8Sided Blog

a zine about sound, culture, and the punk rock dream

Policy of Glue

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The passing of Depeche Mode’s Andy Fletcher — at 60, far too young — renewed the light-hearted debate about his role in the pioneering synth-pop outfit. “Martin’s the songwriter, Alan’s the good musician, Dave’s the vocalist, and I bum around,” he stated in the documentary Depeche Mode: 101.

Andy was aware of this ambiguity. One could guess it stemmed from the apparent influence of Kraftwerk. No one was certain of the individual Kraftwerkers’ contributions beyond what concert-goers witnessed on stage in the early days. In an interview for Electronic Beats, Andy acknowledged this: “… bands like Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode actually work as divisions of labor collectives. The contribution of each individual remains invisible. And because I don’t push myself to the fore, many mistake me for the fifth wheel.”

There are even jokes about how Andy didn’t even plug in his keyboard for concerts. Well, I saw Depeche Mode in 1991, and I had a terrible seat — if the band was facing in the direction of 6 o’clock, I was seated at ten past the hour. With that view from behind, I do remember looking down and seeing hands resting on the keyboard despite the sound of rousing chord changes.

But then we learn that Andy was ‘the glue’ holding Depeche Mode together, a phrase repeatedly mentioned in music press obituaries. Especially before the band achieved its massive popularity, Andy acted as a sort of manager, handling the band’s business affairs and making informed decisions. I imagine he interfaced with Mute, their label, had a hand in Depeche Mode’s unmistakable branding and public image, and made more than a few tactical recommendations as the band rocketed to fame.

In the 21st century, a band member of this sort is increasingly crucial and more common than you think. There are at least a couple of well-known electronic acts I’m acquainted with where one of the members is the business head rather than a studio boffin. Sometimes these folks are even the ones doing press and interviews, relieving stress from the shy bandmate who’d rather be programming a synthesizer.

The difference from an acting manager is investment. Like Andy, this individual is seen as a member of the band, does have some say on the musical output despite the lack of studio chops, and may even get songwriting credit (and publishing shares) for his or her indispensable contribution.

This arrangement is a great idea, and I encourage bands I advise to think this way. It’s pretty much impossible to get a (competent) manager to handle an act’s affairs before the band has reached some level of success. If self-promotion, social media posting, talking to promoters, and keeping track of schedules and finances bums you out, then add someone to the band with that responsibility. If you’re a solo producer, then become a duo. There are already a lot of electronic music duos out there that are duos primarily based on this idea.

This concept doesn’t downplay Andy Fletcher’s contribution one bit. As we’ve learned, he was ‘the glue’ and the one holding things down, so the others had more space to write and record. It’s hard to dispute that Andy had equal importance to the rest of Depeche Mode’s membership. That glue is the secret to an act’s success, and if it’s missing from your music career’s toolbox, you should find some straight away.

I’m Screaming Inside

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Another week, another shooting. Another mass shooting — a horrible, unthinkable, unimaginably terrifying act of inhumanity aided by a fringe-boosted gun culture that thinks banning — or even limiting access to! — assault rifles are, I don’t know, a slippery slope to the Harvesters from The Matrix shoving us all in pods. Little kids — children! — were most of the victims. Once again. Seriously, I just typed “once again.”

I wish I were a more seasoned writer as I want to write about this but I don’t know how. I want to write about the horror that this could happen to my nieces or my friend’s kids at school, or to my wife or mother or me while grocery shopping. It’s unlikely but it sure seems likely.

I want to write about the frustration of knowing nothing’s going to happen to prevent other children or people from being harmed. That the ‘well if we just arm teachers’ line is going to be trotted out again by the same people who won’t allow firearms at their convention. And that those people have paid for indifference from those who could actually do something. Meanwhile, the ones supposedly on our side won’t take hold of the narrative and force some political accountability. It’s infuriating, it’s scary. I don’t have the aptitude to write through this.

Oh, and I want to write about the guns. They are the problem, full stop. The nonsensical culture around them is a part of that problem. The lobbying and money pouring into the political system is a part of that problem. The excuses made in public by those who know better are another part of that problem. But it all stems from guns.

My dad was a gun guy, a lifetime member of that organization I mentioned above that won’t allow firearms at their party. And he thought assault weapons should be banned. Most gun guys do. So why is there a problem? That’s the least of what should happen, what should have happened a long time ago.

Maybe someday I’ll get my writing chops in gear and lay down a moving essay that’ll make me feel a smidgen better. But for now, I’m angry. This is a broken, demolished country and it’s impossible to see it any other way. The fact others don’t get this — or are ‘let’s burn it all down’ psychopaths— is pure gaslighting.

It feels like I’m screaming inside. Like all the time.

Here are a couple of commentaries from two of my favorite newsletter writers that I hope you’ll click and read in full:

todayintabs.com
What Are You Willing To Do?
We all know what happened. Now what?
todayintabs.com
What Are You Willing To Do?
We all know what happened. Now what?

Rusty Foster:

Since at least 2016, I’ve been asking myself: what am I willing to do? So far the answer is protest, when there’s a protest happening. I quit my job, and I encourage others to quit their jobs when I get a chance. I vote, for all the good that does. So in total: I’ve done nothing.
[…]
The truth is, I don’t know what to do. I hugged my own third grader goodbye this morning and sent her off to school. The middle school she’ll attend in three years is remote today because they discovered “threats” in a bathroom. We live in a country where statistically, until age 19, she is most likely to die of a gunshot wound. So what am I willing to do? Anything. 

Tell me what to do.

annehelen.substack.com
This is What Happens When You Live Under Minority Rule
And this continued inaction is how a government loses its legitimacy
annehelen.substack.com
This is What Happens When You Live Under Minority Rule
And this continued inaction is how a government loses its legitimacy

Ann Helen Petersen:

The dilution of votes in cities is the point, and so long as the minority remains in power, it will continue to make laws (and judgments) that protect against its erosion. Voter registration campaigns are not enough. Reciprocal gerrymandering strategies, not enough. If, in a state like Idaho, you go through the initiative process to try and pass legislation (like Medicaid expansion) that’s actually popular, then the legislation will rewrite the laws to prevent it from ever happening again. 

It’s not enough to live in a blue state. It’s not enough to try and send your kids to private school. It’s not enough to donate to an abortion fund. It’s not even enough to have money, or a home, or an education. Privilege can insulate you from the hostility of American society but it cannot ultimately save you from it. Collective and individual action feel impotent. The idea of representative democracy comes to feel like a farce.
[…]
Voting, on its own, will not be enough to change that. We have to decide: what will be?

What a Time to Be Alive

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“What a time to be alive,” he groaned.

About a decade ago, a friend and I talked about how the world was in turmoil and disturbingly uncertain. I remember telling him my theory that the cause of almost all modern conflict is resistance to change. Humans are progressing and becoming more enlightened, for the most part, and the status quo doesn’t approve. A concerted and institutional effort to stop this change only gets more desperate. After all, change is inevitable — it’s happening whether anyone wants it, which is ultimately an optimistic view.

But, as I told my friend, it will get a lot worse before it gets better. So we sighed and shook our heads in grudging anticipation for the tough times ahead. But we had no idea it would get to this.

It’s not easy to write through democracy in crisis. ‘The American Experiment,’ once presented with holy reverence in high school civics classes, may not survive the strain of 250 years. What seemed hyperbolic and the province of chicken littles is now a rising possibility. It’s scary out there. And I find it unfathomable that this is acceptable to others who also sat through those civics classes. Some of them — elected officials, even — are cheering on democracy’s potential collapse.

How did we get here?

Sean Illing is the host of Vox Conversations. Within that weekly podcast, Sean launched a monthly series called The Philosophers. Each episode focuses on different philosophers and how their teachings are relevant today. And the installment on philosopher Hannah Arendt, author of 1973’s The Origins of Totalitarianism, is an eye-opener. The podcast isn’t an easy listen — not because it’s dense but because of how Arendt’s findings apply to our situation. I found the conversation illuminating, and though it didn’t add hope to my day, it brought some new perspectives.

The perceived helplessness is stifling, too. I’m a massive advocate of voting — if you saw me DJ close to the 2004 and 2008 elections, I was probably wearing a t-shirt with “VOTE!” written across my chest. But the right to vote, the bedrock of democracy, is increasingly compromised. And then there’s the fatigue of seeing too many elected officials not sounding the alarm as they should. In her fantastic Lorem Ipsum newsletter, Margot Boyer-Dry linked to this cartoon, accurately summing up the feeling in the air. 

But I think voting is still the most important action, in concert with other forms of activism, support, and donation. The guiding principle is to do the opposite of what the knuckleheads want. And they don’t want us to vote. The evidence is there. They want us to feel frustrated and powerless. They want us to ignore local and midterm elections and only care about presidential politics. And they want us to vote for third-party candidates and to believe those votes count.

The fact is that our political system is based on what’s called ‘first-past-the-post’ voting. Intrinsically, this creates a two-party system (even independents like Sanders have to align themselves with one of two parties), and voting outside of those, at best, does nothing but provide a limited sense of personal satisfaction. CGP Grey has a great video on first-past-the-post voting and how easily it can lead to undesirable outcomes. 

CGP Grey - Vote Leopard

Look, I’m not saying this is a great system. Far from it! If I had my way, there would be zero political parties in the US or, at the very least, a parliamentarian system. Ranked choice voting is the most probable alternative within the US system, but it’s still a pipe dream on a national level.1If you like the idea of ranked choice voting, the best way to advance the concept is to build support for it in your city or county. Ranked choice voting will need to trickle upward to acceptability.

You might cry that I’m asking you to vote for “the lesser of two evils.” I am, and that’s not a bad thing! That’s the only way to make first-past-the-post voting work for us. We find candidates that are a step in our preferred direction, even if those steps are baby steps. We won’t and don’t have to agree with everything — just those things that are important to us. If we’re consistent in electing ‘baby step’ candidates, those steps get larger and larger as new candidates see how the wind is blowing. The alternative is what we have now: steps backward. And, dismayingly, these backward steps are large steps. For those traditionally trod upon, they’re giant steps.

Speaking of those giant steps backward, here’s Margot Boyer-Dry again, from a recent edition of Lorem Ipsum:

Having moved through the years 2016-2022, this moment is hitting bluntly, mainly because it feels like there’s relatively little to be done from an establishment perspective (again, outside the voting, which we will all do responsibly, if with a degree of dejection). But what does that leave? Everything besides the establishment. I think we’re about to see a lot of guerilla change. Just wait until we all start hosting kids from Florida in our city apartments while they get medical care. Watch the startups normalize mail-order abortion pills. Observe the the Supreme Court’s crumbling in the cultural consciousness. There will be stuff to do; we just have to make it up. Sit tight.

🔗→ see also: Creating Sends a Signal

Imagining Astronauts Overhead

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Early in the morning — 4:00 AM on the dot — I was woken by a deep but distant rumbling sound. At first, I thought the sub-bass rattle was from one of the formidable car stereos often heard rolling through a busy intersection a mile to the west of my place. But there was no rhythmic consistency, so these weren’t jeep beats.

Then I remembered seeing, previously that day, an alert for a SpaceX launch scheduled just before the rumble eased me out of my sleep. Four astronauts were on their way to the space station. 

I live over 50 miles away in Orlando, and, on a cloudless day, I can see the Cape Canaveral launches on the horizon over my backyard lake. It’s one of my favorite things about living here. But I’ve never heard the sound of a launch from here before, much less get woken by one. Perhaps it was the tranquil evening; the lift-off sounds resting on light winds blowing in my direction. I quickly fell back asleep, imagining astronauts overhead.

There’s a moral conflict when awful people do good things. I love spaceflight — I was hooked ever since I gawked over the first Space Shuttle launch from a pier in Cocoa Beach. So, of course, I’m happy that SpaceX has revitalized the rocket industry and gotten more people excited about space exploration. And, tangentially, I’m thrilled that Tesla made electric cars sexy to the point where every major car company is now invested in plug-in vehicles. But the billionaire behind all of this is a knucklehead. What makes him more awful is that he gets all sorts of ‘passes’ because of his money and influence as a perceived genius. 

Furthermore, his stated aspirations with Twitter show he shares a pervasive, toxic idea with other awful people in the monied class: that rich people should be able to exclusively define free speech as something that excludes the financially privileged from consequences.

I’ll keep cheering on rocket launches, though I simply like rockets, SpaceX or otherwise. And my next car will be an electric one. It won’t be a Tesla.

🔗→ Some great thoughts on this topic from Ezra Klein.

On Social Media and Teeth-Gnashing

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When purchasing an item — a pizza, a pillow, or a phone plan — from a corporation that doesn’t share our ethical stamina, it can feel like willfully supporting the opposition. But we often don’t look that deeply into the vile whims of a brand’s owners or, if we are aware, can justify the quick pang of guilt by the low amount of investment. Regrettably, I feel that whenever I order from Amazon. 

Many of us try our best to consciously steer toward products and companies that align with our values, and it’s easier than ever to mine information to guide us. We’re all trying our best in this space — I know I’m doing a lot better than I was a few years ago — but it’s impossible to be perfect.

Social media platforms are a bit different. They’re free, for the most part, so it doesn’t feel like we’re handing over money that’ll end up used for nefarious purposes. But, from another point of view, social media is worse. By participating, we risk adding value to that platform. That multi-paragraph reminiscence posted on Facebook adds value to Facebook. Jazzy cooking tips uploaded to TikTok add value to TikTok. And, I’m embarrassed to say, those snappy one-liners and threads I post on Twitter create some value for Twitter. Not that my one-liners are any good, but many folks post their best stuff on social media and only social media. The value these folks get is negligible, but, in aggregate, the value earned by the platforms is enormous.

My thoughts today are consumed by my always twisty relationship with social media. I’ve been conflicted since the Friendster days. Still, I have always participated, only mildly aware of the value I added to the succession of platforms I frequented. Like you, I used social media to keep in touch with old friends, make new friends, ask questions, share recommendations, and vent. I also used these platforms to promote my music, show what I’m working on professionally, find gigs in faraway cities, and get subscribers to my email newsletter. It always felt like more take than give — social media served me, not the other way around. But I was wrong. Only in the past several years have I realized this deception is embedded in social media’s design. My participation creates value, a notch on a chart at a shareholders’ meeting.

I want that ‘take’ aspect, though. I want to bring people to my blog, email newsletter, and music projects. Social media has its uses, despite the formidable downsides. I’m now examining this question: how can I use social media with the intention of adding as little value to the platforms as possible?

As an experiment, I’m going to step away from Twitter. That doesn’t mean I’m going silent or deleting my account. Instead, I’ll become intentional in what I bring to my feed. Ideally, posts will always contain a link away from Twitter. Most of the time, this link will send you to 8sided.blog. In other words, my feed becomes a signpost to find my blog and other projects. I don’t know yet how much I’ll engage on Twitter — I have many ‘Twitter friends,’ after all — but I’m hopeful I can steer conversations to my blog comment section or email exchanges.

A few years ago, I stopped posting on my Facebook personal page, though I still update the 8D Industries ‘fan page’ with release news. In the spirit of this experiment, I’ll start using Facebook the same way I’ll use Twitter: blog links, project news, and prompts to move any discussion to my blog. I have no idea how that will go — I worry the post comments will tempt me to start monitoring Facebook, and I don’t want to get into that. But, as with Twitter, anything I post will contain a link that goes to a site I own.

Even this little bit still adds a smidgen of value to these platforms. Does the potential of redirecting users to my blog deliver a greater value for me? Am I naïvely imagining some sort of personal ‘carbon offset’ to social media’s harm? The intangibility is frustrating, and, just as I don’t want to increase the profits of that pizza company or the pillow guy, it pains me to think that I’m part of an ‘active users’ stat that shows up in a Facebook or Twitter earnings report.

Maybe I’m putting off the inevitable. Perhaps this experiment will yield nothing but teeth-gnashing and anxious excuses. Something tells me cold turkey is a better option, especially if a particular former head of state gets his accounts back.

I’m giving it a try anyway. That means I’m pledging to write a lot more on this blog. Now that I’m freeing up the mental space previously taken up with concocting snappy one-liners for Twitter, it should be easy. And, believe me, after today’s events, I’ve never been more inspired to write a blog and send out an email newsletter.

❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋

I’ll finish with some quick technical notes. My goal is to never directly go to these platforms. Instead, I will post remotely using Publer (referral link), the best option I’ve found for doing that sort of thing. I’ll use Fraidycat to keep up with the interesting Twitter accounts I enjoy and Nitter to look at any Twitter feeds or posts. For Safari, an extension called Privacy Redirect will automatically go to the corresponding Nitter mirror when you click on a Twitter link.

Posting on the Facebook personal page is more challenging as there aren’t any remote options available via their API. As far as I know, presently, one can only post remotely to a fan/business page or a group. I may have to post and immediately hit the road (I use VPN and tracking blockers). Again, I’m not sure if that will work as comment engagement will be a temptation. If I see comments building to a link I post, I’ll have stock copy-and-paste text for replying, requesting that we take it to the blog comments section. I doubt that will be too effective, but it’s worth a try.

I’ll update you on how this goes. And I’d love to hear what you think. I’ll see you in the comments section.

The Punk Rock Dream

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I’m watching this Minutemen concert video from 1985 (“And when reality appears digital,” Mike Watt soothsays at 18:57) and thinking about the punk rock dream. American independent music was at its height, disadvantaged, compared to its British counterpart, by the sheer size of the country. For the first time, bands like these were finding nationwide renown without a major label attached. (A quick pause to recommend Michael Azerrad’s essential book Our Band Could Be Your Life if you’d like to learn more about these scenes.) But the dream — yes, the punk rock dream — was autonomy. Self-releasing, self-distributing, self-promoting, self-administrating, self-booking. Some, like Ian MacKaye’s still inspirational Dischord outfit, came closer than anyone had before.

Fast forward a few years after that Minutemen concert. I was nineteen years old and wanted more than anything to start a record label. But those were ancient times, and I had no idea how to manufacture vinyl or find a distributor and doubted it was possible from my lonely North Louisiana dorm room anyway. So I dreamed — came up with names, imagined the types of bands I’d sign, scribbled fake logos, studied the discographies (and personalities) of labels like SST, Alternative Tentacles, and Factory.

What a time. Here I am (guitar) at nineteen, playing something resembling punk rock with my friends (photo by David):

“Home Taping Is Killing Music” was a strange ’80s PR campaign by the British Phonographic Industry, a trade organization representing major labels and distributors. We read that slogan to mean “the music industry” as taping our friends’ records made more music, not less. The punks agreed. Alternative Tentacles released Dead Kennedys’ In God We Trust Inc. on a one-sided cassette — the b-side was blank. The cassette displayed the familiar tape-and-crossbones icon (now appropriated by The Pirate Bay) and the phrase, “Home taping is killing record industry profits!” Below that: “We left this side blank so you can help.”

The major labels were the target of our ire, but, in reality, our problem was with the corporate gatekeepers. Sure, we had our gatekeepers — the fanzines, the college radio DJs, the cool punk rock clubs. Not all gatekeepers are bad, but those corporate gatekeepers insisted on shoving their agenda-culture down our throats. 

Because of this attitude, some celebrated when Napster supposedly (but not really) brought down the music industry. That era offered a glimpse of the power of self-distribution, aided by the internet revolution. As bandwidth got faster and tools more sophisticated and egalitarian, predictions about ‘the end of the major label’ were common (guilty as charged). “No more gatekeepers!” was the rallying cry — that emerging teenage bands would soon have the same chances at an audience as an established superstar. 

The result: not only are the corporate labels flourishing, but new gatekeepers have covertly replaced the old ones. Sure, the power to self-everything is here, but most choose to sieve their independence through an algorithmic filter. We’re gaming the gatekeepers just like old times, but now it’s about massaging the algorithm to get us on the right playlists, to amplify strategically placed hashtags, and to get the targets just right in that boosted Facebook post. 

There’s so much frustration with this newfound reliance on social media and low-paying streaming services. But do things have to be this way? 

Back in my dorm room, I was frustrated that I couldn’t figure out how to do what all the punk-inspired DIY’ers wanted: to navigate this music thing without any interference (or interaction) from ‘the man.’ That was the punk rock dream. And now we can have it but only if we really want it. The dream’s not easy, and algorithms, and the promise of shortcuts, are seductive.

If I’ve personally advised you on label or recording artist stuff, you’ve heard me mention ‘the punk rock dream.’ I talk about it a lot. I’ve been thinking about the concept since that dorm room. So, when I decided I needed a new tag-line for my blog, I decided on “A zine about sound, culture, and the punk rock dream.” Because, really, that’s what the blog and newsletter are all about. (The ‘zine’ part is a nod to how I got started with all of this.)

Revisiting my relationship with ‘the punk rock dream’ inspired me to start the process of moving my email newsletter off Substack. I’ve thought about this for several months and recent debates have strengthened a need for platform independence. The importance of self-publishing is probably best examined by talking through the changing definition of independent music.

The qualifications for ‘independent music’ once seemed cut-and-dry, apparent in Michael Azerrad’s book that I linked to above. Now things are fuzzier. How independent is the punkest of punk labels if they primarily promote through Zuckerberg’s platform, via a corporation so huge it would have given Jello Biafra an aneurysm back in the day? A band might self-release, but are they independent if Spotify and YouTube are the focus of their outreach? One could even go as far as to charge that a reliance on Apple products to make music is a dependence on the most giant of multi-national corporations. 

We can go all over the place with this until it’s just nitpicking and cutting hairs. But my definition of ‘independent,’ which I wrote about here, is summed up by a simple question: do you truly own the work you’re passionate about? 

That ownership includes all the decisions made about how an artist presents her work: how it’s distributed, how direct the access is to the audience, and the alignments that color the public perception of the work. The primary platform hosting this art — your preferred way for people to check out what you’ve made — plays a large part in determining ownership. The person who writes paragraphs of prose as a Facebook post doesn’t own that — Facebook can take it down at any time. It’s the same for a photographer using Instagram as her only portfolio. Or a video-maker hosting his achievements solely on YouTube. I don’t even think Bandcamp is immune, despite its reputation as a bastion of music independence. It’s all the same if you’re relying on it. How screwed would you be if it went away? Or if a corporation that doesn’t share your values acquired it?

I’m not saying you shouldn’t use these platforms. But position your art and the work you’re passionate about under the assumption that these platforms and — crucially — their policies are impermanent. These should be deployed as mere tools, not adopted as foundations. Let your work live somewhere you own, and make that place the primary destination for your audience. Everything else is a funnel. 

Sounds like the punk rock dream, right?

Self-publishing the newsletter is the way to go. I’ve done the research and am looking to apply something close to what Jared Newman is doing (without charging my readers, of course). There’s also some great advice from Ernie Smith of Tedium on self-publishing an email newsletter.

At the very beginning of Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care, I mentioned that the newsletter is an experiment until it isn’t. Changes are just another visit to the lab, mixing chemicals and seeing what happens. I’m constantly testing what independence means in the digital age and how the internet can facilitate — rather than stifle — that punk rock dream. Consider my newsletter and 8sided.blog a continuing report on my findings.

NFTs for the Rest of Us

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Since my last swipe at NFTs, the hype and debate have skyrocketed. Thankfully, some are looking into the ecological concerns (beyond the band-aid of buying offsets) where solutions would ultimately benefit all blockchain technology applications. And others are exploring how to use the malleable format of NFTs to create or enhance a new kind of art.  

Unfortunately, many see eight-figure sales of a digital collage, and their eyes become dollar signs out of a Looney Tunes cartoon. The overwhelming conversation around NFTs is driven by monster-sized auction results and incredulous “she got how much for what?” takes. This chatter drives the motivation of many artists getting into NFTs: it’s all about making loads of easy money.

Of course, I believe that deserving artists and musicians should be paid handsomely for their art. Duh. But if you’re looking at Beeple getting $69 million for his NFT (and a lot more is going on there) and thinking, “I need to get in on that,” you might want to examine why you’re creating art in the first place.

I’m an idealist, and I think that using the hope of an NFT payday to guide your artistic process is no different than letting a soft drink company change your song lyrics for an ad. That’s cool if you’re cool with it, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that your money-making scheme is anything else just because it’s attached to hip technology.

Seth Godin and Bob Lefsetz have written wise words on NFTs with varying levels of criticism (or realism). But I think that MusicREDEF’s Matty Karas has written the most useful critique so far on what NFTs mean for the music industry. I’m going to quote it almost in full because more people should read it:

Show me this works and I’ll believe NFTs really, truly work: Put an album up for sale as an NFT, straight up, with no bonus content, no scarcity, no exclusivity. A simple $9.99 token available anytime to anyone who wants it. Why would anyone do that?, you ask. For the same reason anyone would sell an MP3s on BANDCAMP or ITUNES, I’ll answer, with the bonus that everyone, from the artist to the songwriters to anyone else who needs to get paid, can get paid instantaneously, no waiting weeks or months, no need to ever wonder if the numbers are being reported accurately, no need to worry about someone pirating the music, and if someone wants to resell it at a discount (because that’s the only way you can resell something that’s readily available) or at a markup (because maybe one day you’ll put it out of print), the artist can get a cut of the resale either way. I get the fun of auctions and the allure of exclusivity and the dream of seven-figure transactions, and there’s a place for all of that of course … But if you’re telling me NFTs are important because they’re a way to authenticate ownership and control distribution and streamline payments, then show me they can do that without raising the price of an album from $9.99 to $9,999.99 and without creating one more experience your average fan can never have.

That’s the rub. There’s a ton of promise in NFTs and blockchain for artists and labels. The technology adds personalization and ownership to digital music and might be a path for fans to move away from the mess streaming’s gotten us into. But before that can happen, we’re going to have to stop looking at NFTs as a high-dollar fad, a get-rich-quick shortcut, or patronage from the crypto-affluent. It’s time to get into the bones of what the technology means for everyday fans, artists, and recording artists and steer the conversation toward the future.

Update → Via a recent post on David Gerard’s Attack of the 50 Foot Blockchain blog:

Put a large price tag on your NFT by buying it from yourself — then write a press release talking about your $100,000 sale, and you’re only out the transaction fee. Journalists who can’t be bothered checking things will write this up without verifying that the buyer is a separate person who exists. Just like the high-end art world!

The Hidden Value(s) of Digital Art

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Bitcoin Mining

My Twitter feed (among the type of accounts I follow) is filled with chatter about NFTs, those “non-fungible tokens” that are all the rage among music’s early adopter set. NFTs, as defined here, are digital representations of art (visual, audio, etc.). Though the art itself isn’t exclusive, ownership of the NFT can be. Ownership is tracked and verified on the blockchain. 

We can look at this as similar to buying a skin or virtual item in a video game — a digital totem that broadcasts status within the game. Likewise, an NFT would elevate an owner’s status among an artist’s community of fans. The buyer of an NFT might also simply want to support the artist as a patron as NFTs, often auctioned, can have large pay-outs. Or, an owner could hope to turn a profit — one can resell an NFT at a higher price, adding a speculative aspect.

That’s probably a naïve explanation of what’s going on here. I’m hardly an expert or crypto-savvy. But what I do know doesn’t leave me bullish on the mass adoption of NFTs. It’s not the digital-ness that throws me off. I’m fascinated by the potential of intangibility and decentralization. However, I see NFTs, in their present execution, amplifying some age-old problems within the music industry.

News of NFTs reaping multi-thousand dollar sales makes them enticing to artists. This model seems a solution for those struggling under the streaming economy, as a single NFT sale could pay more than millions of streams. And plenty of unknown-to-me musicians have recently done well with NFTs, boosting the platform’s independent-friendly appeal. However, as many hopeful emerging artists learned through failed Kickstarter campaigns, the success of an artist’s NFT will depend on the size (and intensity) of a pre-existing fanbase. And as soon as known and established artists catch on, it’s likely music’s 1% will dominate, just as they do on Spotify. 

There’s also the inherent class-separation of fans able to participate. It will get easier to create and bid on NFTs (right now, you’ve got to be technically in-the-know), but those strapped for cash will continue to be left out. I realize patronage has always existed in the arts — the rich funding culture — but we should examine how this tradition’s preservation is not exactly a radical move forward.

I’m also alarmed by the environmental impact of NFTs (and crypto-tech in general). Just before COVID-times, we started to see a reevaluation of a touring musician’s carbon footprint, notably by bands like Massive Attack and Coldplay. That was encouraging, as was the quick acceptance of live-streamed concerts early on in the pandemic, pointing to an alternative to exhaustive tours. But NFTs, if widely adopted, could regularly expend the same amount of energy as hundreds of ongoing tours. Duncan Geere published an informative blog post that explains this in detail: 

A single cryptoart NFT involves potentially dozens of transactions. [Computational artist Memo] Akten analysed 18,000 of these tokens, finding that the average NFT has a footprint of around 211 kg of CO2 equivalent. That’s the same as an EU resident’s electric power consumption for more than a month, driving for 1000km, or a return flight from London to Rome. And that’s just for keeping track of who owns it — it doesn’t include the energy consumption used in the creation of the work, its storage, or the website it’s hosted on.

If you’re wondering how this amount of energy is possible from a digital token, check out this video from The Guardian about crypto’s effects on the environment:

Also linked in Duncan Geere’s piece is this blog post from digital artist Joanie Lemercier — she explains why she canceled a planned NFT sale and proposes some solutions to make the technology more sustainable. And Memo Akten, mentioned in the above quote, has created cryptoart.wtf, a tool to help us “get a sense of how much carbon is being emitted by the buying and selling of different digital artworks.” 

I do think there are possibilities in the NFT model. The attraction is that there are few rules, and the medium is ripe for creative tweaking and innovation. That’s exciting. It’s young (as is crypto), and we’re all still learning. But we shouldn’t let the glow of promise blind us when there are lingering systemic problems to solve. The application of new technologies should help us find our way out rather than digging us in further. 

Digging In Our Heels

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Though universally revered, Martin Scorsese is sometimes viewed as an old-fashioned relic as he digs in his heels against changes in contemporary media. Previously, he got lots of nerdy flack for referring to superhero franchise films as “theme parks” rather than “cinema.” And, recently, in an essay on Federico Fellini, Scorsese went off on algorithms and the overuse of the word “content” to describe artistic output. He’s mainly referring to visual media, of course, and how “the art of cinema is being systematically devalued, sidelined, demeaned, and reduced to its lowest common denominator” when we refer to it all as “content.” Here’s Scorsese:

“Content” was used more and more by the people who took over media companies, most of whom knew nothing about the history of the art form, or even cared enough to think that they should. “Content” became a business term for all moving images: a David Lean movie, a cat video, a Super Bowl commercial, a superhero sequel, a series episode. […] … it has created a situation in which everything is presented to the viewer on a level playing field, which sounds democratic but isn’t.

A platform’s reliance on algorithms that can’t separate artistic intention from specious cash grabs exacerbates this perception. There’s so much talk about freeing ourselves from the gatekeepers, but perhaps ‘old-fashioned’ human curation is a gatekeeping we need. Scorsese again:

Curating isn’t undemocratic or “elitist,” a term that is now used so often that it’s become meaningless. It’s an act of generosity—you’re sharing what you love and what has inspired you. Algorithms, by definition, are based on calculations that treat the viewer as a consumer and nothing else.

“Scorsese is right,” tweeted music critic Ted Gioia. “Anyone who refers to film, music, or writing as ‘content’ is simply not a trustworthy custodian of anything of cultural value. Unfortunately, these are the key decision makers in media right now.”

I don’t have too much of a problem with media companies calling the music or movies they stream “content.” It’s like a politician using blatant dog whistle language — at least you know who’s in this for the right reasons and deserving of trust. What’s insidious is when we, as artists, are convinced to start using the word “content” instead of “art” or even “our work.” A musician creates a beautiful song, puts sweat into editing an accompanying video, and then thinks, “here’s some content for YouTube” — that’s distressing. 

Language is powerful, and the words we use in our heads change our behaviors. If we start replacing words like “art” with “content” — even just internally — our intentions shift. We start feeding the companies hungry for content. Instead of making music and films for the fans or the human curators, we’re producing content for the algorithms. 

Seth Godin must have read Scorsese’s rant. Soon after the essay’s publication, Seth wrote his own rant on his daily blog: 

Publishing to an algorithm is not the same as publishing to an audience. And living in a culture that’s driven by profit-seeking algorithm owners is different as well. Because without curation, who is responsible? Who is guiding the culture? Who pushes the boundaries or raises the standards? […] …we benefit when we realize that the algorithm isn’t rooting for us and quite probably is working against us. The only winning approach is to earn permission and a direct connection with our fans and then act as curators for ideas (and as our own publishers).

Getting back to the power of language, I touched on this topic on the blog a few years ago when I commented on Cherie Hu’s idea that “The word ‘creator’ does more harm than good.” (Cherie’s original essay is offline, but I wholeheartedly recommend her Water & Music platform, where you can find many of her enlightening pieces.) I wrote this in my blog post: 

It may seem like semantics, but the way we adopt and use language rewires our thinking. Hu’s point— which I never considered — is that the more we refer to ourselves as ‘creators,’ the easier it is to submit to the notion that our creations are in fealty to others. Notice how the services almost all use ‘creator’ — a sampling of examples Hu points out include YouTube Creators, Facebook for Creators, Spotify’s “Creator Marketing.’ So when a platform sneakily claims ownership of our work we’re desensitized against protest.

“Content” is the same. The language implicates employment, that we’re delivering goods in a fiefdom. Responsibility, leverage, and agency shift to the “content provider.”

Buckle down, folks. Dig in your heels like Martin. You’re artists making art. Don’t let anyone tell you anything else. 

The Pros and Cons of Bandcamp’s Vinyl Pressing Service

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On the one hand, it’s excellent news that Bandcamp is expanding the company’s crowdfunding tool, allowing artists on the platform to ‘kickstart’ their way to a vinyl release. Called the Bandcamp Vinyl Pressing Service, the program integrates with an artist’s existing Bandcamp follower base to solicit advance vinyl sales over a 30 day period. If the artist meets the goal — which will be around three grand, minimum, for an LP — then Bandcamp will handle manufacturing and, ultimately, shipping and fulfillment for the vinyl release.

This service sounds great, and, for the most part, it is. The collapse of PledgeMusic left a hole that Bandcamp is looking to fill, as far as music-focused crowdfunding goes. It’s especially attractive to bands that don’t want to deal with shipping and customer service. And, as I’m guessing the shipping will originate in the US, this creates an advantage for bands from other countries with large fanbases in the states.1Last night I spoke to an Australian band who are drawn to Bandcamp’s new service partly for this reason. 

But now we come to “on the other hand.” Of course, Bandcamp is much-loved — and deservedly so — in the music community, probably the most trusted of all the digital music platforms. But it’s still worrying that bands and artists are relying on a single company for an expanding range of roles. Bandcamp is the digital marketplace, the fan community engine, the discovery system (via their fantastic editorial), the livestreamed-concert platform, and the vinyl manufacturer. It doesn’t matter that Bandcamp does these things well and seems good-intentioned. History has proven what can happen when bands rely heavily on platforms they don’t control.2MySpace and the aforementioned PledgeMusic are just two examples here. Bandcamp’s terrific, but that shouldn’t stop artists from building IRL communities, exploring their own in-site web stores, and comparing options for vinyl pressing. 

And that comparison is a way that Bandcamp’s vinyl falls short. As tweeted by Grace Ambrose of Thrilling Living, one would need to raise over $3500 on Bandcamp to manufacture 250 copies of an LP with color jackets and labels. If you do this yourself, going direct with any of the available vinyl plants, you could press 300 copies for about $2500.3I can confirm this. My label’s 300 unit pressing of Monta At Odds’ Argentum Dreams album cost about this much. So there’s considerably more profit (and a lower break-even point) when you press directly, especially when you factor in that Bandcamp takes a cut of all sales. 

I also think it’s important to be involved in each step of the vinyl manufacturing process and in close contact with your pressing plant. Bandcamp’s service appears to be hands-off — you deliver the artwork and audio, and eventually, there’s vinyl for sale. The Bandcamp Vinyl Pressing Service’s online materials aren’t transparent about which pressing plant or plants they use. That’s crucial info to know if you care about the quality of your records.

I understand that a lot of you just want to put out a vinyl record. You don’t want to deal with the pressing plant, get mired in the technicalities, or (especially) deal with shipping. The reduced profit margin is a reasonable trade-off for not enduring these headaches. Thus, this program is for you. I get it. And, out of all the third-party platforms that I’d want handling this stuff, Bandcamp is at the top of the list. 

Because of Bandcamp’s service, many more bands will be able to fulfill the dream of delivering music to fans on vinyl. Indisputably, that’s a beautiful thing. But know there is long-term value in learning the ropes and independently managing the vinyl-making process yourself. If you’re contemplating vinyl, weigh the pros and cons of the Bandcamp Vinyl Pressing Service. If you have the time, don’t mind some small headaches, want to potentially earn more, and are into the valuable education of managing a vinyl release, consider pressing your records without Bandcamp’s help.