of a metaphor, and I referenced the Roadrunner cartoons, which Max had never seen, where smoke does sometimes literally blow out of the Coyote’s ears after one of his schemes to catch the Roadrunner has backfired on him. I wondered out loud if this is where that saying came from.
Reflecting in the middle of the night on my dinner conversation with Max conjures up memories of being in Vermont during the summer after I was in 2nd grade. The picture should be blurry, almost 40 years removed, but it remains vivid: Driving out to Vermont from Champaign, Illinois in the Orange Datsun 510 my dad got around that time. Listening to the Five Man Electrical Band sing “Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign” on the AM radio in the car as we drove out (Dad really liked that one). Stopping in Northampton, Massachusetts, I think in part, to pick up the keys to the mobile home we would be staying in for the week (it belonged to my parents’ friends the Fitzgeralds, neighbors from when we lived there).
Then we were up there. Vermont. Green. Clean. Serene. Work shoes on, running around in the woods by myself. Fishing off of a small bridge. Listening to the Band’s brown album on the portable 8-track player my dad bought me for my 7th birthday. We didn’t have a lot of different 8-tracks with us. In fact, we might have only had that one tape. And I suspect my folks were getting pretty tired of the Band in that mobile home, which was not so big for 4 people. But it was workable.
That brown album by the Band was the paradigmatic case: the first rock album that was really mine and mattered to me. I suppose I may have already had the experience of playing Revolver by the Beatles to death, developing an early favorite song on the album, but then listening more and finding things in some of the other songs that I hadn’t appreciated earlier on. But that was my parents’ album. This one was mine. So perhaps I was more aware of this process happening with the Band. “Dixie” and “Cripple Creek” were the early favorites, and I didn’t like “Look Out Cleveland” at all. But by the time we got to Vermont that summer, it was starting to grow on me. Little did I know we’d be living in Cleveland 8 years later.
Over the course of that week, I heard that song over and over again. And as I ran around in the woods, singing it to myself over and over again, it took up residence in my brain. In one form or another, it’s been lodged up in there ever since.
So as I write this, on the back end of my sister-in-law’s birthday, that old music still playing in my head, I wonder what sort of vivid moments Maxwell is having right now (and Sylvia too). They are still so small and seemingly unformed. But I know that isn’t really true. For while I may have been small during those days in Vermont, I was not unformed. I can draw a straight line from this moment right now back to that one. For better or worse, there is more continuity in that line than discontinuity.
That little dude in the woods was pretty happy-go-lucky, perhaps more so than this man at the keyboard tonight. But that little dude also thought about a lot of stuff. He was not oblivious to all that was going on. He was still growing and learning, but he could feel his mother’s irritation ebbing and flowing in the cramped confines of the mobile home. And it caused him concern, which would grow more prominent as the years went by, because this was a vacation, and vacations were supposed to be fun. So this unhappiness didn’t quite compute.
But it also didn’t obscure all happy things. For that little boy could still run around in the woods, something he had done very little of up to that moment, and something he has done very little of since. The running. The quiet. The music playing in his little head. Those were all happy things.
I see that process happening in my nephew now. He’s become a serious little dude. He can be silly. He often doesn’t know where the limits are, so his parents need to show him. But he is also taking more and more of it in with each passing day, already more of who he will be than anyone probably comprehends in the moment (including him). But also I suspect, more self-aware than we grown-ups are inclined to acknowledge or appreciate.
I hope the grown-ups at the table tonight get a chance to visit with Max on the occasion of his 43rd birthday and see what he remembers about this night. The Yellow Tail? The Tempura Fried Ice Cream? Or that first taste of Wasabi?
Hattie’s Hoot for Haiti
As long I’m on the subject of Hattie’s Hat, I might as well give a quick shout out to Max, Jeff, Kyla and the other folks at Hattie’s Hat for putting on such great event there tonight.
In my post the other day, I talked about Ballard and how the Senior Circuit seemed like it was increasingly fighting an uphill struggle for survival against the changes going on in the neighborhood. But I must say, tonight was that older Ballard scene at its finest. Tons of great musicians playing a few songs each in the back room of the bar, Rusty Urie spinning vinyl in the front. Joanna Hoyt Heidi Park, and their friends selling raffle tickets. It looks like they had raised over $3000 for Red Cross assistance to the victims of the hurricane.
Sadly, I don’t have any pictures. But I will say that Fred Speakman brought the house down with an only somewhat comical medley of “Aqualung” and “Suite for Judy Blue Eyes.”
Hattie’s had started to feel a little moribund that last 4-5 years, but it seems like a little reboot may be in progress. That’s good to see, as it is a very long running establishment and deserves to keep going strong.
The Ruining Element
A couple of Fridays ago, my sweetie and I headed out to the Ballard neighborhood here in Seattle. To get there, we had to traverse the western edge of the Fremont neighborhood.
As we turned the corner and headed west down Leary away from Fremont, I noticed a group of four women on the corner of 39th and Leary headed east towards Fremont. They were dressed up like they were getting ready to hit a dance club of some sort.
Perhaps you are familiar with the look: high heels, tight low slung jeans, and a sheer top that shows off what I’ve heard referred to as “the Muffin Top.” I guess it might be considered an urban look, in the hip hop sense. But I associate it more with a bridge and tunnel, Jersey Shore, suburban archetype.
When I saw those folks, the following thought immediately popped into my head: “the Ruining Element.” For Fremont did not used to be a place where urban styled, Jersey Shore wannabes hung out. It had more of a funky hippie feeling to it, the last vestiges of which still survive in the a large statue of Vladimir Lenin by the Taco Del Mar and the annual Solstice Parade, with its crazy floats and naked bike riders. But little by little over the last 15 years, that aesthetic has been developed out of Fremont, replaced by one that is more popular with people like the ladies above. Continue reading “The Ruining Element”
The Allure of Air Power
During the early days of the first Iraq War, a video seemed to run continuously on television. In this video, a jet fighter launches a smart bomb. Moments later, it hits a ground target the size of a doorway, as the audio backing track explodes with the celebratory sounds of the American pilots and ground crew.
The scene in the video was some high order, whiz-bang stuff, offering, as it did, the tantalizing possibility that America’s future was one of remote control wars waged mostly from the air, with few, if any, casualties on the ground. Continue reading “The Allure of Air Power”
In school, if you’re right 60% of the time you’re a failure. In the music business, if you’re right 60% of the time, you’re a genius (unless you’re starting an indie label).
It’s true. Picking winners in the music business is a lot like hitting major league pitching: Most people strike out a lot. For every band on a major label that succeeds, a far greater number fail. This means that the A & R staff of most labels spend most of their time failing. So if you ever meet one of those rare individuals (and they do exist) who seem to pick winners more than half the time, bow down in front of them. In music business terms, this person is a genius. And if you happen to be one of those people, well take a bow. You are a genius.
There’s only one exception to this rule. If you run a small independent business, like an Indie record label, you don’t have the luxury of failing so often, because a multi-national corporation with huge cash reserves does not own you. So you have to be more careful. If you only have one band on your label and it fails, you can survive such a failure if you’ve been smart with your money and structured your project so that all the costs are properly scaled (insert reference).
But once you start juggling more than one project at a time, things get much more complicated really quickly. So growing an indie music business is a perilous game. If you have any success at all initially (and even sometimes if you don’t), the temptation to expand quickly is ever present. But if you haven’t given serious thought to how this growth will be managed and created budgets that accurately address the contingencies involved, it won’t take too many failures to kill the business.
So unless, you’ve got a personal fortune and your business is actually more of an art project, it’s best to remember that small is beautiful, especially at the beginning of a venture. As I said above, failure is common throughout the music business food chain. It’s as likely to happen to a big company as a small one. And as often as not, while the underlying lessons it has to teach may not be that different up and down the food chain, the scale of the damage may vary quite radically. So if it’s almost preordained that you’re going to have some failures and learn some hard lessons, why not try to keep your first failures small? It’s a long game. There’s no reason to risk mortally wounding yourself before you’ve barely made it out of the starting gate.
Usually, being an asshole does not help you
On the surface, this seems obvious. But if you take some time to think about it, it gets more complicated. There are many levels to being an asshole. Some are very obvious and easy to spot. Others aren’t so obvious. Why? Well, sometimes the difference between being assertive and being and asshole is subtle (or in the eye of the beholder). As you move through life and try to get things done, you may make enemies. Sometimes, it’s a zero sum game and there is no way around it. Indeed, if you have no enemies it may indicate that you’re not pushing hard enough (or placating people at your own expense).
Having said that, some people seem to make enemies with remarkable ease and for no clearly identifiable strategic reason. There is a cluelessness to these people that is mind boggling. Often, they don’t even realize what assholes they are, and how significantly they are sabotaging themselves with their approach.
And don’t think this is just people who take obvious aggressive action or engage in catty, two-faced behavior. Some of the worst offenders are the people with NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder). NPD people are often very nice (and charismatic too). But their awareness of others is so poor that they constantly alienate people, because all they can see are their own selfish concerns. Consequently, they can’t see how sometimes the best way to move their own ball forward is to show more concern for the needs and feelings of others.
Over the long haul, this lack of empathy undermines the NPD person, because they don’t sustain relationships with others very well. And after a while, they’ve burned through so many people that they lack the infrastructure necessary to pursue their musical projects effectively.
Bottom line: You’d be surprised how much can be accomplished by telling people thank you and letting them know you appreciate their support. And that doesn’t just mean people who you perceive to be important. That means everybody you come in contact with. Why? Well, first and foremost, it’s common courtesy. But also at a more practical level, things often aren’t as they seem. Your sense of who is important may be way off. So why take the risk?
Instead, get into that habit of following up and thanking people, not just at the point of impact (but also after the fact with a note, a call or an e-mail message). It really doesn’t take that long to do it, especially once you make it a habit. And while the dividends may not be obvious immediately, over the long haul things add up.
Perhaps the following discussion seems like so much common sense, more like “Life 101” than something that belongs in a discussion about the music industry. But I’ve seen numerous talented people fall down here and undermine themselves. They just never seem to “get it.” And then they end up bitter, never quite understanding why things have not worked out for them.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that there aren’t people who succeed without paying attention to common courtesy. But most of us aren’t that brilliant or charismatic. And as the many episodes of “Behind the Music” underscore, even the folks who succeed this way often pay for their hubris down the line. So it’s worth thinking about these issues and how you want to conduct yourself. For in the end, your public image begins with you. And even if you decide that the public image of “asshole” makes career sense, that doesn’t mean you can’t choose to not be an asshole in your private business and personal dealings.
Sometimes it helps to be enigmatic
While it seems like the straight line is the most effective way to achieve your goal, this is not always the case. Sometimes, it is better to keep people wondering a little bit about who you are and what you’re intentions are. Don’t get me wrong; you have to be who you are. I’m not sure it’s possible to will yourself to become this kind of a person, if you really aren’t that way. But this does seem to be a strategy that works for at least some people in the music industry.
People are often drawn to the mysterious, because they can paint their own meanings on it. This certainly applies to enigmatic song lyrics. People love to puzzle through them (sometimes even as they complain about how hard they are to understand). But this principle also extends to human interactions within the music industry. By being enigmatic, and holding off asking for a favor right away, you can sometimes increase your odds of getting something you want or need later. People are always looking for favors and an edge in the music business. Those folks who have the power to hand out such goodies are often inundated with requests for them. They start to feel like everyone wants something from them. And they develop intricate strategies of insulating themselves from such folks.
If such a person pegs you as someone who is looking for a favor, they will probably shut you down immediately. On the other hand, if your intent is a little murkier, you may intrigue them. Or at least you may avoid giving off the “hey can you help me out” vibe. This may allow you the opportunity to get to know this person and this will probably incline them to want to help you out further on down the line (it you’re willing to be patient).
If you want to be a rock star be prepared to persevere: in most cases the four year minimum applies.
I know this is a bold statement. And let me be honest, it’s not really based on any empirical evidence, just my observation of a lot of rock bands. Nevertheless, I stand very firmly by this statement. Of the bands and solo artists I’ve seen achieve success in the music biz game (e.g., get a major label deal, become a touring act that earns steady money, etc.), it seems to have taken most of them at least four years to get there.
And in those cases where it takes less than four years, you’ll probably find that the people involved in the projects in question brought connections and experience with them from previous projects that hastened the process along.
But even in these cases, people with lots of experience still often have to face a tough reality: Starting a new project means starting from scratch. Old connections open some doors. And experience helps people play the game. But even these folks usually end up pretty much starting from ground zero.
So what should you take away from all this?
Whether you’re a beginner or a veteran, don’t be impatient. And if you’re not ready to jump on for the long haul, don’t be surprised when things don’t work out.
I can’t tell you how many great bands I’ve seen break up right as the band was really coming together (at least from an outside observer’s perspective). So be realistic about the timetable. If you think something major is going to happen in six months or a year, you’ll probably be disappointed (unless you’re joining a band that has already been at it for a while).
That’s why the four-year rule is helpful. It encourages you to establish a three to four year timetable for a project with intermediate goals along the way.
This is the way it happens for a lot of people I’ve observed. The band forms, starts rehearsing and writing songs. By the end of year one, if the band is any good, it’ll be playing shows regularly, building an audience and maybe working on a recording of some kind. Often this first recording will be a self-released CD or single.
If things keep progressing, by year two, the audience for the band will have grown, and there will be another recording in the works. With luck, maybe an indie label will have expressed interest in releasing this CD after much work by the band letting indie labels know about the project. By now, the band may have started to do some regional touring. And once the second CD comes out, they may decide to mount a larger national tour.
The first national tour will bring a lot of things to a head. The money will be bad. The crowds will likely be much smaller than those the band is used to playing in front of at home. In addition, there won’t be many friends there to cheer the band on. So for perhaps the first time, the band members will have to face audience feedback from strangers head-on. This can be pretty jarring. Band members will also be in close quarters for a number of weeks, crammed inside a van.
If this tour doesn’t break up the band, it’ll come back stronger and wiser. The hungriest and most ambitious bands will try to go back out on tour again as soon as possible. And with luck, the second time around will be a little better, especially if the indie label or the band has managed to do a little promotional groundwork (e.g., setting up press and radio interviews).
Usually, the more the band tours, the more music it sells and the better it becomes. But touring without coordinated promotion and press support can also become treadmill. So if these elements aren’t also in the picture, the lack of these things could also do the band in.
By the start of year three, things become a bit more serious. People are getting a little impatient. Lots of bands break up in year three. If the band has promise, some larger labels have probably taken notice. The interest is really pretty light. But if you’re in the band, it’s hard not to give it a lot of weight. And even light interest shouldn’t be disregarded. It means the band is on the right track.
The band will be working on another record in year three, probably for indie label. But the band is probably starting to get a little disillusioned with its existing indie label, realizing its many limitations (or it may be getting really disillusioned with still having to go the DIY route). So the band is pretty much plotting its exit strategy, and its eyes are pretty focused on the bigger label prize.
The record the band makes in year three will probably be a pretty significant leap forward. If the band is a young one, it is finally learning how to make a record and work in the studio. If it’s a band of veterans, things probably have a bit more seasoning by now. One way or another, more money has probably been spent on the recording. If the band and indie label have succeeded in promoting the band, it may try to obtain a showcase spot in some of the music conferences like CMJ and South by Southwest.
Hopes will be high, especially if the members of the band are still relatively inexperienced and naive. The literature for the conference will reference the names of bands that “got their break” from playing at the conference in previous years. And in fact, this will sort of be true. Every year, a couple of bands do get signed to bigger labels after the conferences. But although the conference literature often implies it, these bands usually have not come out of nowhere. They are not literally unknowns, and they have been on the bigger label radar before attending the conference.
Consequently, most bands will find the music conference a pretty demoralizing experience. It’ll be like going on tour for the first time, only worse. This time, the band will be in a town filled with hundreds of other bands. Many will be in more or less the same situation: relatively popular at home, pretty much unknown outside of it. And the starkness of this reality can be pretty sobering. It’s hard to face just how big the pond is and what a small fish you are.
With luck, the band will get to play in a small venue with good foot traffic. But unless there is already a pretty strong buzz about the band before it arrives for the conference, not many people will show up, especially if this is the band’s first time playing the conference. Saavy bands will try to see if they can play some other shows during the conference at parties or elsewhere. Those shows may not be great either, but at least more shows improve the odds of more people getting to check out the band.
For many bands, the aftermath of the conference experience is a turning point. A lot of bands break up in the six to eight months after this experience. But in doing so, they miss the real point of the conference: to make contacts and try to learn from the experience. If the band survives to play the conference again it will have a much better sense of how to make the best of it, and a much better perspective on things. The music conference is not the war. It is just one battle. A victory won’t win the war; a loss need not be fatal. If you survive to fight the battle again next year, you’ll have a much better sense of how to prepare. And with any luck, more people will show up to see the band play.
Assuming the band survives the conference gambit, things will be reaching a critical stage. Another national tour is the logical next step. With any luck, maybe the band will hook up with another band of greater stature. This can be a good way to expand the audience. That or maybe the band has met another band of equal stature from another region at one of the conferences and they decide to tour together, with each band headlining in the regions where it is stronger. In any event, if the band is to succeed, it will need to see some progress on this tour in terms of attendance and response. Otherwise, there’s a good chance the band will break-up.
But if the band can survive this gambit, it now begins to play against a much narrower field. A lot of these bands do get a shot at the bigger label, better gigs, etc. But of course, even though it seems like the “brass ring,” getting signed to a bigger label is really only the first step in much longer campaign. Against heavy odds, the band has prevailed in the first war. But now it’s time for the next one. And this one is fraught with even more pitfalls and lower odds (see the soundscan figures here, less than 1% of records sold at the platinum level).
So it really helps to know what you want if you make it this far, because the fog will be mighty thick once you get there.
If you make music, know what kind of flower you’re growing. If you sell music, know what kind of flower you’re selling.
One of the hardest things to do as a musician is to see yourself and your music as strangers see it. (Let’s face it, your friends love you. So they’re inclined to support you no matter what. It’s great to have them there. But it’s foolish to read too much into their reactions.)
Processing audience reaction is a very tricky game. On the one hand, most people who think of themselves as artists are not comfortable with the idea of pandering to the masses. They want their music to be their own personal creative expression, audience be damned. But the audience is not irrelevant. And feedback from an audience is crucial, especially if you hope to make money from your music.
Here’s why: You may see yourself as a rose. But if your chosen audience sees you as a sunflower, you will encounter difficulty, especially if that audience doesn’t like sunflowers
So strive for some clarity here. Try not to get mad. Avoid a state of denial. Instead, figure out the most productive way to proceed. Maybe you need to do a better job showing people why you are a rose. And maybe with more exposure people will see that while you initially seemed like a sunflower, you are actually a rose. You just happen to be a yellow one.
Or maybe you will decide that the people in question don’t really know the difference between a rose and a sunflower, so why worry (although I would caution against using this approach too often, as it can slide into denial pretty quickly). Or maybe you’ll realize that the people in question only see something as a rose if it is red. And since you are a yellow rose, they see you as a sunflower, because they see all yellow flowers as sunflowers.
Or maybe you’ll take a hard look at yourself and realize that you were actually wrong about yourself. You were trying to be a yellow rose, but in fact you are a sunflower. And there’s nothing wrong with that. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to look around and see if you can find the people who are fans of the sunflower. Because as much as you want those rose lovers to love you, they just don’t seem interested right now.
But who knows, maybe they’ll eventually come around, once they see how much the sunflower lovers seem to enjoy you.
The same observations apply to selling music. If you own a label, booking agency, management company or other music-related business, be clear about what you are selling. That doesn’t mean you should have a closed mind. But you should be able to tell the difference between a rose and a sunflower. And you should make it your business to know where the best places are to sell each kind of flower.