Bob –

I remember driving to a swimming hole in the Catskills (circa 1973) with Maria Muldaur, David Nichtern and John Herald. In the car Maria sang a song called "Vaudeville Man." She sang it over and over. All day long. "It’s from this L.A. chick Wendy Waldman," Maria said, belting out chorus. "She’s got amazing pipes and her songs are gorgeous." Wendy’s debut album "Love Has Got Me" soon showed up at our local record store. There was a buzz about her. Her talent was so strong it simply bubbled to the surface. Wendy never abandoned the belief that if something is good, really good, people will find it. A good song may or may not make you rich but it has a life of its own – whether it touches a handful of people or millions.

Wendy Waldman is perhaps the most optimistic person I know. It can drive me crazy since there’s nothing I like better than bitching about the music biz. It sucks, it’s heartless and eventually it chews everyone up. It gets worse and worse every year. Yes, there were great A&R guys back in the day, guys like Jerry Schoenbaum, Jerry Wexler and John Hammond. But most of these guys threw around cash like emperors, built and ruined careers on a whim and were extraordinarily selfish. They treated themselves to private jets and limos, lived high (literally) at Chateau Marmont, dined lavishly at Ma Maison and took long weekends in Kauai. If you were on their good side, anything was possible. It was cushy, indeed, when budgets for unknowns like Happy and Artie Traum could top $150,000. This magic business machine spewed out cash until 1995. Now the music business has been rusted out by corruption and greed. The cash doesn’t flow anymore, except up the chain of command to CEOs who don’t give a shit about anything other than building 9,000 square foot mansions in the Hamptons.

Wendy refuses to let the bastards get her down. She’s been a force of nature on the singer-songwriter scene, mentoring many of us during the past few years. She demands our best work, won’t let us give up on a song and keeps us all dreaming. Wendy produced my new CD with so much enthusiasm I had to work twice as hard to be my usual cynical self. She saw my album in her mind, had a vision for it, a concept that would turn 12 songs into a cohesive project. Now that’s good producing.

It isn’t easy to roll up our sleeves to sell CDs from the side of the stage. It’s also a struggle putting people in the seats, with venues for working musicians getting harder and harder to find. When I started out I was signed to Capitol with a powerhouse manager Albert Grossman. There’s was a sense that musicians were above the fray, somehow inoculated to handling cash or even signing albums. That was the attitude for better or worse. But it allowed us to focus on music, with time for jam-sessions, hanging out backstage, seeing concerts, establishing a community. Now we’re glued to our computers, busier than a bucket of chickens, trying to run our business, scratching the keyboard for attention.

We’ve been humbled by our shifting fortunes (or lack thereof). It’s been a tough ride. The question is surviving to create memorable art in a hostile world. Wendy has shown us why, and how, this can be achieved. Proof is in her new CD "My Time In The Desert" which is her best effort ever.

And by the way, Wendy might have thought Boston was COLD… until she came to Woodstock a couple of winters ago. She froze her little buns off. For a moment, a fleeting moment, I thought Wendy might just loose that optimistic smile. But she’s unflappable and that’s great news for all of us.

Artie Traum
www.artietraum.com
Bearsville, NY

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Dan Navarro:

We’re watching the paradigm shift as we speak, and so many are still unable to fully grasp exactly how different it all is now. Entities I grew up believing were sacrosanct — major labels, terrestrial radio, retail records, front line venues, hard-copy product — all are gone or going, with little more than a hint of what lies beyond the horizon on the flat earth we once knew.

It’s not a bad thing, the new frontier, especially for artists and writers. It’s just weird and a little disorienting, until you get the lay of the land. In exchange for a low percentage outside shot at being anointed worthy in the eyes of the gatekeepers and an expensive ride on the gravy train (or the ship of fools, as the case may be) we have gained control of our destinies, the ability to create what we feel, ownership of our work and cooperative power over our shelf lives with the people who matter most in this symbiotic dance — our audience.

The interplay between audience and artist was one of the hardest for a particular generation of artist to swallow, as the industry-that-was installed them in ivory towers that engendered a mytique but kept them at arm’s length from their public. And for a long time, it worked. Music got made, records got sold and stars were born. And when it was over for a given artist, it was over, really over. But it doesn’t work anymore. With the traditional means of exposure extinct, in chaos or in disrepair, if you don’t really know your audience, you’re sunk. And if you do, you can go and go and go and watch your fanbase recycle as the kids of your fans’ kids start turning their kids on to you. All by showing up and paying attention.

Wendy is a dear friend and colleague. We’ve done shows together, and I was a full-blown fan long before I was her friend. We’re the same age, and she made her first record at 22 for a major, I made my first record at 37 for an indie. Different perspectives, different experiences, to come to a similar conclusion: whether you flounder or flourish is ultimately up to you, as she said, taking a tip from Tip and building it by hand one brick at a time.

So she, and we, do house concerts, guitar clinics and songwriting seminars, return e-mails, hang out in the club after the show, know our fans by name, do fan cruises, meet and greets, and basically take the calls ourselves. As we continue to write, record and perform, neither she nor I have management or labels. But we have fans, friends, business, a full dance card. And fun.

We’ve had help. For ten years, both of us have been heavily involved with the Folk Alliance, a conglomeration of self-starting, self-reliant, self-actualized artists, agents, presenters and afficionados who gather annually to interface, compare notes, trade songs, share tips, take a lesson, give a damn and make the space below the radar into its own parallel universe.

Wendy’s on the Folk Alliance Board now, and for the past seven months, I’ve been its president. And Louis Meyers (co-founder of SXSW) is our ED for the past 2+ years. He’s making this turbulent time one of growth and opportunity for those crazy enough to take the leap, to think different. And it’s working. Whether it’s kids like 16-year-old Anthony da Costa or The Lovell Sisters (16, 18 and 20), or veterans like James Lee Stanley, Steve Young, Sara Hickman or Joel Rafael, we’re all showing up, lending a hand, making noise, staying relevant and having fun. What a concept.

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Bob,

I play in a metal band. We have sold around 200k records across 3 releases. We’re not ‘huge’ by any stretch but do alright and live off (and ON subsequently) the road. Fans and friends ask me all the time how I feel about "stealing music." I just told someone yesterday "I have a hard time seeing it as stealing…when I don’t see any money from cd sales to begin with. What are they actually TAKING from me?"

If you want to squeeze an opinion on theft out of me, ask me about the dude that grabbed our tshirt off the table tonight in Detroit or better yet.. ask me about record contracts.

I encourage our fans to acquire our album however they please. The philosophy I’ve adopted is that if you’re supporting disc sales, you’re keeping the old model around longer…the one that forces dudes like me to tour 9 mos/year if they want to make ends meet with a career in music. If you wanna really support a band, "steal" their album….help bury the label….and buy a tshirt when you show up at their show and sing every word.

Dave Peters
Thowdown