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Earth (Fish) Day

In honour of Earth Day here are links for free downloadable pocket guides for sustainable seafood. As the oceans become depleted through over-fishing, pollution and fish farming practices that are harmful to other fish populations, it is helpful to know which fish to order in restaurants, your local market or at the sushi bar. From the Monterey Bay Aquarium you can download a pocket guide for your particular area of the US. From the WWF there are links for various parts of the world in the native languages.
As an avid scuba diver, I have witnessed the dramatic deterioration to the health, abundance and the environment of the fish population over the past 25 years. In some parts of the world pollution and garbage have turned the waters into toilets. Living coral reefs are dying. Some fish farming techniques require twice as many fish from the sea to feed the an equivalent farmed fish. These guides will help ensure that you are consuming fish that are in abundance, farmed properly and healthy.

Green Day on Broadway

Green Day’s epic album American Idiot has been successfully transformed and enhanced for the Broadway stage. Charles Isherwood in today’s New York Times gives it an overwhelming positive review. Here are his words and 3 songs from the Broadway cast recording.

Rage and love, those consuming emotions felt with a particularly acute pang in youth, all but burn up the stage in “American Idiot,” the thrillingly raucous and gorgeously wrought Broadway musical adapted from the blockbuster pop-punk album by Green Day.

Pop on Broadway, sure. But punk? Yes, indeed, and served straight up, with each sneering lyric and snarling riff in place. A stately old pile steps from the tourist-clogged Times Square might seem a strange place for the music of Green Day, and for theater this blunt, bold and aggressive in its attitude. Not to mention loud. But from the moment the curtain rises on a panorama of baleful youngsters at the venerable St. James Theater, where the show opened on Tuesday night, it’s clear that these kids are going to make themselves at home, even if it means tearing up the place in the process.

Which they do, figuratively speaking. “American Idiot,” directed by Michael Mayer and performed with galvanizing intensity by a terrific cast, detonates a fierce aesthetic charge in this ho-hum Broadway season. A pulsating portrait of wasted youth that invokes all the standard genre conventions — bring on the sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll, please! — only to transcend them through the power of its music and the artistry of its execution, the show is as invigorating and ultimately as moving as anything I’ve seen on Broadway this season. Or maybe for a few seasons past.

Burning with rage and love, and knowing how and when to express them, are two different things, of course. The young men we meet in the first minutes of “American Idiot” are too callow and sullen and restless — too young, basically — to channel their emotions constructively. The show opens with a glorious 20-minute temper tantrum kicked off by the title song.

“Don’t want to be an American idiot!” shouts one of the gang. The song’s signature electric guitar riff slashes through the air, echoing the testy challenge of the cry. A sharp eight-piece band, led by the conductor Carmel Dean, is arrayed around the stage, providing a sonic frame for the action. The simple but spectacular set, designed by Christine Jones, suggests an epically scaled dive club, its looming walls papered in punk posters and pimpled by television screens, on which frenzied video collages flicker throughout the show. (They’re the witty work of Darrel Maloney.)

Who’s the American idiot being referred to? Well, as that curtain slowly rose, we heard the familiar voice of George W. Bush break through a haze of television chatter: “Either you are with us, or with the terrorists.” That kind of talk could bring out the heedless rebel in any kid, particularly one who is already feeling itchy at the lack of prospects in his dreary suburban burg.

But while “American Idiot” is nominally a portrait of youthful malaise of a particular era — the album dates from 2004, the midpoint of the Bush years, and the show is set in “the recent past” — its depiction of the crisis of post-adolescence is essentially timeless. Teenagers eager for their lives to begin, desperate to slough off their old selves and escape boredom through pure sensation, will probably always be making the same kinds of mistakes, taking the same wrong turns on the road to self-discovery.

“American Idiot” is a true rock opera, almost exclusively using the music of Green Day and the lyrics of its kohl-eyed frontman, Billie Joe Armstrong, to tell its story. (The score comprises the whole of the title album as well as several songs from the band’s most recent release, “21st Century Breakdown.”) The book, by Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Mayer, consists only of a series of brief, snarky dispatches sent home by the central character, Johnny, played with squirmy intensity by the immensely gifted John Gallagher Jr. (“Spring Awakening,” “Rabbit Hole”).
“I held up my local convenience store to get a bus ticket,” Johnny says with a smirk as he and a pal head out of town.

“Actually I stole the money from my mom’s dresser.”

Beat.

“Actually she lent me the cash.”

Such is the sheepish fate of a would-be rebel today. But at least Johnny and his buddy Tunny (Stark Sands) do manage to escape deadly suburbia for the lively city, bringing along just their guitars and the anomie and apathy that are the bread and butter of teenage attitudinizing the world over. (“I don’t care if you don’t care,” a telling lyric, could be their motto.)

The friend they meant to bring along, Will (Michael Esper), was forced to stay home when he discovered that his girlfriend (Mary Faber) was pregnant. Lost and lonely, and far from ready for the responsibilities of fatherhood, he sinks into the couch, beer in one hand and bong in the other, as his friends set off for adventure.
Beneath the swagger of indifference, of course, are anxiety, fear and insecurity, which Mr. Gallagher, Mr. Esper and Mr. Sands transmit with aching clarity in the show’s more reflective songs, like the hit “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” or the lilting anthem “Are We the Waiting.” The city turns out to be just a bigger version of the place Johnny and Tunny left behind, a “land of make believe that don’t believe in me.” The boys discover that while a fractious 21st-century America may not offer any easy paths to fulfillment, the deeper problem is that they don’t know how to believe in themselves.

Johnny strolls the lonely streets with his guitar, vaguely yearning for love and achievement. He eventually hooks up with a girl (a vivid Rebecca Naomi Jones) but falls more powerfully under the spell of an androgynous goth drug pusher, St. Jimmy, played with mesmerizing vitality and piercing vocalism by Tony Vincent. Tunny mostly stays in bed, clicker affixed to his right hand, dangerously susceptible to a pageant of propaganda about military heroism on the tube, set to the song “Favorite Son.” By the time the song’s over, he’s enlisted and off to Iraq.

In both plotting and its emotional palette, “American Idiot” is drawn in brash, primary-colored strokes, maybe too crudely for those looking for specifics of character rather than cultural archetypes. But operas — rock or classical — often trade in archetypes, and the actors flesh out their characters’ journeys through their heartfelt interpretations of the songs, with the help of Mr. Mayer’s poetic direction and the restless, convulsive choreography of Steven Hoggett (“Black Watch”), which exults in both the grace and the awkwardness of energy-generating young metabolisms.

Line by line, a skeptic could fault Mr. Armstrong’s lyrics for their occasional glibness or grandiosity. That’s to be expected, too: rock music exploits heightened emotion and truisms that can fit neatly into a memorable chorus. The songs are precisely as articulate — and inarticulate — as the characters are, reflecting the moment in youth when many of us feel that pop music has more to say about us than we have to say for ourselves. (And, really, have you ever worked your way through a canonical Italian opera libretto, line by line?)

In any case the music is thrilling: charged with urgency, rich in memorable melody and propulsive rhythms that sometimes evolve midsong. The orchestrations by Tom Kitt (the composer of “Next to Normal”) move from lean and mean to lush, befitting the tone of each number. Even if you are unfamiliar with Green Day’s music, you are more likely to emerge from this show humming one of the guitar riffs than you are to find a tune from “The Addams Family” tickling your memory.

But the emotion charge that the show generates is as memorable as the music. “American Idiot” jolts you right back to the dizzying roller coaster of young adulthood, that turbulent time when ecstasy and misery almost seem interchangeable states, flip sides of the coin of exaltation. It captures with a piercing intensity that moment in life when everything seems possible, and nothing seems worth doing, or maybe it’s the other way around.

AMERICAN IDIOT
Music by Green Day; lyrics by Billie Joe Armstrong; book by Mr. Armstrong and Michael Mayer; directed by Mr. Mayer; choreography by Steven Hoggett; musical supervision, arrangements and orchestrations by Tom Kitt; sets by Christine Jones; costumes by Andrea Lauer; lighting by Kevin Adams; sound by Brian Ronan; video and projections by Darrel Maloney; technical supervision by Hudson Theatrical Associates; music coordinator, Michael Keller; music director, Carmel Dean; associate choreographer, Lorin Latarro; associate director, Johanna McKean. Presented by Tom Hulce and Ira Pittelman, Ruth and Stephen Hendel, Vivek J. Tiwary and Gary Kaplan, Aged in Wood and Burnt Umber, Scott M. Delman, Latitude Link, HOP Theatricals and Jeffrey Finn, Larry Welk, Bensinger Filerman and Maellenberg Taylor, Allan S. Gordon and Élan V. McAllister and Berkeley Repertory Theater, in association with Awaken Entertainment and John Pinckard and John Domo. At the St. James Theater, 246 West 44th Street, Manhattan; (212) 239-6200. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.
WITH: John Gallagher Jr. (Johnny), Stark Sands (Tunny), Michael Esper (Will), Rebecca Naomi Jones (Whatshername), Christina Sajous (the Extraordinary Girl), Mary Faber (Heather) and Tony Vincent (St. Jimmy).

Charles Isherwood

The Original Broadway Cast Recording – American Idiot

 

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“American Idiot”

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“Boulevard of Broken Dreams”

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“21 Guns”

How Much Do Those Musicians Make (2)

In our ongoing discussion of what musicians actually earn, we turn to this excellent article and graphic from Information is Beautiful. Of particular note, we see how little income an artist realizes from streaming music. In this example, for a musician to earn a monthly minimum wage of only $1160 she has to have her song streamed on Rhapsody 849,817 times per month. For a complete spreadsheet breakdown go to: http://tinyurl.com/y3z7f5u
Continue reading

David Byrne’s Survival Strategies for Emerging Artists — and Megastars.

David Byrne along with Fatboy Slim is releasing Here Lie Love next week. It’s the story of Imelda Marcos, former 1st Lady of the Philippines. As one our great living artists, David is more than a musician having produced and collaborated in theatre, dance, opera, film, photography, and other artistic media. I first met David in the bowels of MIT when I was in the process of establishing the first punk rock radio show in the country in the 70s. Talking Heads were only 3 at the time (Jerry Harrison was yet a member) and the band joined me for one of their earliest interviews. It may survive somewhere. These are David’s words lifted from Wired Magazine, 12/18/07. Continue reading

Alex Chilton

Alex Chilton died a few days ago. A true iconoclast, he did it his way. Paul Westerberg, formerly of the Replacements, published this piece in the New York Times on Sunday, March 21, 2010. R.I.P. Alex…

HOW does one react to the death of one’s mentor? My mind instantly slammed down the inner trouble-door that guards against all thought, emotion, sadness. Survival mode. Rock guitar players are all dead men walking. It’s only a matter of time, I tell myself as I finger my calluses. Those who fail to click with the world and society at large find safe haven in music — to sing, write songs, create, perform. Each an active art in itself that offers no promise of success, let alone happiness.

Yet success shone early on Alex Chilton, as the 16-year-old soulful singer of the hit-making Box Tops. Possessing more talent than necessary, he tired as a very young man of playing the game — touring, performing at state fairs, etc. So he returned home to Memphis. Focusing on his pop writing and his rock guitar skills, he formed the group Big Star with Chris Bell. Now he had creative control, and his versatility shone bright. Beautiful melodies, heart-wrenching lyrics: “I’m in Love with a Girl,” “September Gurls.”

On Big Star’s masterpiece third album, Alex sang my favorite song of his, “Nighttime” — a haunting and gorgeous ballad that I will forever associate with my floor-sleeping days in New York. Strangely, the desperation in the line “I hate it here, get me out of here” made me, of all things, happy. He went on to produce more artistic, challenging records. One equipped with the take-it-or-leave-it — no, excuse me, with the take-it-like-I-make-it — title “Like Flies on Sherbert.” The man had a sense of humor, believe me.

It was some years back, the last time I saw Alex Chilton. We miraculously bumped into each other one autumn evening in New York, he in a Memphis Minnie T-shirt, with take-out Thai, en route to his hotel. He invited me along to watch the World Series on TV, and I immediately discarded whatever flimsy obligation I may have had. We watched baseball, talked and laughed, especially about his current residence — he was living in, get this, a tent in Tennessee.

Because we were musicians, our talk inevitably turned toward women, and Al, ever the Southern gentleman, was having a hard time between bites communicating to me the difficulty in … you see, the difficulty in (me taking my last swig that didn’t end up on the wall, as I boldly supplied the punch line) “… in asking a young lady if she’d like to come back to your tent?” We both darn near died there in a fit of laughter.

Yeah, December boys got it bad, as “September Gurls” notes. The great Alex Chilton is gone — folk troubadour, blues shouter, master singer, songwriter and guitarist. Someone should write a tune about him. Then again, nah, that would be impossible. Or just plain stupid.

 

[jwplayer mediaid=”4088″]

 

The Box Tops-“The Letter”
Big Star-“September Gurls”
Alex Chilton-“Bangkok”
The Replacements-“Alex Chiton”

Newsspeak

In a world where many speak without communicating, a radio station CEO in Chicago has issued a memo to his news staff forbidding them to use the following words and phrases in their newscasts. “Newsspeak” has become the norm in our language, words that have little meaning or have lost their meaning, reducing our rich language to lazy cliché.

These 119 words and phrases are so common and used so often that much of our news and information has become one homogenized blob. They have become commonplace and we are all collectively responsible for cheapening our language. I have my own pet peeves of words that radio and television announcers frequently babble causing me to cringe every time that they are uttered, such as “to be honest”, “check it out” and the most egregious, “no question.”

We speak, we listen, but what do we hear?

[column width=”45%” padding=5%]
■“Flee” meaning “run away”
■“Good” or “bad” news
■“Laud” meaning “praise”
■“Seek” meaning “look for”
■“Some” meaning “about”
■“Two to one margin” . . . “Two to one” is a ratio, not a margin. A margin is measured in points. It’s not a ratio.
■“Yesterday” in a lead sentence
■“Youth” meaning “child”
■5 a.m. in the morning
■After the break
■After these commercial messages
■Aftermath
■All of you
■Allegations
■Alleged
■Area residents
■As expected
■At risk
■At this point in time
■Authorities
■Auto accident
■Bare naked
■Behind bars
■Behind closed doors
■Behind the podium (you mean lectern)
■Best kept secret
■Campaign trail
■Clash with police
■Close proximity
■Complete surprise
■Completely destroyed, completely abolished, completely finished or any other completely redundant use
■Death toll
■Definitely possible
■Diva
■Down in (location)
■Down there
■Dubbaya when you mean double you
■Everybody (when referring to the audience)
■Eye Rack or Eye Ran
■False pretenses
■Famed
■Fatal death
■Fled on foot
■Folks
■Giving 110%
■Going forward
■Gunman, especially lone gunman
■Guys
■Hunnert when you mean hundred
■Icon
■In a surprise move
■In harm’s way
■In other news
■In the wake of (unless it’s a boating story)
■Incarcerated
■Informed sources say . . .
■Killing spree
■Legendary
[/column]
[column width=”45%” padding=5%]
■Lend a helping hand
■Literally
■Lucky to be alive
■Manhunt
■Marred
■Medical hospital
■Mother of all (anything)
■Motorist
■Mute point. (It’s moot point, but don’t say that either)
■Near miss
■No brainer
■Officials
■Our top story tonight
■Out in (location)
■Out there
■Over in
■Pedestrian
■Perfect storm
■Perished
■Perpetrator
■Plagued
■Really
■Reeling
■Reportedly
■Seek
■Senseless murder
■Shots rang out
■Shower activity
■Sketchy details
■Some (meaning about)
■Some of you
■Sources say . . .
■Speaking out
■Stay tuned
■The fact of the matter
■Those of you
■Thus
■Time for a break
■To be fair
■Torrential rain
■Touch base
■Under fire
■Under siege
■Underwent surgery
■Undisclosed
■Undocumented alien
■Unrest
■Untimely death
■Up in (location)
■Up there
■Utilize (you mean use)
■Vehicle
■We’ll be right back
■Welcome back
■Welcome back everybody
■We’ll be back
■Went terribly wrong
■We’re back
■White stuff
■World class
■You folks
[/column]
[end_columns]

Randy Michaels, CEO of the Tribune Company, to his staff at WGN-AM in Chicago.

The Future of the Recording Industry

“I think records were just a little bubble through time and those who made a living from them for a while were lucky. There is no reason why anyone should have made so much money from selling records except that everything was right for this period of time. I always knew it would run out sooner or later. It couldn’t last, and now it’s running out. I don’t particularly care that it is and like the way things are going. The record age was just a blip. It was a bit like if you had a source of whale blubber in the 1840s and it could be used as fuel. Before gas came along, if you traded in whale blubber, you were the richest man on Earth. Then gas came along and you’d be stuck with your whale blubber. Sorry mate – history’s moving along. Recorded music equals whale blubber. Eventually, something else will replace it.”

Brian Eno, on the future of recorded music.

Virtual Piano

Have piano, will travel. Your computer keyboard becomes your piano keyboard. Now everyone in the world has access to a piano until they can get their hands on the real thing. Perfect for spontaneous compositions. And I found that it works with free recording programs like Audacity.

Virtual Piano

Thanx to Steve Meyer for the tip.

Napster, LLC

How Much Do Those Musicians Make Anyway

This article originally appeared in Maximum Rock ‘n’ Roll #133 in 1994 (originally published in 1993). It is still relevant today. Read with great horror and amusement.

The Problem With Music
by Steve Albini

Whenever I talk to a band who are about to sign with a major label, I always end up thinking of them in a particular context. I imagine a trench, about four feet wide and five feet deep, maybe sixty yards long, filled with runny, decaying shit. I imagine these people, some of them good friends, some of them barely acquaintances, at one end of this trench. I also imagine a faceless industry lackey at the other end holding a fountain pen and a contract waiting to be signed. Nobody can see what’s printed on the contract. It’s too far away, and besides, the shit stench is making everybody’s eyes water. The lackey shouts to everybody that the first one to swim the trench gets to sign the contract. Everybody dives in the trench and they struggle furiously to get to the other end. Two people arrive simultaneously and begin wrestling furiously, clawing each other and dunking each other under the shit. Eventually, one of them capitulates, and there’s only one contestant left. He reaches for the pen, but the Lackey says “Actually, I think you need a little more development. Swim again, please. Backstroke”. And he does of course.

Every major label involved in the hunt for new bands now has on staff a high-profile point man, an “A & R” rep who can present a comfortable face to any prospective band. The initials stand for “Artist and Repertoire.” because historically, the A & R staff would select artists to record music that they had also selected, out of an available pool of each. This is still the case, though not openly. These guys are universally young [about the same age as the bands being wooed], and nowadays they always have some obvious underground rock credibility flag they can wave.

Lyle Preslar, former guitarist for Minor Threat, is one of them. Terry Tolkin, former NY independent booking agent and assistant manager at Touch and Go is one of them. Al Smith, former soundman at CBGB is one of them. Mike Gitter, former editor of XXX fanzine and contributor to Rip, Kerrang and other lowbrow rags is one of them. Many of the annoying turds who used to staff college radio stations are in their ranks as well. There are several reasons A & R scouts are always young. The explanation usually copped-to is that the scout will be “hip to the current musical “scene.” A more important reason is that the bands will intuitively trust someone they think is a peer, and who speaks fondly of the same formative rock and roll experiences. The A & R person is the first person to make contact with the band, and as such is the first person to promise them the moon. Who better to promise them the moon than an idealistic young turk who expects to be calling the shots in a few years, and who has had no previous experience with a big record company. Hell, he’s as naive as the band he’s duping.

When he tells them no one will interfere in their creative process, he probably even believes it. When he sits down with the band for the first time, over a plate of angel hair pasta, he can tell them with all sincerity that when they sign with company X, they’re really signing with him and he’s on their side. Remember that great gig I saw you at in ’85? Didn’t we have a blast. By now all rock bands are wise enough to be suspicious of music industry scum. There is a pervasive caricature in popular culture of a portly, middle aged ex-hipster talking a mile-a-minute, using outdated jargon and calling everybody “baby.” After meeting “their” A & R guy, the band will say to themselves and everyone else, “He’s not like a record company guy at all! He’s like one of us.” And they will be right. That’s one of the reasons he was hired.

These A & R guys are not allowed to write contracts. What they do is present the band with a letter of intent, or “deal memo,” which loosely states some terms, and affirms that the band will sign with the label once a contract has been agreed on. The spookiest thing about this harmless sounding little memo, is that it is, for all legal purposes, a binding document. That is, once the band signs it, they are under obligation to conclude a deal with the label. If the label presents them with a contract that the band don’t want to sign, all the label has to do is wait. There are a hundred other bands willing to sign the exact same contract, so the label is in a position of strength. These letters never have any terms of expiration, so the band remain bound by the deal memo until a contract is signed, no matter how long that takes. The band cannot sign to another laborer or even put out its own material unless they are released from their agreement, which never happens. Make no mistake about it: once a band has signed a letter of intent, they will either eventually sign a contract that suits the label or they will be destroyed.

One of my favorite bands was held hostage for the better part of two years by a slick young “He’s not like a label guy at all,” A & R rep, on the basis of such a deal memo. He had failed to come through on any of his promises [something he did with similar effect to another well-known band], and so the band wanted out. Another label expressed interest, but when the A & R man was asked to release the band, he said he would need money or points, or possibly both, before he would consider it. The new label was afraid the price would be too dear, and they said no thanks. On the cusp of making their signature album, an excellent band, humiliated, broke up from the stress and the many months of inactivity.

There’s this band. They’re pretty ordinary, but they’re also pretty good, so they’ve attracted some attention. They’re signed to a moderate-sized “independent” label owned by a distribution company, and they have another two albums owed to the label. They’re a little ambitious. They’d like to get signed by a major label so they can have some security you know, get some good equipment, tour in a proper tour bus — nothing fancy, just a little reward for all the hard work. To that end, they got a manager. He knows some of the label guys, and he can shop their next project to all the right people. He takes his cut, sure, but it’s only 15%, and if he can get them signed then it’s money well spent.

Anyways, it doesn’t cost them anything if it doesn’t work. 15% of nothing isn’t much! One day an A & R scout calls them, says he’s ‘been following them for a while now, and when their manager mentioned them to him, it just “clicked.” Would they like to meet with him about the possibility of working out a deal with his label? Wow. Big Break time. They meet the guy, and y’know what — he’s not what they expected from a label guy. He’s young and dresses pretty much like the band does. He knows all their favorite bands. He’s like one of them. He tells them he wants to go to bat for them, to try to get them everything they want. He says anything is possible with the right attitude.

They conclude the evening by taking home a copy of a deal memo they wrote out and signed on the spot. The A & R guy was full of great ideas, even talked about using a name producer. Butch Vig is out of the question-he wants 100 g’s and three points, but they can get Don Fleming for $30,000 plus three points. Even that’s a little steep, so maybe they’ll go with that guy who used to be in David Letterman’s band. He only wants three points. Or they can have just anybody record it (like Warton Tiers, maybe– cost you 5 or 7 grand] and have Andy Wallace remix it for 4 grand a track plus 2 points. It was a lot to think about. Well, they like this guy and they trust him. Besides, they already signed the deal memo. He must have been serious about wanting them to sign. They break the news to their current label, and the label manager says he wants them to succeed, so they have his blessing. He will need to be compensated, of course, for the remaining albums left on their contract, but he’ll work it out with the label himself.

Sub Pop made millions from selling off Nirvana, and Twin Tone hasn’t done bad either: 50 grand for the Babes and 60 grand for the Poster Children– without having to sell a single additional record. It’ll be something modest. The new label doesn’t mind, so long as it’s recoupable out of royalties. Well, they get the final contract, and it’s not quite what they expected. They figure it’s better to be safe than sorry and they turn it over to a lawyer–one who says he’s experienced in entertainment law and he hammers out a few bugs. They’re still not sure about it, but the lawyer says he’s seen a lot of contracts, and theirs is pretty good. They’ll be great royalty: 13% [less a 1O% packaging deduction]. Wasn’t it Buffalo Tom that were only getting 12% less 10? Whatever. The old label only wants 50 grand, an no points. Hell, Sub Pop got 3 points when they let Nirvana go. They’re signed for four years, with options on each year, for a total of over a million dollars! That’s a lot of money in any man’s English. The first year’s advance alone is $250,000. Just think about it, a quarter million, just for being in a rock band! Their manager thinks it’s a great deal, especially the large advance. Besides, he knows a publishing company that will take the band on if they get signed, and even give them an advance of 20 grand, so they’ll be making that money too. The manager says publishing is pretty mysterious, and nobody really knows where all the money comes from, but the lawyer can look that contract over too. Hell, it’s free money.

Their booking agent is excited about the band signing to a major. He says they can maybe average $1,000 or $2,000 a night from now on. That’s enough to justify a five week tour, and with tour support, they can use a proper crew, buy some good equipment and even get a tour bus! Buses are pretty expensive, but if you figure in the price of a hotel room for everybody In the band and crew, they’re actually about the same cost. Some bands like Therapy? and Sloan and Stereolab use buses on their tours even when they’re getting paid only a couple hundred bucks a night, and this tour should earn at least a grand or two every night. It’ll be worth it. The band will be more comfortable and will play better.

The agent says a band on a major label can get a merchandising company to pay them an advance on T-shirt sales! ridiculous! There’s a gold mine here! The lawyer Should look over the merchandising contract, just to be safe. They get drunk at the signing party. Polaroids are taken and everybody looks thrilled. The label picked them up in a limo. They decided to go with the producer who used to be in Letterman’s band. He had these technicians come in and tune the drums for them and tweak their amps and guitars. He had a guy bring in a slew of expensive old “vintage” microphones. Boy, were they “warm.” He even had a guy come in and check the phase of all the equipment in the control room! Boy, was he professional. He used a bunch of equipment on them and by the end of it, they all agreed that it sounded very “punchy,” yet “warm.” All that hard work paid off. With the help of a video, the album went like hotcakes! They sold a quarter million copies! Here is the math that will explain just how fucked they are: These figures are representative of amounts that appear in record contracts daily. There’s no need to skew the figures to make the scenario look bad, since real-life examples more than abound. income is bold and underlined, expenses are not.

Advance: $ 250,000

  • Manager’s cut: $ 37,500
  • Legal fees: $ 10,000
  • Recording Budget: $ 150,000
  • Producer’s advance: $ 50,000
  • Studio fee: $ 52,500
  • Drum Amp, Mic and Phase “Doctors”: $ 3,000
  • Recording tape: $ 8,000
  • Equipment rental: $ 5,000
  • Cartage and Transportation: $ 5,000
  • Lodgings while in studio: $ 10,000
  • Catering: $ 3,000
  • Mastering: $ 10,000
  • Tape copies, reference CDs, shipping tapes, misc. expenses: $ 2,000
  • Video budget: $ 30,000
  • Cameras: $ 8,000
  • Crew: $ 5,000
  • Processing and transfers: $ 3,000
  • Off-line: $ 2,000
  • On-line editing: $ 3,000
  • Catering: $ 1,000
  • Stage and construction: $ 3,000
  • Copies, couriers, transportation: $ 2,000
  • Director’s fee: $ 3,000
  • Album Artwork: $ 5,000
  • Promotional photo shoot and duplication: $ 2,000
  • Band fund: $ 15,000
  • New fancy professional drum kit: $ 5,000
  • New fancy professional guitars [2]: $ 3,000
  • New fancy professional guitar amp rigs [2]: $ 4,000
  • New fancy potato-shaped bass guitar: $ 1,000
  • New fancy rack of lights bass amp: $ 1,000
  • Rehearsal space rental: $ 500
  • Big blowout party for their friends: $ 500
  • Tour expense [5 weeks]: $ 50,875
  • Bus: $ 25,000
  • Crew [3]: $ 7,500
  • Food and per diems: $ 7,875
  • Fuel: $ 3,000
  • Consumable supplies: $ 3,500
  • Wardrobe: $ 1,000
  • Promotion: $ 3,000
  • Tour gross income: $ 50,000
  • Agent’s cut: $ 7,500
  • Manager’s cut: $ 7,500
  • Merchandising advance: $ 20,000
  • Manager’s cut: $ 3,000
  • Lawyer’s fee: $ 1,000
  • Publishing advance: $ 20,000
  • Manager’s cut: $ 3,000
  • Lawyer’s fee: $ 1,000
  • Record sales: 250,000 @ $12 = $3,000,000
  • Gross retail revenue Royalty: [13% of 90% of retail]: $ 351,000
  • Less advance: $ 250,000
  • Producer’s points: [3% less $50,000 advance]:  $ 40,000
  • Promotional budget: $ 25,000
  • Recoupable buyout from previous label: $ 50,000

Net royalty: $ -14,000

Record company income:

  • Record wholesale price: $6.50 x 250,000 = $1,625,000 gross income
  • Artist Royalties: $ 351,000
  • Deficit from royalties: $ 14,000
  • Manufacturing, packaging and distribution: @ $2.20 per record: $ 550,000
  • Gross profit: $ 710,000

________________________________________
The Balance Sheet: This is how much each player got paid at the end of the game.

  • Record company: $ 710,000
  • Producer: $ 90,000
  • Manager: $ 51,000
  • Studio: $ 52,500
  • Previous label: $ 50,000
  • Agent: $ 7,500
  • Lawyer: $ 12,000
  • Band member net income each: $ 4,031.25

The band is now 1/4 of the way through its contract, has made the music industry more than 3 million dollars richer, but is in the hole $14,000 on royalties. The band members have each earned about 1/3 as much as they would working at a 7-11, but they got to ride in a tour bus for a month. The next album will be about the same, except that the record company will insist they spend more time and money on it. Since the previous one never “recouped,” the band will have no leverage, and will oblige. The next tour will be about the same, except the merchandising advance will have already been paid,  and the band, strangely enough, won’t have earned any royalties from their T-shirts yet. Maybe the T-shirt guys have figured out how to count money like record company guys. Some of your friends are probably already this fucked.

Steve Albini is an audio engineer, producer, singer, songwriter, guitarist.  He has worked with Nirvana, The Breeders, Helmet, Robert Plant, Pixies, PJ Harvey, Joanna Newsom among many others.  Steve Albini is an artist.

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Art vs. Commerce

This article is reprinted from today’s New York Times. It’s another example of how the record business has failed to adapt in the 21st century. “There’s something happening here but you don’t know what it is…”

WhoseTube?
By DAMIAN KULASH Jr.
Published: February 19, 2010
Melbourne, Australia

MY band is famous for music videos. We direct them ourselves or with the help of friends, we shoot them on shoestring budgets and, like our songs, albums and concerts, we see them as creative works and not as our record company’s marketing tool.

In 2006 we made a video of us dancing on treadmills for our song “Here It Goes Again.” We shot it at my sister’s house without telling EMI, our record company, and posted it on the fledgling YouTube without EMI’s permission. Technically, this put us afoul of our contract, since we need our record company’s approval to distribute copies of the songs that they finance. It also exposed YouTube to all sorts of liability for streaming an EMI recording across the globe. But back then record companies saw videos as advertisements, so if my band wanted to produce them, and if YouTube wanted to help people watch them, EMI wasn’t going to get in the way.

As the age of viral video dawned, “Here It Goes Again” was viewed millions, then tens of millions of times. It brought big crowds to our concerts on five continents, and by the time we returned to the studio, 700 shows, one Grammy and nearly three years later, EMI’s ledger had a black number in our column. To the band, “Here It Goes Again” was a successful creative project. To the record company, it was a successful, completely free advertisement.

Now we’ve released a new album and a couple of new videos. But the fans and bloggers who helped spread “Here It Goes Again” across the Internet can no longer do what they did before, because our record company has blocked them from embedding our video on their sites. Believe it or not, in the four years since our treadmill dance got such attention, YouTube and EMI have actually made it harder to share our videos.

A few years ago, reeling from plummeting record sales, record companies went after YouTube, demanding payment for streams of their material. They saw videos, suddenly, as potential sources of revenue. YouTube agreed to pay the record companies a tiny amount for each stream, but — here’s the crux of the problem — they pay only when the videos are viewed on YouTube’s own site.

Embedded videos — those hosted by YouTube but streamed on blogs and other Web sites — don’t generate any revenue for record companies, so EMI disabled the embedding feature. Now we can’t post the YouTube versions of our videos on our own site, nor can our fans post them on theirs. If you want to watch them, you have to do so on YouTube.

But this isn’t how the Internet works. Viral content doesn’t spread just from primary sources like YouTube or Flickr. Blogs, Web sites and video aggregators serve as cultural curators, daily collecting the items that will interest their audiences the most. By ignoring the power of these tastemakers, our record company is cutting off its nose to spite its face.

The numbers are shocking: When EMI disabled the embedding feature, views of our treadmill video dropped 90 percent, from about 10,000 per day to just over 1,000. Our last royalty statement from the label, which covered six months of streams, shows a whopping $27.77 credit to our account.

Clearly the embedding restriction is bad news for our band, but is it worth it for EMI? The terms of YouTube’s deals with record companies aren’t public, but news reports say that the labels receive $.004 to $.008 per stream, so the most EMI could have grossed for the streams in question is a little over $5,400.

It’s decisions like these that have earned record companies a reputation for being greedy and short-sighted. And by and large they deserve it. But before we cheer for the demise of the big bad machine, it’s important to remember that record companies provide the music industry with a vital service: they’re risk aggregators. Or at least, they used to be.

To go from playing at a local club once a month to actually supporting yourself with music requires big investments in touring, recording and promotion — investments young musicians can’t afford. My band didn’t sign a contract with EMI because we believed labels magically created stars. We signed because no banker in his right mind would give a band the startup capital it needs.

Record companies, on the other hand, didn’t used to expect that all their advances would be repaid. They spread the risk by betting on hundreds of artists at once, and they recouped their investments by taking the lion’s share of the profits on the few acts that succeeded.

At least, this was all true when we signed our deal in 2000. Today, as the record industry’s revenue model has collapsed with the digitization of its biggest commodities, companies are cutting back spending on all but their biggest stars, and not signing nearly as many new acts. If record companies can’t adapt to this new world, they will die out; and without advances, so will the futures of many talented bands.

In these tight times, it’s no surprise that EMI is trying to wring revenue out of everything we make, including our videos. But it needs to recognize the basic mechanics of the Internet. Curbing the viral spread of videos isn’t benefiting the company’s bottom line, or the music it’s there to support. The sooner record companies realize this, the better — though I fear it may already be too late.

Damian Kulash Jr. is the lead singer and guitarist of the band OK Go.

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