SAVE THE MUSIC
MR. FRIEDMAN'S OPUS
by David Fagin
It's March of 1985. I'm a senior in high school. It’s a good time. I haven’t yet heard of a company called Clear Channel and I’m still naive enough to think that music is more than just a business…
Growing up in Fair Lawn, NJ meant that, for as long as I could remember, every Memorial Day, the whole town would gather for the Senior Class Softball Marathon. Each year, this three-day, non-stop, round-the-clock softball game raised money for different charities. The senior class was divided into teams that competed against each other, straight through the night and into the next morning, without stopping, while a mass of beer-drinking, hot dog-munching town folk gathered to cheer them on, even at four-thirty in the a.m.
So, it happened that, on one particular sunny afternoon, my friend, Matt Gitkin and I were approached by Howie Friedman, our beloved chemistry and physics teacher who would brag in the halls on a daily basis about being the 38th most allergic human on the planet. Mr. Friedman was a "rocker" in the truest sense of the word, back in the sixties; he lived for rock music and the power it displayed. He told us of his idea to form a student-teacher band to perform classic rock tunes during the first intermission at the upcoming Marathon. Matt and I thought he was joking, as that was nothing new, and eventually, the nutty professor managed to convince us to drag some friends into the madness, while he recruited some semi-sane teachers willing to make fools of themselves singing Steppenwolf in front of their students. We called this student-teacher rock extravaganza, "The Boptones."
We rehearsed in my parent’s basement and after a few shaky months, we dragged our Peavey amps and Ibanez guitars onto the poorly lit ball field (picture Field of Dreams meets School of Rock). We played to a smattering of supportive cheers and polite applause. Our audience didn’t hate us, it was just tough to hear us. The two Campbell's soup cans we used as a P.A. couldn't provide the oomph we needed to really "RAWWWWK!"
That first "concert", Memorial Day weekend in 1985, featured six kids on our respective instruments and three crazy teachers, singing everything from Born to Be Wild, to Runaround Sue to Aqualung. Little did we know what we (or Howie) had started.
Fast-forward twenty years later (Jesus); Matt gets a call from a girl who claims to be on the official "Boptones Advisory Board" of Fair Lawn High School. Huh? Apparently, when we weren't looking, the Boptones student-teacher rock band had gone and transformed itself into something of an anomaly.
No longer are there six students and three teachers; no longer are there soup cans for P.A.'s; and no longer is the concert a forty-minute gig on the ball field between innings. Now, there's a lengthy audition process for both juniors and seniors, during which over one hundred and sixty kids try out each year and only thirty or so make the cut. Now, handfuls of crazy teachers lurk the hallways practicing their best Ozzy impersonations. (Mrs. Levine, the darling, sixty-something Spanish teacher who's retiring next year, is rumored to be performing Black Sabbath's Iron Man at this year's show.) Now, the P.A. is a state-of-the-art sound system, complete with top notch console, lighting board, and monitor wedges for the performers.
Even the art department donates their time and builds huge scaffolding and risers for the performers, complete with fake, crepe paper flames shooting up from the stage. The "gig" has become an event; a three-hour plus party held inside the school's thousand-seat auditorium, and I would be rendered speechless.
The phone call Matt received was to inform him that this year, Mr. Friedman would be hanging up the chalk and moving to Florida, and would we like to say something on his behalf at the upcoming concert? She explained that there would be a short video tribute to him during the show and they could film us saying something nice for his retirement. Matt and I had a better idea. What if the original Boptones were to reunite and surprise Mr. Friedman at the show by doing a few tunes from years ago? Now all we needed was to find everyone.
Thank God most of us from the original band are losers and never moved anywhere outside the New York area. We were all easily reachable, except for Chrissy Campanella. Who knows what she's doing these days? Last I heard she’s working for Clear Channel.
After about sixty thousand emails arguing what tunes we should do, we five surviving members get together a few days before the show to rehearse our short, but emotionally charged, set. The songs are Sergeant Pepper, Runaround Sue, Born to Be Wild, and Sounds of Silence.
The night of the show arrives and the high school auditorium’s packed. Backstage, I glance at the set list. No more Let's Spend the Night Together or Won't Get Fooled Again. Now, there's Bulls on Parade and Green Day's Longview. Dylan was right.
We stand in the wings watching the show and to my amazement, these tiny, little dwarves (I think they're called teenagers) come up to us one after another to shake our hands, ask me where I got my "groovy looking guitar", and tell us how psyched they are that we're there to play for Howie's last concert.
I stood in awe, watching scores of teachers and students sharing the stage and singing away together in front of a mob of cheering and, for a change, happy adolescents; I wondered if Mr. Friedman really knew the full extent of what he'd created that day, twenty years earlier, with the simple idea to play some rock n’ roll with his students.
Halfway through the performance, the video screen is lowered and a "This Was Your Life at Fair Lawn High School, Howie Friedman" piece is shown. After slides and footage of the original Boptones (and me in parachute pants - which I'll publicly deny if asked), Matt is asked if the original Boptones would ever play together again, to which he replies, in true "Behind The Music" fashion, "No way. The five of us could never get along. We were always at each other's throats and there's too much bitterness involved now, so I don't see that happening anytime soon." With that, Mr. Friedman is beckoned to the stage and one by one, we are introduced from the wings. It’s all quite emotional. We lovingly molest each other, and take our positions on stage.
The kids go crazy. It feels like Altamont. (Never mind, bad analogy.) We have a blast playing our songs and for the last one, Sounds of Silence, we bring Mr. Friedman and a few new, younger, "Tones" up to join us; it feels very much like the passing of the torch.
Then the moment comes when I realize how old and out of touch I really am. We’re right in the middle of "Silence", the whole school is singing along, and I’m in the moment, looking down at my guitar. When I gaze up, I see one of the most spectacular sights I'm to witness as a performer; every kid in the auditorium’s waving his/her arms back and forth and a glowing, blue, neon stick is shimmering in each one of their hands, creating a sight I immediately take a mental picture of to make sure I'd never forget. What are those blue things? Are they those sticks that you break in half that glow neon when activated? I can't tell. Then it hits me. They're cell phones. Every kid in the crowd has his/her cell phone window glowing iridescent colors, replacing the obsolete cigarette lighters of old. My brother-in-law holds up his lighter and is about to flick it, when some twelve year old girl, shooting him a very serious look, says, "Um, sir, we don't do that anymore." Dylan was right again.
I realized that at the very least, the one thing I left the school with that night was knowledge that couldn’t be taught in a classroom; that one teacher, armed with the gift of music and a generous spirit, can bring an entire community together just by being crazy enough to “put it out there” and see what happens.
That night there were no cliques, no insults being hurled, nobody getting beaten up outside by the "Green Hill", no teachers being patronizing toward students. Everyone was "gettin' their groove on" together, like one big Partridge Family. And, I couldn't help but think, the next time a problem arises with a classmate, when a temper may cause someone to do something they'd later regret, simply remembering the sight of their teacher singing Black Sabbath with them, might make them laugh instead. What more reason do we need for keeping music programs alive in our schools? Thank you, Howie.
-Back to Top. |
STAR POLISH.COM
A "year" in the life
by: David Fagin, The Rosenbergs
Hi there. Advance apology for the length but I was asked to write about a "year," so it averages about a page a month -- not bad.
When James Mann at Rolling Stone.com asked me to write a recap of the past year in the life of our band, The Rosenbergs, I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it because I really wasn't sure if I wanted to tell the truth about our situation. But then I thought about "Booger" from Risky Business: "Sometimes ya just gotta say, 'What the fuck.'" The reason I wasn't sure is, because in all the interviews and panels I've done in the last year, everyone always expects you to "put on a happy face." Ya know, keep up the public persona bullshit.
And you do it so much it becomes a reflex. Traveling around the country speaking on panels entitled "Internet Success Stories" or "Maintaining Creative Control and Still Succeeding," you sit there and try and make yourself sound as attractive as possible because nobody likes to hear a bunch of whiners, right? Well, every time I'm on one of these things and I'm speaking and saying how great everything is going, or how we're able to survive so nicely doing it ourselves, I just feel like saying, "This is all bullshit, man! You guys have no idea!" The bottom line is, "WITHOUT MAJOR PROMOTIONAL DOLLARS, YOUR MUSIC WILL MOST LIKELY FADE INTO THE SUNSET AND YOU WILL BE PUT OUT TO PASTURE WITH THE OTHER MISGUIDED HOPEFULS."
Now, those of you who are familiar with us may find it hard to believe that we, The Rosenbergs, the so-called "Indie Giant Killers", or "The Leaders of The People's Revolution"(that's my favorite so far), or whatever we've been called, are coming out of the closet and saying that doing it yourself is for the birds. Well, I guess we pretty much are -- but that's okay, 'cuz no one's gonna read this thing anyway, so who's gonna know? The preceding was an attempt at levity before the axe falls. It's not that we don't believe in what we're doing anymore; lord knows, we passed up the possibility of a major deal to try this baby out, and I speak about these issues every chance I get. It's that I personally feel, we, as an artist community, are years away from making real major change because for the most part, we just don't give a shit about each other. Here's an attempt to pull back the curtain on the last year in the lives of our "Indie Success Story," and although you may not agree with my assessments on the current state of the "Biz," hopefully you'll understand where I'm coming from. Anyway, these are just my opinions, I could be wrong.
LIFT OFF
We started out with a loan for about 150 grand from Robert Fripp's company, Discipline Global Mobile (DGM). Before we were even out of the box, our nest egg was more than cut in half by studio time, lawyer fees, etc. We still owe some of our closest supporters close to 20 grand because they didn't get paid back when the gates were open, as it would have left us with almost zilch right from the start -- and for that we feel pretty bad. The four of us, as a band, also erred as we each took a thousand-dollar-a-month draw from our company, LZI (Lord Zorch Industries -- don't ask). This drained four grand a month like a sieve from our seemingly bottomless well. But ya gotta realize, after busting our collective asses for years, in and out of bands and in and out of $6.00 an hour jobs at the local asbestos plant and coal mine, running up bad credit reports and procuring debt the size of a small country, having the opportunity to reach into the cookie jar and live like a "Working Musician" was just too alluring. Okay, so it's early February and we're excited about everything at this point 'cuz we've got the PR firm doing their thing, and our booker, Paula Leone, bless her little booker heart, is putting together our Napster tour. Napster had just agreed to spring for our idea of releasing a second, full-length "bonus CD" with every purchase: "Physical File Sharing" -- you buy the album, you get a free copy to give to a friend.
I'm pretty sure it was the first case of a band giving away two records for the price of one. We hoped that by jolting the industry's "business as usual" release procedures, we'd be noticed by the relevant news organizations, as we didn't have near enough money to promote the record through the traditional channels. We weren't noticed. At least, not enough. What we thought would make a "SPLASH!" made a "ploop!" Obviously, if Pearl Jam did it you would've heard about it loud and clear. Oh, well. We did the "2fer" because we're a LIVE band and, aside from the PR move, if we sold 20,000 copies that would mean 40,000 potential people hearing our music and coming to the shows, and when ya get right down to it, that's what we're all about -- as are most bands -- playing live.
THE NAPSTER TOUR
We hit the road heading south on our Napster tour a few days before the record comes out. We've got four very large Napster magnets stuck to the sides of the van, which were subsequently stolen within weeks. On the highway, everyone beeps at us and yells, "Yeah, Napster!" We're also on Napster's front page and getting a lot of articles in the local papers as well as the net -- but without radio play or exposure on a certain video channel, does anyone really know who you are? Incidentally, Evan just brought along a friend's CD to Atlanta this weekend and there's a song called "Famous" on it. It pretty much hits the nail on the head with lyrics like, "It might be good art, it might be bad art, but I can't tell, cuz it's not famous."
Anyway, the tour begins and Paula's telling us all the promoters are really into us and they're making sure to put us on with pop bands that have some sort of following, so when we hit Arkansas without radio play and Best Buy promotions there's actually live human beings there to see us -- not to mention the actual "promoting" the promoters are gonna do, hence the word, "PROMOTER." It definitely sounds like an oxymoron to me. Little by little, at each town we get to folks come up to us and say, "Damn! It's lucky I was walking by the club and saw your guys' picture, 'cuz it just went up yesterday." And those "pop" bands they were supposed to put us on with turned out, in most cases, to be the winners of their high school "Creed Sound-Alike Contest" -- get the point? Oh, also, almost every show was "over 21," so all the kids who use Napster are emailing us saying they'd like to come but aren't of age yet. Okay, we're doing our best to keep our chin up at this point -- heck! -- when the record comes out, things'll be different, right?
LET THE PIGEONS LOOSE!
The record comes out. A great record, I might add, not as good as The Beatles but definitely better than Creed (can ya tell I love Creed?). The first thing that happens is that we get word that a lot of the "indie" stores are boycotting the record. Wow. Here we are trying to be as "indie" as possible, and the indie stores hate us. Why do they hate us? Because we're doing a Napster promotion, and Napster takes business away from them. Uh, hint hint, without applications like Napster, half their records would never get heard, but that's neither here nor there. The funny part was that Dave Matthews, about to release his new album, was on Napster's front page proclaiming how great it was, along with Thom Yorke and a bunch of others. Our business manager, Angus, also happens to be Dave's biz mgr. He tells us that Dave is releasing his new single through Napster FIRST, and I ask our manager, Adrian, if the indie stores are aware of this, because, surely they will boycott Dave as well. Are you laughing yet? Me too. See, we all know it's about money, but the way it was explained to us was that we had the tiny little Napster logo, the "Kitty Cat", way up in the corner of our free CD, and THAT is what the indie owners were pissed at -- not at the actual Napster "affiliation" -- because if they sold Dave's stuff and not ours, it would make them hypocrites, right? So, we were boycotted because of the "Kitty Cat", and Dave didn't have a kitty cat. See if you can imagine this being explained to us and us trying not to hear, "Ya see, guys, the problem with your album cover is that SHE'S the victim. On Dave's cover, HE'S the victim". [Editor's note: add one point if you caught this Spinal Tap reference].
P.R.
Our PR firm, Girlie Action, did an "okay" job, as we could only afford to pay them "okay" money. Sure, we had articles in a lot of the local newspapers but so do runaway pets if ya get my drift. It soon became obvious that unless we wielded some major-label muscle and money that the Maxims, Spins, and Rolling Stones would ignore what we were trying to do. It's sad that articles about artists' rights have to appear in the Times Sunday Magazine or GQ. I'm sure no self-respecting 16-year-old dares buy his suit or his summer home without consulting one of these periodicals first. Had we walked out of "Aubar" with a half-naked and drunk Courtney Love, we would've been in Maxim.
BREAKING THE RULES?
Many other fun things happen as well when you're trying to go against the grain. We had retailers opening up our CD's and selling the "free" copy, without a booklet, in a flimsy jewel case, for FULL price. As recently as two days ago, Michael Smith, Kenny Howes' manager, said he ordered the CD from Buy.com. They sent him a thin, shrink-wrapped Napster copy, by itself, with a barcode on it, and charged him full price. We had reviews in trade magazines from storeowners saying, "I LOVE this record! However, I'm not going to be selling it." Personally, I kind of expected the Tower's and the HMV's to get all huffy about giving away two CDs for the price of one. But they took 'em with no hassle whatsoever. Alas, on the major front, the Coconuts chain boycotted the poor thing. To make it even more hilarious, we'd be told by Ryko, our distributor, that we were getting HMV in-store play and "Featured Band of the Month" stuff. Then, days before, we were told we're being bumped to next month for some major-label act. We were not naive enough to believe that the term "next month" actually meant the month following this one.
NATIONAL DISTRIBUTION*-with an asterisk
So, we drive from town to town and become our own little "Record Police." As I type this, I can't help but think of all the other bands who've walked this particular path before me, and all who will come after. It's a great feeling to know you've got "National Distribution" -- the fine print should say, "National -- meaning sort of national." On the average, I would say our record made it into about 40% of the stores around the country. Not bad -- we just happened to always be in the other 60 by coincidence. We'd place the daily call to Adrian crying that our record wasn't in this store or that, and for Christ's sake, "We're playing tonight!" The record never made it to any Wal-Marts or Kmarts or Targets, as Ryko did not have distribution deals with them. But let's focus on the positive: Great! We're in Tower and we're in listening posts! Woohoo! Let's go see! (Upon walking down our aisle): "Uh, what does row 14, disc 5 on the select button mean? Does that mean that there are 70 artists on listening posts in this store? No? Oh, good…. What!? It means there are 70 artists in our ROW? HOLY SHIT!
IN-STORES
Two funny record store stories (feel free to skip if I'm boring you already):
One: We're slated to play the Virgin Megastore in Times Square the day after Weezer plays. The folks there were great to us, no bitterness whatsoever for a change. DAY ONE: Weezer plays -- Guys are everywhere, pushing stages, moving lights, bringing in speakers the size of Rhode Island, etc. They also have the HUGE "W" behind them in flashing lights, very cool. DAY TWO: we play -- "Where'd everybody go?" You'd think John Ashcroft showed up at the Marriott across the street and was letting people punch him in the face for a dollar. We lugged our own equipment in, paid about 16 grand to park the oversized van, spent a fortune to keep 1/18th of Weezer's rented stage and sound, and, in place of the HUGE "W", I drew an "R" with a sharpie on a piece of notebook paper and taped it behind our drummer, Joe's, head. It wasn't as cool but it got the point across.
Two: We're slated for an "in-store" at Tower in Paramus, NJ. The manager there is a sweetheart, but obviously doesn't control every detail all the time. About a week before we played, I went down there to make sure the posters we sent were hanging up -- do I even have to tell you? The staff directs me to the "art" guy. He tells me all of our posters were destroyed in shipping and unusable. "ALL OF THEM?! We sent about 20!" He replies, "Yes, they were all destroyed. But... we made a banner of our own with your name on it and it looks absolutely terrific!" I say, "Wow, that's great! Where is it?" "It's in the storage room." Oh, brother. So, I go back to the storage room and look and sure enough, there's this huge banner with our faces on it, easily eight feet across. I walk back out and ask him when he's actually planning on putting it up. "Thursday." "Uh, that's like the day before we play. Any chance of putting it up today?" "Well, we've got the Bada Bing girls coming from the Sopranos tonight, so maybe after they leave." Yeah.
Do I have to tell you when the banner went up? At least the folks in the stock room knew about the show. We did a bunch of Borders stores as well and they were really cool about almost everything, and hung our posters up like they were supposed to, but without major promo dollars... "Who are The Rosenbergs and why should I show up? I've got a toenail clipping class that day."
GETTING AN OPENING SLOT WHEN YOU'RE NOT AS COOL AS LENNY KRAVITZ
Moving right along, we finish the Napster tour and are attempting to get a support slot on another -- preferably one with people. Now keep in mind we received a ton of supportive emails when the Farmclub thing was going on from all these "higher profile" artists saying, "Way to go!", "Hang on to your rights!", "Need a favor, just ask!", etc. When it came time to ask them to help us out, even the crickets weren't chirping. Okay, keep trying. We're inches away from closing the Semisonic tour. It's practically a done deal. Then -- "Who's Pete Yorn?" "What do you mean his brother's Mike Ovitz' right hand?" "Oh, that sucks." I actually like Pete's stuff, but it's good to be the king. Next up, Echo and The Bunnymen.
Ian and the boys are great guys and we had a lot of fun -- lord knows, it's better than working at Sam Ash selling those darn green Paul Reed Smiths all day to those wanna-be "boybandwithdistortionpedal" dorks. I'm just not sure our music was the best fit for a Goth crowd. We actually went over surprisingly well almost everywhere, and the places that we didn't, we told 'em we were Bon Jovi.
RADIO PROMO -- OR "LET'S MAKE A DEAL, MONTY!"
As all of this is happening, we were lucky enough to have probably the most powerful radio promo firm in the country pushing our record -- but only on the Internet. See, we couldn't afford the boats, cars, houses and "orange five-hundreds"(monopoly reference), so once again we're guinea pigs! (I'm getting tired of being poked and prodded, I want a normal million-dollar deal like everyone else!). We were gonna be the first band to break solely over Internet radio! Can you hear those crickets chirping? It's quite difficult to do when the entire Internet listening audience is the size of WPLJ in New York. Oh, we got some terrestrial airplay, mind you, but it would always come at, like, 6:00 a.m. Sunday morning when everyone would wake up, and, feeling not the slightest bit hung over, flick on the radio and sit and listen, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed while waiting for the butler to bring them their tea.
It was basically laid out for us like this: If you guys can spend about 40 grand this week, we might be able to get ya overnight in Seattle -- MIGHT. For another 50 Gs, you MIGHT get overnight in Chi-town, etc. etc... cha ching, cha ching! Hang on; let me check my wallet. It became obvious that if we wanted radio play, we'd either have to pull a real live version of Airheads and take Harry Shearer hostage, or one of us, preferably Evan, would end up marrying Sumner Redstone's daughter, or if it got us radio play, maybe his son.
Believe it or not, we're actually on the same side as the labels with regards to promo. Obviously, they do not want to part with hundreds of thousands of dollars for these undefinable "promoter fees," and guess what -- there's no law limiting what these "promoters" can charge you.
Unfortunately, thanks again to Congress, the labels can't get together and say "We're not gonna pay this anymore," because then it's collusion and anti-trust. Someone on the promoter's side has a Pretty Powerful Pal up on Capitol Hill. No self-respecting rant about radio would be complete without a nod to the big guys themselves, Clear Channel. In case you don't know, Clear Channel is run by a man named Lowry Mays(I did not make that name up -- probably has a Roman numeral after it and everything). Thanks to the Telecommunications Act -- which turns the American media world into a buffet, and allows any tycoon, impartial to race, creed or color, to now own as many radio stations as he damn well pleases -- ole Lowry and Sons here go to town buying up every single station in sight. Then they fire all the employees, especially the ones who've been there for decades, and replace them with talking Schnauzers.
Clear Channel owns about 60% of the modern rock radio stations in the U.S. They also own television stations, radio tracking magazines and most importantly and terrifying, the promotions companies and the venues. Basically, if you're not gonna play ball with Clear Channel, you're gonna end up like Luca Brasi. Of course, most artists are champing at the bit to talk on the record about these guys (note sarcasm). Keep your fingers crossed or in a few years, we'll all be listening to their music, watching their television, reading their newspapers, believing their news, using their toilet paper, wearing their sneakers and eating their chicken. My little acronym for radio is, "Ridiculous Advertising Dollars In Place of Originality. Technically, it spells "RADIPOO," which is just as good.
YOU MORON-SAN, THERE AIN'T NO POP MARKET IN JAPAN!
Don't fear for a minute that just because we owned our music over here in the states that we wouldn't get a taste of exactly WHY we decided to own our masters in the first place. You see, we did a licensing deal with Avex in Japan. A large, predominantly dance-oriented label over there, but they do have some acts like Muse, etc., so we figure, why not, especially since they're giving us close to 40 grand for the record and promising tour support, pre-release trip for press junket, etc. Personally, this is where I thought we'd do the best, considering that these days, the U.S. is overflowing with fashionably angry teens who'd beat up Aunt Bee just to impress their friends, and tons o' pop bands have made entire careers playing to the Japanese fans. But apparently we were mistaken, as we're later told, "Japan isn't a very big pop market." That's like saying China doesn't have a really big Asian population.
So our record comes out over there, we sign a sub-publishing deal w/ Kiss' guy in Japan, and the video hits MTV Japan. Mission: You sells 2,000 copies in under three weeks in Japan -- this is without us ever having set foot on Japanese soil -- and Avex stalls and stalls about the "pre-record" tour, 'til it becomes the "during record" tour, 'til it became the "There's no record out, why tour?" tour. We got a fresh dose of what it's like to deal with an A&R person. The exact reason we were doing what we were doing over here was killing us over there. Basically, one annoying wretch of a woman stopped everything cold. This woman, named "Junko" or "Jinko" or "Junkyard" or something like that, took weeks to reply to Adrian's emails. Then, an opportunity arises to tour with Sloan over there, and we think we might finally go. Everyone is happy, the cost is cheap, the promoter loves the band, Sloan is cool with it, THE COST IS CHEAP, etc. Alas, at the MIDEM conference in France, Avex drops the bomb and tells Adrian one of the funniest things I've heard in my entire life -- that basically, 2000 units is all that can be expected out of a pop record in Japan because, after all, Japan isn't a really big pop market anyway, and there's no reason to bring the band over as they "probably won't sell anymore." The guy then proceeds to amazingly pick the next six winning numbers of the Illinois State Lottery and currently has his own Jamaican fortune-telling show late nights on CBS. We're currently trying to get the record back from these rocket scientists.
EVERYTHING DIES, BABY, THAT'S A FACT...
Back to the fun in the states! We continue going about our business of being a band and losing money and not being able to afford the life-size posters of ourselves looking like N'SYNC in the front of Tower Records, which wouldn't matter if we could 'cuz there's like a three-year waiting list, anyway. Then, slowly but surely the stock market goes "kaplooey" and the "tech stocks" go right along with 'em, 'til virtually every music site has either "gone fishing" or been lawyered out of business by Hilary Rosen and the RIAA. In what literally happened almost overnight, these Internet music companies that were throwing AOL $10 million just for the privilege of being one of their featured "sites" were now living that "Staples" commercial where the office uses only one pen to save money. And Napster collapses, too. Well, they didn't really collapse; they were pounded into submission by the RIAA.
In case you don't know, the RIAA is the Recording Industry Association of America, which used to, and is supposed to, represent artists, but which in reality represents big business and even bigger dollars. In the same way a democracy isn't good at preparing for events like 9/11 before they occur, so the record industry had no idea what to do when a thing like Napster came along. They ignored it at first and hoped it would go away, then, when they realized how popular it was due to the fact that there's only about 10 bands on the radio, they squashed it with litigation and lobbying. As more of these types of sites started popping up, the RIAA basically began acting like a political version of "Whack A Mole", striking any interesting idea or concept that might arise with a lethal blow to the head from a hammer neatly wrapped in red tape. Then they copy it. I'm soap-boxing, but for all those folks who said Napster and sites like it were stealing from the artists because the artists weren't getting paid, they'll surely be happy to know that the new sites, like the label-owned "MusicNet" and "Pressplay", are taking care of that problem by paying the artists a whopping .0023 dollars per download.
This means an artist currently needs four songs downloaded before he/she sees a penny. The point of confusion for me is that a lot of the indie stores who told us they were against file sharing because it robs the artists of their royalties, are the ones who sell used CD's as a cornerstone of their operation. Wonder what the royalty payments are on a $5.00 used Depeche Mode disc. The other interesting point on this is that the labels own these companies hawking the music as well as the music that's being hawked, so they charge themselves a ridiculously cheap rate, which is way below fair market value, to license the work. Can you say "Holy anti-trust, Batman?" This is why Napster just won an important stay in the courts. The judge actually agreed that the labels are "price fixing" amongst themselves - duh -- and nicotine is not addictive.
MUSSOLINI TO APPEAR ON THE GRAMMIES, STORY AT 11.
In what appeared to be one of the more humorous moments on a music show since Howard Stern arrived as "Fartman", Benito Mussolini himself channeled his spirit through the body of Michael Greene and began ranting against filesharing with all the manic paranoia of an Alabama Supreme Court Judge ranting about the evils of Homosexuality. However, what Mussolini failed to realize, in his infinite wisdom, is that music is a living thing and will evolve and adapt. And, just like a creature living in or near the water eventually grows gills, Music, faced with diminishing quality on an almost weekly basis, yet still charging double the price, will grow Napster and sites like it. Mr. Mussolini also convienently left out that buying CD's will not really help most artists since most artists receive only pennies per disc.
ARE THERE ANY "INDIE" ARTISTS OUT THERE, ANYWAY?
The RAC benefit was a concert to protest the 7-year labor law in California. First of all, most artists will not spend 7 months on a label, let alone 7 years. The ones that do are usually superstars by then and are looking to get out of their deals in 7 years to be free agents. First, I support the repeal of the law -- I think it's retarded to make recording artists the only exception to every labor law, but can you imagine the price of a U2 CD after Bono gets the only two labels left bidding on him? It'll be like buying box seats to a Baseball game. I can understand groups like the Deftones saying they never saw a royalty check and believe me, I feel their pain, but the other side of that is they currently draw thousands, sell tons of merch and make quite the pretty penny playing live -- and like other major label artists at the benefit, will go on to have lucrative careers on their own if they choose to, thanks to the dump truck of promotional cash that the labels laid out to begin with. I'm willing to bet a sushi dinner that any "Do It Yerselfer" out there that you know of, who's got a great career, probably started out on a major (and be creative -- pick someone besides Ani or Fugazi). I'd like to turn back the clock and see if one of these bands, having another chance, would avoid the big-budgeted promotional machine. If they did, you wouldn't see them sitting next to Britney at the Grammys. I know the message needs to get out there in whatever way the apathetic, lethargic, artist community can muster, so that's a good thing and let's hope it's just a start.
OUR ONE BIG BREAK
One fine day a few months back, we were actually invited to go on Howard Stern with Gene Simmons. Gene was promoting a show he was doing on 25 years of the labels screwing artists over, and he was real interested in telling us fellow Jews and Goyem that we made a big mistake and should have signed the standard deal, as there's no substitute for a major's huge pocketbook. He got some of that stuff in, but failed to mention that Kiss had about three albums that tanked early on, before Alive did anything. I doubt you'd see that today. Anyway, Gene's lovely but ditzy publicist never told Gary (Bababooey) that Gene had to leave at a certain time 'til it was almost that time, so they rushed us past Hank the drunk dwarf and into the studio, and although we still had about a half hour left, all Gene talked about, bless his little Jewish businessman heart, was the "Kiss Coffin."
Yup. For five grand you could be buried in a casket with Kiss all over it, and while you were alive you could use it as a beer cooler. Well, I learned a lot about this particular coffin but didn't get a chance to say much, although Howard was great. Then the nimrods over at the "E" channel cut out the few words I did manage to get in, so I looked like Gene's gay lover just sitting there by his side, smiling at him for a half-hour. The "E" dorks didn't even let the footage of Evan sticking his snake-like tongue out and touching it to Gene's, air! No accounting for taste.
"THE CONSTIPATED COLON OF CREATIVITY" -- AKA RELEASING A RECORD IN TODAY'S CLIMATE
If you follow me over here, we have the current state of the industry. No, not over there, that's my "Boytoy" magazine collection -- over here. We are in an era where no matter whom the artist is, once the product dries up, they ship you off the assembly line, period. Sinead! Bowie! Elton! And rumor has it the man himself, Mick Jagger, might be dropped from Atlantic. If they do that, it'll be like opening the "Pinhead Box" from Hellraiser. I'm fairly certain that had The Beatles been around today, they, too, would be dropped. These days the definition of "Artist Development" means the size of Britney's implants. Like my sister says, "Concerts (like the recent Janet Jackson one from Hawaii) are beginning to look less like music and more like "ESPN's Cheerleading Championships from Memphis State." Not that Janet's not an adorable version of a soft core porn star, but ya might as well just put on a drum loop and let 'em bounce around -- oh, wait, that's what they're doing. I'm waiting for the day when a Kmart mannequin named "Brenda Barbie" signs to J Records and Uncle Clive pays Desmond Child to write her some hit songs. Will anyone know the difference?
Producing high-quality demos have become much more of a possibility for the aspiring musician now that Pro-Tools and MOTU and the rest have hit the stores. But look at the CHANNELS for distributing all these possible creative works these days. Forget the Internet, as there are a bazillion bands with sites just trying to keep their heads above water. The corporate monoliths have tightened these channels up so severely, they look like an x-ray of Edgar Bronfman's colon after swallowing a small goat. You've got all this music funneling down into the smallest of outlets controlled by five companies, which will, no doubt, become two in a few short years. Can you see it? Big Brother and Bigger Brother records. They will not give up control and they will not give up fighting for control. Where it used to be if a major passed on your band you could go to Caroline or Twin Tone or IRS or Mammoth, etc., etc., you now, basically have only one option as they're all owned by the same company. Not to mention the fact that if you do manage to squeeze your record through the bowels of this constricted colon (sorry, I know it's gross), you've got what amounts to a movie's "Opening Weekend" to go gold or be sent back to Wonka as a "bad egg."
And how do you get 500,000 people to know that your record's coming out and to buy it in the first three days of its release? You don't hang on to your masters, that's for sure. You roll the dice, hope for the best, and hope to God that your balls aren't squished down to the size of peas. You hope you're not in court five years from now trying to get that first (and last) album your band made back to sell on your website, Hasbeen.com. There are a few cool sites out there, like CD Baby, but it's not enough. See, the basic Catch 22 is: Ya can't get radio without selling records -- ya can't get gigs without getting radio-- ya can't sell records without touring - and ya can't tour without radio. This rule applies to mostly everyone except the "jam bands" -- if you look or sound like the Grateful Dead, you will instantly have millions of fans, no matter how bad you are. Just plug in a chorus
pedal and you're on your way.
I SPRAINED MY ANKLE OF DESIRE, YOU GO ON WITHOUT ME
I know it's sad, but what else can ya do? Just the other day Evan called and asked me if I'm ready to sell out, and I said, "Hell, yeah. Why?" He said, "There's a company that might want to use our music, and you hate them more than Clear Channel." "More than Clear Channel?" I thought. "Who do I hate more than Clear Channel?" "Marlboro," was the response. He was right. Thank God it didn't come down to having to decide. How long can we knock at the door with no one answering before we give up and walk away? The answer, surprisingly to us, is, for a long time to come. Why? I'll tell ya. Because as we entered that first day of rehearsals for the next record last week at our space in Hoboken, as the prospect of our current record ever getting into people's hands and actually listened to, became a dismal blip on the screen of musical-consciousness, we were all terrified at the fact of having tried and failed at something we so strongly believed in and still do believe in. Then we started playing -- and we realized, "We're a great band! We don't suck!" And the reason we keep doing this is because of the response we get when we play -- that, and the fact that we all have nothing else to do.
SUMMARY -- IF YOU'RE STILL READING, I'M IMPRESSED
Believe it or not, the hardest thing for me to deal with at this point is not the ambivalent artists or the prospect of another day job looming on the horizon; it's when your relatives say to you, "I've heard great things about the band! How's the record doing?" My stomach sinks and I just say, "We're hanging in there." It's quite amusing when Aunt Alice says, "We went to Best Buy to get the record and were just in time -- we got the last copy!" What aunt Alice doesn't realize is that they got the only copy. It's not all doom and gloom, and the good Lord Jesus Christ, uh, I mean, Moses, never gives us more than we can handle, right?
The really positive thing that's come out of this weird experience is that I've started speaking to the kids who are the future of the business, both musically and legally. I've started talking at Harvard, Georgetown, Vanderbilt, etc., and last weekend we spoke to the students of Emory Law School in Atlanta - and then played a show at night. It's amazing that a lot of these students get so wrapped up in the books that they actually learn from our experiences and vantage point. They love to have live, animated musicians talking to them about the industry rather than a stuffy professor. I have to say I like it almost as much as playing and believe it or not, it's more rewarding to know that you can give knowledge to someone and help them avoid the potholes you, yourself, hit on the road they're about to travel down. That was the basic reason for Fripp founding DGM in the first place. Going through 20 years of the business, coming out the other end and going, "Wow, that sucked. How can we do things differently?"
That's what we're trying to do without wasting the 20 years. We're attempting to put an old head on new shoulders, and although there's only a small number of us out there talking this talk, that's pretty much how democracy was started -- two guys sitting in a tavern in Boston, and one of 'em says, "Ya know what? This 'tea tax' sucks." And the other guy says, "Yeah, you're right it does."
As far as getting the message out there, hopefully, we can continue to do our part. And as for our great, starving record, I think we need a bit of the 1980 U.S. hockey-team magic. Do you believe in miracles?
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SALON CITY MAGAZINE
TOP TEN WAYS TO SAVE OUR COUNTRY
By David Fagin
While contemplating key ways to help my fellow Americans recognize, and correct, our country’s current problems, and in keeping with the “Get Your PhD in Just Two Weeks!” philosophy, I came up with a list that offers a quick and easy “ten-step plan” to regain that unique confidence and pride we once felt individually, and as a nation.
1. Cut Military Spending
Here are three easy things we could do right off the bat if we scrapped just one ninety-nine billion dollar F-15 fighter jet program:
a. For $500,000,000 we could hire 10,000 new teachers at $50,000 a year.
b. For eighty-nine billion dollars, we could provide one full year of health care coverage for every single man, woman, and child living in Connecticut, Delaware, Hawaii, Iowa, Kansas, Maine, Montana, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Rhode Island, Wyoming, Vermont, and New Jersey.
c. With the remaining fifty bucks, I could send my grandma a nice floral arrangement.
2. Cut Military Spending
This deserves two spots on the list.
3. License Required for Becoming a Parent
It seems every week another gut-wrenching story surfaces about a baby found in a dumpster. The problem is so widespread that several sanitation companies have begun hanging Elmo mobiles above their trash bins.
Our schools teach us to sew in Home Economics and how to build elephant lamps in Wood Shop, yet we’re never taught how to be good parents. We’d all be better off with a senior year class called, “Parenting 101.” (Some inner city schools would offer the class sophomore year.) Passing a test before you can become a parent would cut down on the number of “waste bin babies.”
4. Remove Domino’s Pizza from Speed Dial
Scientists say that Americans are so fat that the U.S. is sinking into the ocean at the rate of a foot per year. We need to make organic foods as accessible as a “McRib Happy Meal.” If, as a nation, we don’t start losing weight fast, within twenty years the entire continent will be under water. Scare ya? Good! So, put down the damn Twinkie and eat an organically grown apple instead!
5. Pass a Federal Law Banning All Reality Programming
The A.C. Nielsen Company reports that by this time next year, every American will have his/her own reality show. If that happens, who will be home to watch television and buy the products the advertisers advertise? If we’re all out filming our own shows, our entire economy could collapse overnight, forcing parents to prostitute their kids for food. Whether it’s Top Chef, Top Model, Top Design, Judge Wopner, Judge Judy, or Judge Reinhold, we as a public, are riveted by these programs.
Banning reality shows = save the children!
6. Catch Osama
What would be more American than using a can of Coke to catch America’s most-wanted terrorist? Here’s how: We know Osama’s a big fan of American spoils, such as satellite phones, iPods, Britney, etc. So, we strategically place a can of Coke in front of a cave in the Pakistani desert and wait... Unable to resist the call of this wonderful elixir, Bin Laden eventually emerges to grab the Coke, and “Bam!” We grab him!
7. Eliminate Our Need for Fossil Fuel
Gas prices are at an all time high and climbing by the hour. In a few short years, we’ll be taking out a second mortgage just to fill up the mini-van. I propose we do away with all motor vehicles and, in keeping with the physical fitness craze, put everyone on a “Big Wheel” or “Hoppity-Hop.” It may take a bit longer to get there, but think of the benefits to your quads and to the environment! (Fans of Rap music may opt for the “Hippity-Hop” model with the MC Hammer head.)
8. Freeze Movie Ticket Price at $5.00
A recent study shows that, these days, many parents of two or more children have a difficult time choosing between a night at the movies and college for the kids. Freezing movie ticket prices (as well the price of a jumbo popcorn) would give all American families the ability to both; see Shrek 10, as well as send Junior on a semester abroad, without ending up in the poorhouse.
9. Introduce “Innocence Returning Drug” Into Nation’s Water Supply
As a nation, we’ve pretty much seen it all, haven’t we? Don’t we all wish to return to the time our parents used to tell us about? A time when all girls saved themselves until marriage and gas was fifty cents a gallon? I propose we develop “Nostalgine,” a powerful opiate that will erase your memory and leave you with a sense of enthusiastic wonder, and introduce it into our drinking water. One glass of this “ignorance on tap” and we’ll all be thinking that our girlfriends are virgins, gas is cheap, and how honorable our politicians are… just like in the fifties. Imagine waking up and not knowing about terrorism, reality shows, or that Rob Schneider wants to be an actor.
10. Hold “Inner Beauty” Pageant
Isn’t it time we held a pageant to show young women everywhere what qualities are truly important in a role model? Donald Trump could executive produce the first nationwide pageant that would crown the woman who’s most beautiful on the inside. The girls, whose looks would be disguised, would compete in events designed to demonstrate their capacity for honesty, compassion, and good will. The winner would be judged on her depth of personality, rather than her face and figure. Of course, we wouldn’t pick a dog.
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