Someone just emailed me about an act. Entitled _____ _______.

This woman raved, as fans are wont to do.

I pulled up the album on Spotify. In fifteen seconds I was done.

Forty years ago, if someone gave me an album I’d play it all the way through, multiple times, waiting for it to reveal itself. Records were scarce. They required a good sum of money to produce, to both record and manufacture. If someone had navigated that gauntlet, I’d pay attention. And I had very few options. On my shelf weren’t 18 million tracks. I was always foraging for something new. And starving at the same time. It’d be like a hungry kid turning down a Happy Meal. It’d never happen. Hell, a hungry adult wouldn’t turn down a Happy Meal. But if right next to McDonald’s was Spago and In-N-Out and everything was cheap, McDonald’s might go out of business.

Food ain’t cheap, but music is. I’m oversatiated. I’ve got the history of recorded music at my fingertips. And for me to spend time listening to your track, when I can listen to the Beatles and the Stones and Radiohead and Joni Mitchell, it’s got to be damn good.

Ergo the blockbuster mentality. You blame the studios, the record labels, but they’re not at fault. It’s the customer. Who’s got very little time and wants only the best. Which is oftentimes what their friends want.

Now let me be clear. There’s a concomitant niche village on the other side. Where everything is handmade. Just like there are people who only eat raw food and others who won’t wear leather. But it’s not the mainstream. Occasionally, something will cross to the other side. But very rarely. You can put in 10,000 hours, play on the road for twenty years and still not become mainstream. Hell, it’s harder than it’s ever been, ever since the advent of recorded music.

So, if you’re happy being niche, fine. But if you want to be more, know that it’s nigh near impossible.

Look at videogames. Once upon a time it was a burgeoning industry. Now it’s only about the hits, the franchises. People want to play World of Warcraft, because that’s where all their friends are.

_____ _______ ain’t bad. And in the decades of yore, that was good enough. Now you’ve got to be spectacular or we instantly move on. We’re not interested in good.

Think of how many marketing messages you get in a day. It’s not only me that’s inundated with salesmanship. And I’m sophisticated. Do you really not think I know it’s you hyping your own album? Telling me it’s one of the best of the year? Or that you’re the agent of the act you say has recorded an LP that’s phenomenal from start to finish? Everyone’s sophisticated now, because of the plethora of bullshit they’ve been exposed to.

That’s one of the reasons why there’s only one Google, one Amazon and one Apple. You don’t need a second site/company when one is so good. It’s not like we can shop at Korvette’s or drive ten miles to the indie store. It’s not like Google doesn’t have enough links, Amazon doesn’t have enough SKUs, it’s not like people are bitching their iPads don’t do enough and are breaking down.

This is the world you’re living in.

It’s easier than ever to make music, and it’s easier than ever to be ignored.

It’s harder to fly on people’s radar screens and stay there.

And this has got nothing to do with piracy, nothing to do with short attention spans, nothing to do with money, it’s got to do with technology and culture. Technology that makes recording cheap and distribution easy, culture that is a smorgasbord of options, even though you can only partake of one at one time.

If I listen to your record, I can’t listen to another. I can’t watch television. I can’t talk on the telephone. Hell, even phone calls used to be scarce. Every house had one handset, and there was no call waiting. You were thrilled if someone called and you were lucky if no one else was home telling you to get off the line. Now, even ten year olds have their own handsets, and they don’t want to talk on them, they’d rather text, because they don’t want to waste any time, texting’s more efficient.

And if a ten year old is worried about efficiency, if it’s built into his life, what about the adolescents and adults? Sure, there’s a long tail, your grandma will buy your album on iTunes, but no one else will. We now live in a nation where winners take all. There’s not only been consolidation in industry, but in music too. You’ve got the illusion of power. But that’s all it is. Truly, your odds of reaching mass public consciousness are close to nil. You’re better off playing the lottery.

So stay in college. Earn a professional degree. Buy insurance.

Or else live in the land of hopes and dreams which we all pay lip service to but laugh at behind your back.

Artists are supposed to lead, not follow. How come they’re still making albums?

Did you see that Rihanna topped the British charts last week after selling 9,578 copies of her album “Talk That Talk”? This in a country of 60 million! It was the lowest sales number in history!

Let’s blame it on the public. Let’s blame it on the retailers. Let’s blame it on the record companies. When do the artists start blaming themselves?

People only want the hits.

Now this is not true of everybody. Are there still people purchasing the long player and spinning it ad infinitum, learning every lyric? Of course! Just like there are still people buying CDs, purchasing vinyl and composing letters on a typewriter. The album is the sideshow.

And so is vinyl. It’s a trend so small, without the mainstream press none of us would even be aware of it. Of course vinyl sounds better, but it’s inconvenient! Just like landlines sound better than cell phones. But you don’t see people forgoing calls outside the home, hell, they’re canceling their landlines, using mobiles in their abode!

While you were busy in the studio, concocting your long player, figuring out the running order, designing the cover, divining the perfect release date, you were functioning in a bubble. That’s not how anybody listens anymore.

You want to know how they listen?

They pull up your track on YouTube. Whether in an authorized version on Vevo or a bootlegged take posted straight to YouTube. And they instantly decide whether they like it or not. And if they don’t, they forget about you. Just that fast. It’s like they’re carrying your album straight to the dumper. As if you walked into McDonald’s, sniffed and left and they threw all the food out and closed the doors. As for listening to all twelve of your tracks, are you nuts! Don’t tell me people have a short attention span, hell, they’re marathoning “Breaking Bad” as I write this. They just don’t have time for what is not exceptionally great, and if you can tell me ten albums from the last two years that are good from beginning to end, I’m all ears.

Listening has changed. It used to be entertainment options were limited. You bought little and played that which you owned. And it’s not only music, newspapers are competing with blogs, TV is competing with YouTube, everything’s changing, are you?

You’ve got to step up your game. You’ve got to focus on excellence.

Assuming you want to break out of the wannabe ghetto.

Just like in the U.S., where the middle class is evaporating, in art there are winners and losers, rich and poor, which side are you on? It’s okay if you want to be a journeyman, eking out a living. Hell, maybe you’re making a few bucks, but don’t expect to become any bigger than you are. Not unless you make an undeniable track.

And that track no longer has to be Top Forty beat-driven fodder. That’s what “Somebody That I Used To Know” taught us. That the world is not controlled by gatekeepers. You can’t make it if you really try, but if you try and try, and create something undeniable, you can.

And the public is going to discover it on YouTube! Radio comes last. Hell, radio’s been last ever since the advent of MTV. It’s a coalition of followers, detached from humanity, losing power every day.

So…

1. If you’re a wannabe, feel free woodshedding, put online as much as you want, no one’s paying attention anyway. You’re just hoping to get lucky. Chances are, you never will. But this woodshedding and the online response allows you to explore and possibly find your niche.

2. If you’ve already made it, there are two tiers of material, throwaway and highly-hyped. Don’t put a full court press behind anything that is not truly stellar. Everything else is a glimpse of your methods. Kind of like a rapper’s mix tape.

3. If there is an album, it’s an after the fact event. A collection of what’s already been exposed. Kind of like the NOW series, except it’s all been done by you.

4. Labels are focused on revenues, not careers. They want the album to live because of its high price and the attendant marketing that drives people to buy it. They’re sticking to this paradigm the way a five year old continues to suck on a pacifier. It’s a no-win situation, but they don’t want to let go.

5. It’s a singles world.

6. It’s a streaming world. Don’t focus on Spotify or MOG, you’re too stupid to understand where we’re going, hell, you’re living in the past. Those services are ahead of the game, you’re behind. Just look at that Nielsen report that said the number one listening outlet for teens was YouTube. YouTube is streaming. Just like Jessica Seinfeld mixed vegetables in cookies, YouTube has been selling you streaming and you’re too ignorant to know it. YouTube is an on demand item. It’s pull technology. Feed it. You do this by creating something people want to pull. And that requires either train-wreck novelty or quality. And you can marshal your troops to go there, but this doesn’t work more than once if the music isn’t good. As for mainstream press… Asking the newspaper to drive people to YouTube is like asking NBC to tell people to cut the cord and watch online video. It’s like telling a right wing religious zealot to have an abortion. It’s a disconnect. Expecting old media to change is to believe Coleco is going to rise from the ashes and return triumphant.

7. The cycle has shortened. Your public can handle new music every other month.

8. It’s about the performance. It’s about live. Not because the ticket prices are high and you can make dough there, but because it’s the one place where the audience can expect something new, different and alive. If you’re playing to hard drive, repeating your record, you’re missing an opportunity. What an audience likes most is a special show. A different set list. A special guest. This is the essence of the Grateful Dead’s career. Every show was a unique event. And just like in the heyday of the Dead, great shows live on, with recordings. They embellish your career, they don’t kill it. They make people want to go to the show and have their own magic moments.

9. All bets are off. Your music doesn’t have to sound like anybody else’s. It’s just like the seventies, when Warner/Reprise ruled. We want unique. As media conglomerates merge, the public is running away. That’s what the Web is all about. Feed the people, not the machine.

 

“Rihanna tops UK album with lowest weekly sales since 1994”

“Nielsen: More Teens Now Listen To Music Through YouTube Than Any Other Source”

“Do you have a portable radio?”

Although Bill Murray was featured on SNL, he truly became part of the public consciousness as Carl Spackler, obsessed with killing gophers in “Caddyshack.”

We didn’t have gophers in Connecticut. We’ve got mosquitoes and the occasional deer, no real bears, but we don’t have varmints. If they ever existed on the eastern seaboard, they were rooted out eons ago, by civilization. So I just didn’t understand Spackler’s mania. I thought the gophers were an artistic device.

Then they invaded Felice’s backyard.

I used to think man could triumph over wildlife. That real property and grass would last forever.

Boy was I dreaming.

You see the occasional deer in the hills. And coyote in the street. And just recently, a mountain lion crossed the freeway and is now loose in Griffith Park. But the real enemy is the gophers. Don’t mess with the gophers, you cannot win. You think you’ve got a pristine backyard and then you wake up one day to find a slew of holes, as if tiny children got out with their plastic shovels and pails and started to dig. So you fill up these hollows, lament the brown space, and then you wake up the next day and you find out they’re digging somewhere else. And then you realize the holes are literally the tip of the iceberg. That under your lawn is a whole city, a network of tunnels, wherein these varmints are playing, mating and working. And there’s nothing you can do about it!

Until we went to Sonoma and saw this acre of lush land in the backyard of Brodey’s buddies. What about the gophers?

GOPHER WIRE!

Yes, if you’re willing to rip up your entire lawn, and lay down an ocean of rebar, you can plant once again and have a pristine yard. It works. The gophers cannot break through the iron. They go somewhere else. The fringe of your property, your next door neighbor’s lawn, and you feel a bit guilty but you’ve solved the problem, you have peace of mind.

So this is what Felice did. Rip up her entire backyard, lay down a net of metal and then plant once again. And it worked!

Until the raccoon.

The obsession returned.

Right before my very eyes, Felice was turning into Carl Spackler. I humored her with the gophers. I could handle the holes, I grew up where a nice lawn was nigh near impossible. But when Rocky appeared and pissed on the porch, Felice started to steam.

Oh, he made an appearance on the patio first. The squeal was so intense, I thought the Manson family had returned to the hills. And following the sound to the window I caught a glimpse of this animal and thanked god I was on the other side of the glass. Raccoons are big and spiky and scary. If I were outside, I’d run in the other direction.

And only in the movies are gophers cute.

But raccoons are on a whole ‘nother level.

So Felice hit Google. She poured cayenne pepper all over the walkway. Bleach too. Coming into the front door was like navigating a war zone. The raccoon went to topic number one of discussion. What could be done?

I didn’t have a portable radio. Which switched to a news station Felice read would scare away the raccoon. My dad must have owned twenty. That was one of his hobbies, buying transistors. But that was decades ago and today everybody listens on headphones, does Apple make earbuds that fit a raccoon?

I couldn’t help her.

So every night she prepares for battle. It’s Google versus nature. She’s collecting tips. Trying new strategies. I expect Norman Schwarzkopf to make an appearance any minute.

It’s us versus them.

And they’re winning!

Taylor Swift is dating Conor Kennedy.

And I don’t give a shit, but he’s eighteen. Wasn’t she the one complaining that John Mayer was taking advantage of her? Yes, Mayer was much older, and Conor’s a Kennedy, but would you like your barely eighteen year old college freshman daughter dating an almost twenty three year old college graduate? Oh, that’s right, it’s different for boys…

When Joni Mitchell was twenty three she’d already given up her child for adoption and married Chuck Mitchell. And none of us knew who she was.

It was different back then. Children were not musical stars. You could only reach national consciousness by being on “Ed Sullivan.” There were no YouTube stars, hell, we didn’t even know there was that much money in music. Joni Anderson now Mitchell would not break through for years. She got lucky when Judy Collins had a hit cover of “Both Sides Now,” but at that point nobody had a clue who the writer was. Most people had no idea who Joni Mitchell was until 1974, when “Court and Spark” went unexpectedly nuclear. Her sixth album.

But I barely play that album.

I resonated first with “Ladies Of The Canyon.” I know every lick of “Blue,” to the point where I can sing it in my head.

But the album I play most today is “For The Roses.” Because it’s everything today’s music is not. Honest. Reflective. Personal. It’s like a phone call from someone you wish was your best friend.

I read in the Middlebury magazine about a site some alumni had constructed wherein they interviewed stars, asking them how they really made it. Because you read in the press someone was a waiter and the next day they were the star of “Die Hard.” It doesn’t happen that way. Which is why some of your favorite movie stars are so old. Dustin Hoffman was thirty when he broke through in “The Graduate,” he’s seventy five today. Robert DeNiro was thirty five when most people discovered him in “The Deer Hunter,” he’s now sixty nine. These actors were not plucked from obscurity, they were paying their dues, waiting their turn.

And so was Joni Mitchell.

Would you do it if you weren’t instantly famous?

Not that Dustin, DeNiro and Mitchell had no indication they were on the right road. Oh, you get signs, but they’re small. And what you think is important ends up not being. And not everybody who hangs in there long enough makes it, but the best do.

And if you don’t mention Joni Mitchell’s name in the same breath as Dylan and the Beatles, you’re a misogynist.

And you can’t say that Joni never sang about her paramours. But there was no element of revenge, just truth-telling honesty. She was verbalizing what the rest of us felt, but did not know how to articulate. Like in “Lesson In Survival.”

Friends and kin
Campers in the kitchen
That’s fine sometimes
But I know my needs
My sweet tumbleweed
I need more quiet times
By a river flowing
You and me
Deep kisses
And the sun going down

Put other people in the equation and everything changes. You’re great alone, but do the friends and family approve of you? Does your relationship work in that dynamic?

Maybe it’s paranoia
Maybe it’s sensitivity
Your friends protect you
Scrutinize me
I get so damn timid
Not at all the spirit
That’s inside of me
Oh baby I can’t seem to make it
With you socially

Whew! I used to overparticipate, to compensate for my anxiety. That didn’t work so now I go silent, and numb. How can I be a member of a group…that really wants nothing to do with me, that really wants it just the way it used to be, before I came upon the scene. I want to be my best self, and I’m anything but. And I’m alternately steaming and depressed.

I went to see a friend tonight
Was very late when I walked in
My talking as it rambled
Revealed suspicious reasoning
The visit seemed to darken him
I came in as bright
As a neon light
And I burned out
Right there before him

We want support from our friends. We want them to understand. But the more we pour it out, the less sense it makes, we realize logic has escaped us. We just can’t convey what we feel, which is all emotion and nuance. This is assuming your friend is even listening. Which usually they are not. Or are busy saying you’re right and they’re wrong. But it’s not usually like that. The world is not black and white, despite the way Taylor Swift draws it. It’s gray. And we’re all culpable.

But this is about “Woman Of Heart And Mind.”

I am a woman of heart and mind
With time on her hands
No child to raise
You come to me like a little boy
And I give you my scorn and my praise

Are you worthwhile? Do you have depth? We now live in a money culture, if you’re rich you’re beyond analysis. But so many wealthy people feel empty inside. Can you imagine being a banker, doing that soulless work all day? Once upon a time we all wanted to be an artist. Expressing our truth. It was a privilege. Which almost none could earn.

And today people are too busy doing what they’re doing to ask questions. It’s a choice not to have children. To pursue your dream. It’s not for everybody, but that does not make it illegitimate.

You think I’m like your mother
Or another lover or your sister
Or the queen of your dreams
Or just another silly girl
When love makes a fool of me

Who do we want our women to be? Who can we allow them to be? In the media spouses are two-dimensional, cardboard, to be seen, but not heard. Standing on stilettos with blown-out hair and perfect makeup. Can you imagine being married to that? You want to go to dinner but she’s got to prep for an hour just to leave the house.

After the rush when you come back down
You’re always disappointed
Nothing seems to keep you high

I don’t know how women put up with us. We’ve got such expectations. We want you to adore us, never question us, and if you let us down…we move on.

Oh, there are wimpy men. Who stand by like slaves, pussy-whipped men whose only use for their penis is procreation, but I’m telling you that most men are conflicted. We want to play our male games, win at business and sports, but deep inside we just want to be taken care of, soothed and groomed by…a woman.

Drive your bargains
Push your papers
Win your medals
Fuck your strangers
Don’t it leave you on the empty side

It does. Which is why the men buy Ferraris, are seen in all the right places, to cover up the giant hole inside. We’re notching our belt, climbing the totem pole, trying to impress other men who never appreciate us. Only women can provide this.

I’m looking for affection and respect
A little passion
And you want stimulation-nothing more
That’s what I think
But you know I’ll try to be there for you
When your spirits start to sink

Respect. People sing about it, but it’s so rarely given. Especially behind closed doors. But this is what we’re all looking for, respect, affection, passion…but it takes time, it’s not a one night stand, it’s something you build. And Joni says despite all that, she’ll be there for you. That’s exactly what we’re looking for, someone we can count on at the end of the day, who we’re not related to, who isn’t required to show up.

You criticize and you flatter
You imitate the best
And the rest you memorize
You know the times you impress me most
Are the times when you don’t try
When you don’t even try

We’re never happy. We’re always looking for something better. Maybe if you were a bit thinner, or taller, or had a different nose. And almost none of this can you change. But we have a hard time loving you as you are, because we’ve been trained to keep foraging for perfection. But unfortunately, we’ve been sold a bill of goods, it doesn’t exist.

Who are you when no one’s paying attention? When the camera’s off and the mic’s been disconnected?

Men fall in love with movie stars. Thinking if they could only wed one, their life would work. Never stopping for a moment to contemplate that these women are playing a role.

Everybody’s so busy acting, everybody wants to put forth their best self.

That’s a lot of pressure.

You’re you, that’s all you’ve got. Hopefully someone will see your essence and pin the tail on your donkey.

“For The Roses” is why music was more profitable than movies and television. Why the life of the rock star was lionized. It was the freedom, the honesty, the ability to write your own rules. And the bankers can imitate this all they want, but it’s not a lifestyle, but something innate. You’re either a rock star or you’re not.

But now the whole world has gone topsy-turvy. It’s not about art, but money. If you’ve got no mazuma, you don’t count. Then there are people without money who feel superior. Singers who can’t sing. Who’ve got nothing to say. But have a chip on their shoulder anyway.

I haven’t heard Taylor Swift’s new album. Could be good for all I know. But I realize after John Mayer went on record that he felt humiliated by her song about him that I felt the same way about her song about me. What did I do wrong? Speak the truth? Reveal that she couldn’t sing, something that everybody saw on international television?

But modern life is first and foremost about loyalty. You say nothing negative about your friends, no matter their choices. If they rob a bank or steal a husband or wife, you’re not entitled to judge, you’re forced to stand by in solidarity. Huh?

And you’ve got to hold your tongue for fear of hurting anybody’s feelings. It’s not only politicians who can’t speak the truth. We’re all living in Lake Wobegon, where not only are all the kids above average, they make no mistakes, everything they do is trophy-worthy.

I’ve hung with Joni Mitchell a few times. If I reminded her, she might remember. But I’m not that important, certainly not to her. But what stunned me in these interactions was she was difficult. Questioning. The opposite of the mealy-mouthed celebrities of today. Hell, make her an “American Idol” judge. Nobody would win, nobody would be good enough in her eyes.

Joni’s three-dimensional. She’s got warts. She’s imperfect. And she’s not always right.

And she used to sing about this. Not only her hopes and dreams, but her experiences and flaws. She wasn’t keeping score, she was trying to figure it out.

We’ve lost sight of this. What an artist used to be and still is.

An artist is not someone with a song that tops the chart, but someone constantly developing his or her skills on an adventure, an exploration in search of truth.

And we pay attention to the best. Not because some magazine or TV show tells us to, but because we need the insight.

I was in college when I bought “For The Roses.” I can honestly say I learned more listening to this album than anything I learned my junior year. I can’t remember what classes I took, never mind what was taught, but I still quote “Woman Of Heart And Mind,” I still listen to this album. Because it’s life.

College was preparing someone else for a world I wanted no part of.

And I’m first and foremost proud I made it this far. That I didn’t commit suicide along the way. I could blame my ex-wife who left me, my mother who judged me, but I chose this path. It was the only one I could take.

And it was not lucrative. Hell, I don’t even qualify for the maximum social security, assuming I live that long. But I’ve got no regrets. Oh, I’ve given up a lot, but this is the life I wanted to live. One in search of excellence.

I hate your record because it’s not good enough.

I won’t go to the movies because they’re exercises in money, not art.

And I’m a constant warning to take the other direction.

Take that Taylor Swift.

Spotify link

“Almost Famous” (Middlebury Magazine article)

“The Days Of Yore interviews artists about the years before they had money, fame or road maps to success, and inspires you to find your own”