I've been hearing quite a bit lately about streaming being the future of music. All you can eat services (free or otherwise) like Spotify and Pandora are the future. And the future is now. And the future is a steaming pile of bullshit for independent artists.
Sure, there is more potential exposure having my music on these services. They are convenient and are delivering music in a way consumers want. I've read articles about how great this is for labels and listeners. Notice who gets left out? And despide hundreds of plays on streaming services, I've not seen any uptick in actual purchases. See, that's the point. Just stream all the time. The claim is that pretty soon people won't own any music. It will all be streamed.
Here's the problem. Services like Spotify are relatively new, and as with a lot of online ventures, no one has really figured out how to make good money on it. So they make some money somehow. That pile of money is divided among everybody. I'm competing with Madonna and Green Day. Their cut will obviously be bigger than mine. What's worse, and what really compounds this problem is that Spotify pays $.007 per play. You read that right, less than one penny. The highest number I've seen from other services is just over one cent per play. I don't know how much profit these streaming services are making, but I'm going to be extra pissed if they aren't putting most of it back to the artists. Really, it's no different than is ever was. It's still radio, and the little guy still gets screwed.
Honestly, I would rather someone steal my music than insult me by paying 7/10th of a cent for a play.
1.30.2012
The disconnect of money
My girlfriend and I just bought a house. Sure it's cool, and due to some family circumstances we have money to fix and update quite a few things right away. A few hundred to a few thousand for a handful of projects, no problem, the money is there. And as we spend this money I'm made intimately aware of the disconnect that rich people have with the rest of us. Even people who just live comfortably in the upper middle class experience some of this disconnect.
My dad passed away, and my mom gave me some of his life insurance money. That's why we had money for a down payment, and why we can get work done without worrying about it. And I cannot really express in words how it feels to get the plumbing fixed without having to feel a pinch of financial pain. Knowing that I can afford to finish the basement without going further into debt. It's a strange sensation, and I know it will end. The money isn't endless. I've lived hand to mouth, I've hoped every new day wasn't the day my car broke down or something didn't put me in the hospital. This brief stint without worrying about money has given me more insight into just how disconnected the rich must be.
People like Mitt Romney can't understand. Even people who've come from humble backgrounds and earned their money will have forgotten the real, visceral qualities of financial stress. Even those who I've met who are kind and humble about their wealth can only pretend to get it. Someone who has never had to be concerned with having the money necessary can't understand the reality most people in the world live in. Those people never have to choose between fixing a broken window and buying food. Getting a dental checkup and putting gas in the car to go to work. You can tell a rich person that you might loose your house, but they'll never really understand how that feels and what it's doing to you as a human being, what it's like to feel you've lost your dignity and self-worth. And the biggest disconnect that the rich suffer is that they can never understand that financial stress is real, it's not always my own fault, and I can't just work harder, do better, and get ahead. They don't get it because they've spent the last 40 years altering the system so they get richer and the rest get poorer.
If anyone rich reads this, they may think I'm just jealous. I'm just engaging in class warfare. That my place in life is all my fault (and I do take responsibility for my own choices). They may read this and scoff. They may not care at all. But if you read this, and you never have to worry about money, I ask this one thing of you. Always remember that the 'have nots' are people. Human beings. We are not merely tools for your advance. We are not capitol. We are not commodities. We have our dignity and our self-worth. We have our families and our dreams. Just like you.
My dad passed away, and my mom gave me some of his life insurance money. That's why we had money for a down payment, and why we can get work done without worrying about it. And I cannot really express in words how it feels to get the plumbing fixed without having to feel a pinch of financial pain. Knowing that I can afford to finish the basement without going further into debt. It's a strange sensation, and I know it will end. The money isn't endless. I've lived hand to mouth, I've hoped every new day wasn't the day my car broke down or something didn't put me in the hospital. This brief stint without worrying about money has given me more insight into just how disconnected the rich must be.
People like Mitt Romney can't understand. Even people who've come from humble backgrounds and earned their money will have forgotten the real, visceral qualities of financial stress. Even those who I've met who are kind and humble about their wealth can only pretend to get it. Someone who has never had to be concerned with having the money necessary can't understand the reality most people in the world live in. Those people never have to choose between fixing a broken window and buying food. Getting a dental checkup and putting gas in the car to go to work. You can tell a rich person that you might loose your house, but they'll never really understand how that feels and what it's doing to you as a human being, what it's like to feel you've lost your dignity and self-worth. And the biggest disconnect that the rich suffer is that they can never understand that financial stress is real, it's not always my own fault, and I can't just work harder, do better, and get ahead. They don't get it because they've spent the last 40 years altering the system so they get richer and the rest get poorer.
If anyone rich reads this, they may think I'm just jealous. I'm just engaging in class warfare. That my place in life is all my fault (and I do take responsibility for my own choices). They may read this and scoff. They may not care at all. But if you read this, and you never have to worry about money, I ask this one thing of you. Always remember that the 'have nots' are people. Human beings. We are not merely tools for your advance. We are not capitol. We are not commodities. We have our dignity and our self-worth. We have our families and our dreams. Just like you.
1.11.2012
The Artist's Conundrum
There are two sides to being a successful artist. I don't mean financial success or fame, but two parts of the puzzle that have to fit together before any reward may come your way. Sometimes the answers are obvious, other times not.
Part the first: I do this for me. Not you. Not you over there either. I create, be it music or visual art in my case, strictly for myself, for my own satisfaction. The process of creating and finishing work is what I live for, it's what feeds my energy to keep living. Putting pencil to paper, brush to canvas, setting up microphones, tracking parts, mixing the final song, all of that thrills me. Yes, at times it can also be very frustrating when I've written a guitar part I can't play, or the finished painting is far from what I saw in my mind. But those failures are also the points where I learn, grow, and improve. Then when I conquer the guitar part or the paint, all the more sweet and satisfying it is. What does this have to do with you? Nothing. I could be the last man on Earth and I would still do this.
Part the second: I do this for you. When I finish my song or my painting, I am compelled by some mysterious force to share it with you. It would be fair to call this force ego. I want you to hear it, see it, experience the thing I made. I want you to love it or hate it. I don't want you to be indifferent. My esteem is boosted when you like it, scarred when you don't. Scarred worse when there's no reaction at all. If I want a chance at being recognized for the work, or to have a change to sell it, I have to take the risk that I will fail. That no one will like what I do. I know I will take that personally, because I poured myself into the song. But it isn't personal because it's just business. Or rather it is personal. Personal to me when I create, personal to you when I share. As soon as I play you that song or show you that drawing, it's no longer mine alone. It's ours to experience as we each will, in different ways shaped by our lives up to that point. If you don't like it, I have to just shrug and start anew. I can't argue you into liking it.
And that's the enigma of all this. If I can be damaged by you, why share at all? If, in the phase of creating, I'm totally wrapped up and concerned only with pleasing myself, why do I care what you think when I'm done? Maybe it's human nature or the nature of art. I'm sure it also has to so with my desire to make a living at this. If I don't share, then it's no more than a hobby. I know there are a lot of hobby artists and musicians out there who do stop at part one and love it. I love it, too, but I've made it more complex by a desire to make a living at art. And I will freely admit, it feeds my ego. My music and art is what I want to be remembered for. Most people who know me well would consider me quiet, unassuming, humble. And most of the time I am. But when the project is done, that's when I stand on top of the roof with my split personality and shout out loud "I did this! This is me! I have achieved this! Screw you if you don't get it!" while quietly inside I fear rejection and defeat. And I will do this over and over again until I die.
Part the first: I do this for me. Not you. Not you over there either. I create, be it music or visual art in my case, strictly for myself, for my own satisfaction. The process of creating and finishing work is what I live for, it's what feeds my energy to keep living. Putting pencil to paper, brush to canvas, setting up microphones, tracking parts, mixing the final song, all of that thrills me. Yes, at times it can also be very frustrating when I've written a guitar part I can't play, or the finished painting is far from what I saw in my mind. But those failures are also the points where I learn, grow, and improve. Then when I conquer the guitar part or the paint, all the more sweet and satisfying it is. What does this have to do with you? Nothing. I could be the last man on Earth and I would still do this.
Part the second: I do this for you. When I finish my song or my painting, I am compelled by some mysterious force to share it with you. It would be fair to call this force ego. I want you to hear it, see it, experience the thing I made. I want you to love it or hate it. I don't want you to be indifferent. My esteem is boosted when you like it, scarred when you don't. Scarred worse when there's no reaction at all. If I want a chance at being recognized for the work, or to have a change to sell it, I have to take the risk that I will fail. That no one will like what I do. I know I will take that personally, because I poured myself into the song. But it isn't personal because it's just business. Or rather it is personal. Personal to me when I create, personal to you when I share. As soon as I play you that song or show you that drawing, it's no longer mine alone. It's ours to experience as we each will, in different ways shaped by our lives up to that point. If you don't like it, I have to just shrug and start anew. I can't argue you into liking it.
And that's the enigma of all this. If I can be damaged by you, why share at all? If, in the phase of creating, I'm totally wrapped up and concerned only with pleasing myself, why do I care what you think when I'm done? Maybe it's human nature or the nature of art. I'm sure it also has to so with my desire to make a living at this. If I don't share, then it's no more than a hobby. I know there are a lot of hobby artists and musicians out there who do stop at part one and love it. I love it, too, but I've made it more complex by a desire to make a living at art. And I will freely admit, it feeds my ego. My music and art is what I want to be remembered for. Most people who know me well would consider me quiet, unassuming, humble. And most of the time I am. But when the project is done, that's when I stand on top of the roof with my split personality and shout out loud "I did this! This is me! I have achieved this! Screw you if you don't get it!" while quietly inside I fear rejection and defeat. And I will do this over and over again until I die.
10.10.2011
This is the way of fathers and sons
I remember bike rides and baseball. Our dog was the shortstop. I was never very good at baseball. He wanted me to be good at it like he was. This is the way of fathers and sons.
We went fishing often. Early mornings spent getting the boat in the water, looking for the perfect spot, coming home empty handed. This is the way of fathers and sons.
There was a lot of vinyl then, many hours spent listening to the Beatles and CSNY. Many hours spent listening to him play guitar and sing. Believe it or not he didn't want me to play guitar when I was very young. We see how that turned out. This is the way of fathers and sons.
Our family was never rich, but I never lacked. This is the way of fathers and sons.
I got older and we began to butt heads often. This is the way of fathers and sons.
I played guitar and quickly surpassed him. I was growing up and we struggled to find our middle ground. I'm sorry I never became a famous rock star, he only requested I buy him the first house on the left in key west.This is the way of fathers and sons.
He tried to tell me what to do and I got angry. He tried to be too involved and I resented it. He tried to relate in the way he knew how and it hurt me. I needed to strike out on my own for my own. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He drank too much and I hated him when he was drunk. But he was never violent, only irritating. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He helped me to go to college. He supported my pursuits, sometimes too forcefully, he wanted to participate instead of stand back and be a proud father. But he was never absent, and he was proud. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He got cancer and I said goodbye. He fought back. I was angry he didn't take better care of himself. He got very sick and I said goodbye. He hung on. All the pain and treatment and drugs and illness and coma and surgery changed him. He was not the same man I grew up with. I said my piece and I made my peace, as much as I could, but the man I really needed to talk to was gone. I said goodbye. This is the way of fathers and sons.
We settled into a good relationship, somehow him finally understanding the adult I had become, and me understanding why he did and what he did to make me that adult. He loved me and I will always love him. One last time he fought his body, but it was time to rest. I am saying goodbye again, for the last time. I will spend the rest of my life missing him, cursing him, being angry at him, wishing he was still here, loving him, being grateful for the time we did have, because this is the way of fathers and sons.
We went fishing often. Early mornings spent getting the boat in the water, looking for the perfect spot, coming home empty handed. This is the way of fathers and sons.
There was a lot of vinyl then, many hours spent listening to the Beatles and CSNY. Many hours spent listening to him play guitar and sing. Believe it or not he didn't want me to play guitar when I was very young. We see how that turned out. This is the way of fathers and sons.
Our family was never rich, but I never lacked. This is the way of fathers and sons.
I got older and we began to butt heads often. This is the way of fathers and sons.
I played guitar and quickly surpassed him. I was growing up and we struggled to find our middle ground. I'm sorry I never became a famous rock star, he only requested I buy him the first house on the left in key west.This is the way of fathers and sons.
He tried to tell me what to do and I got angry. He tried to be too involved and I resented it. He tried to relate in the way he knew how and it hurt me. I needed to strike out on my own for my own. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He drank too much and I hated him when he was drunk. But he was never violent, only irritating. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He helped me to go to college. He supported my pursuits, sometimes too forcefully, he wanted to participate instead of stand back and be a proud father. But he was never absent, and he was proud. This is the way of fathers and sons.
He got cancer and I said goodbye. He fought back. I was angry he didn't take better care of himself. He got very sick and I said goodbye. He hung on. All the pain and treatment and drugs and illness and coma and surgery changed him. He was not the same man I grew up with. I said my piece and I made my peace, as much as I could, but the man I really needed to talk to was gone. I said goodbye. This is the way of fathers and sons.
We settled into a good relationship, somehow him finally understanding the adult I had become, and me understanding why he did and what he did to make me that adult. He loved me and I will always love him. One last time he fought his body, but it was time to rest. I am saying goodbye again, for the last time. I will spend the rest of my life missing him, cursing him, being angry at him, wishing he was still here, loving him, being grateful for the time we did have, because this is the way of fathers and sons.
10.04.2011
Pics from my Utah 2011 trip
Digital pics ready to go, gotta get the 120 film developed. Utah September 2011
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