8Sided Blog

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

Music Streaming in a Dream World

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“If a world is dreamable, maybe it can be dreamed into being.” This quote is from the author David Mitchell, spoken in the fantastic PBS documentary on Ursula K. Le Guin. It’s also how I’m opening this piece where I imagine how NFTs could create a better world for music commerce. Unfortunately, it’s probably only a dreamable world or, as you’ll see, an alternate universe. This vision presumes a different history. Whether we can dream it into being is up for grabs.

OK, confession time. Like you, I’m sick of hearing about NFTs. I wrote about them twice (here and here), and my feelings are well-known. You may believe NFTs are good for artists, that they introduce a technological layer that intensifies fandom, that they signal some sort of future direction in artistic distribution. Those things may all be accurate, but, honestly, most participating in NFTs right now are seen by the general public as get-rich-quick schemers at worst and privileged (or reckless) at best. The incentive doesn’t matter. It’s this perception that has writer Tim Maughan comparing buyers to Martin Shkreli and MusicREDEF’s Matty Karas calling for musicians to ‘pause’ any participation in the NFT marketplace.

Compared to a couple of months ago, the hype and interest in NFTs are dwindling. I know this because they’re no longer the topic of every other Clubhouse room (though I guess Clubhouse has receded as well). So, with the bandwagon ebbing, I figure this is finally a good time to talk about a thought experiment I ran in my head where I imagined a dreamable world. The spark was the question, “how could NFTs change music distribution for the good of everyone?”

(Before we go any further, know that I’m a dabbler, not an expert, on this topic. Please be gentle with me. I welcome thoughtful critiques and corrections in the comments.)

For this dream to work, we need an alternate timeline with two significant differences to ours. First of all, NFTs can’t be environmentally detrimental. I’m not playing along if they are. So, in our thought experiment, that problem’s solved. And secondly, the invention of NFTs and everything around them (blockchain, etc.) predates the current streaming model. That’s because I’m offering a substitute to the fraction-of-a-penny-per-stream framework firmly established in our present. 

Decentralization is the key here. Unlike DRM, which linked an MP3 to a specific device (like the iPod), in this thought experiment an audio file backed by an NFT plays on any device or software that can verify ownership. Thus the purchase of a song or an album is also the purchase of its NFT, granting access via various streaming apps. The recording artist or label sets the price and the scarcity. And the absence of scarcity is an option.

There are music marketplaces where these NFTs are purchased. These online stores can look something like Bandcamp, where the NFT buyer can download the accompanying audio or bundle it with merch. These purchases can also go through the website of the label or band — exclusively, if desired. In our dream world, there are handy WordPress plugins for this.

Here’s where we get into the cool stuff within the dream world. I mentioned scarcity. Most music releases will have unlimited NFTs pointing to the audio as the band will want as many listeners as possible. But this model also allows the possibility for limited editions. Let’s say your band wants to release a live album limited to 500 copies. You will only mint 500 NFTs, and you can price these at a collector’s price. Accompanying each with a limited vinyl version of the album, sent to the fan upon purchase, is possible, too. But the digital version has scarcity on its own.

Theoretically, band members can directly receive a piece of an NFT sale. Let’s say a band with four members makes $40 for the sale of each limited album (after any store cuts or processing fees). If the band splits everything evenly, the members will each get $10 every time an album and its NFT are sold, sent directly, and right at the time of sale. This action is embedded in the NFT’s smart contract. The band can set this split for their non-limited $5-a-pop album releases, too.

A fan (or ex-fan) can resell the limited-edition album using its NFT. This creates a digital version of the used CD bin. If the band gains popularity, then the price might go up, just like a rare album on Discogs. But unlike that Discogs sale, the band members can continue to get a cut of each resale as long as the NFT’s smart contract says so. (If there’s a physical album tied to the NFT, then the two could be resold separately. But the value is much higher if sold together.)

Let’s get back to decentralization and imagine what Spotify (as an example) looks like in this dream world. Labels and artists have the option to make their music listenable on Spotify but can set the number of listens until an NFT purchase is required.1This is similar to a feature currently available to artists and labels on Bandcamp. The band in our example sets the songs on its regular albums to play three times per listener account on Spotify — but the limited edition album songs would play only once or not at all. This way, playlists and discovery aren’t disrupted. Songs from the band’s regular albums will still play unimpeded when they show up in Discovery Weekly or Release Radar. But if a fan really likes a song, she’ll have to purchase the NFT to play it more than three times. Spotify could also act as a marketplace for these purchases (“Purchase this album to keep listening”). 

Signing up for a streaming account links your NFT wallet to the dream world version of Spotify. The platform verifies all of your NFT purchases. You can play those as much as you want. And the limited edition album is only available for listening to the 500 fans who purchased it. In this thought experiment, the same thing happens when you get an account with Apple Music or Qobuz or any streaming platform — your wallet is recognized, and you can play all your purchases in addition to whatever is available to you on the platform. Any account data, including your playlists, also seamlessly travel with you, platform-to-platform. 

That’s the idea. Decentralized streaming where labels and artists set the rules and get paid, all thanks to the often maligned NFT. It’s a hell of a dream, but even my imagination couldn’t work through a few problems with this thought experiment:

  • What’s the incentive for the decentralized streaming platforms? How would Spotify make money? They could act as a marketplace and take their cut, but they’d potentially compete with the band’s website. Perhaps there would be some type of subscription model where you’d want to use this platform because it has much better features than the others. In other words, the streaming platforms would be motivated to differentiate rather than remain interchangeable. Or the streamers could fall back on intrusive advertising, which turns this dream world into a nightmare.
  • Related to the incentive question, who hosts the audio files? The NFTs would point to audio files that listeners access through streaming platforms and apps. These could be hosted anywhere — it could even be the label or artist’s responsibility — but the bandwidth gets pricey if the songs are big hits. And, if the platforms aren’t hosting the songs, who secures the rights and pays publishing royalty? (Note that if the streaming companies aren’t hosting the audio or solely responsible for rights, their operating costs will decrease significantly.)
  • Would this create a piracy renaissance? Nothing stops a person who purchases the band’s limited edition album from ripping it off the streaming platform and making it available to all. The convenience of streaming (and the attraction of whatever unique features each platform offers) would need to be irresistible. 

On the plus side, this dream world model removes my main gripes with the NFT craze: the patronage (or get-rich-quick) aspect of NFTs and the financial inaccessibility of the technology to the ordinary fan. These NFTs can be cheap. Similar to Bandcamp’s option, there could easily be pay-what-you-want NFTs, putting the value in the purchaser’s hands. More than just the crypto-rich can participate. And the bands are only auctioning if they want to.2And I haven’t touched on the data transparency available to bands under this model — the play metrics would be incredibly detailed.

You’d think the current streaming paradigm of Spotify et al. is established — the genie left the bottle over a decade ago. But alternative experiments are happening in earnest, and interest among songwriters and musicians is high. Look at the success of Bandcamp. And there are compelling blockchain-led alternatives like Audius and BitSong. Many more prototypes and ideas are on the horizon.

It’s fun and instructive to play with alternatives to how streaming and streaming payments work today. Music streaming is a relative infant within the historical scope of the music business. There’s still time and room to innovate, to push for solutions that better serve both listeners and our music’s value. New ideas and thought experiments are necessary and I encourage you to play along. And just maybe, one of our dreamable worlds will be dreamed into being.

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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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. 

Handwash Jukebox: Battling COVID-19 With Music Discovery

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At the beginning of ‘Corona-Time,’ I was re-introduced to Daniel Bremmer, who I first met around 1999 at a coffeehouse in Orange County, CA. I was on tour with the band GusGus, and he invited me to do an impromptu off-the-beaten-path DJ set at the café before the Los Angeles show.

Time goes by, and we all move on to different things and careers. I’m doing … well, this. And Daniel is a creative director working with the likes of National Geographic, No Kid Hungry, and Barack Obama’s youth voter registration campaign Vote For Change. So I was psyched to hear from Daniel after all these years and learn about his brand new project: Handwash Jukebox.

“The idea came to me in the shower,” Daniel explains. “I had just watched a video that explained how the detergent molecules in soap break up the SARS-CoV-2 virus behind COVID-19. I had, of course, read that washing your hands worked, but that made it visceral and real, and the 20-second thing made sense. I wondered if there was something I could do to help people wash their hands for the full 20 seconds. I’d heard of the alphabet song, but that sounded tedious. Then I wondered if these smart speakers we already have in our homes could be a cool way to solve that problem, by offering different fun 20-second experiences that would keep people washing their hands to the end.”

Utilizing Amazon Alexa, Handwash Jukebox is a ‘skill‘ that — upon the command, “Alexa, open Handwash Jukebox!” — plays a cool 20-second song to accompany your sudsy routine. Unlike the same old “Happy Birthday” refrain, the songs are hip and fun, coming from the likes of The Slackers, Lisa Loeb, Azalia Snail, Rithma, and Shana Falana. The artists are diverse, across all genres, and from around the world.

Not only is Handwash Jukebox a brilliant move to make washing hands for the allotted time fun, but there’s an embedded element of music discovery. A voice-over reveals the names of the artists and where to find their music when each song finishes. It’s a fascinating concept, exploring an outside-of-the-box opportunity for bands and musicians made possible through emerging technology. Handwash Jukebox presents a compelling tie-in without that brand-aligning ickiness. It should make us eager to brainstorm other unexpected technology-meets-discovery collaborations.

I spoke with the core team behind Handwash Jukebox — Daniel Bremmer (creative director), Layne Harris (creative technologist), and Lucy Kalantari (artist & music supervisor) — to get their insight and perspective on the project, the reactions they’ve gotten, and how it opens doors to future similar artist-technology collaborations.

What were the challenges in putting together Handwash Jukebox? What’s it like working with the Alexa platform on something like this?

Layne: I have worked on a few branded Alexa Voice skills in the past, so I was pretty familiar with how to both make and promote them.

Daniel: The software was the easy part — Layne had a demo up in a little over a day. The most time-consuming process was reaching out to artists and working with them to get music that was right for the occasion, getting the licensing done correctly and working with Amazon’s Alexa team to make sure that we weren’t in violation of any laws or policies relating to a skill directed at both children and adults.

Layne: Alexa is a pretty friendly platform to develop on, but it’s helpful to have had experience with building these. You sometimes really have to have your ducks in a row to get approval. Things like sound compression settings can be very specific.

How did you quickly find your first musical collaborators?

Lucy: I’m a songwriter, composer, and producer and have been focusing my work to make quality content for children and their families. My last album won a GRAMMY award for Best Children’s Album. The Kindie community (that’s what we call kids independent music) is a close-knit group of musicians. And when I put a call out to my friends about needing some hand-washing music, I had a handful of tracks within 15 minutes! During this trying time, we feel the need to DO SOMETHING, and this was a call-to-action we could all get behind.

And how have the musicians reacted to their music in Handwash Jukebox?

Lucy: The artists are thrilled to be participating in something meaningful during a difficult time. And since I’m friends with some of the artists, they often recount what the experience has been like for their children using the skill at home. Emotions range from, “Hey, that’s my mom’s song!” to groovin’ to the addictive beats of Kent Lucas’ awesome track. I love that we can become each other’s fans, and families around the world get to dive into all this great new music with us.

I imagine creating experiences for people during a crisis in a delicate act. How did you approach this differently than you would in normal times?

Daniel: One of the things we’ve really tried to adhere to early on is the mindset of the user. When we started, all this felt precautionary — but we knew that people were going to be personally affected. So we’ve made an extraordinary effort to keep the tone light and fun. Yes, we all need to change our habits for a serious reason, but no one wants to be reminded of why when they know someone who has COVID-19 or just lost their job. I hate having to ask artists who are volunteering their time to change lyrics or to turn down submissions I personally like, but if we aren’t making it a rewarding and useful experience, then people aren’t going to use it and aren’t going to slow the spread.

Now that people are using Handwash Jukebox, have there been any surprises?

Layne: I love that people who know me were using it not knowing it was me that built it! That’s pretty exciting and humbling.

Daniel: Something I only discovered by using the final pre-launch build was that certain songs make the 20 seconds fly by — even if they are actually longer. My favorite example is the song by Icelandic artist Ólöf Arnalds. The song switches perspectives halfway through the song, and the musical build carries the listener. It not only makes the time pass, but it gets stuck in your head. I’ve found myself walking our dog and signing it to myself.

It’s great that people can find new bands by simply washing their hands. How important was the discovery element in developing Handwash Jukebox?

Daniel: While this is primarily a tool to get families to wash their hands, we designed this from the very beginning to give the artists credit and to direct people to where they could support the artist. This caused some delays in the approval process, as it kept getting flagged as advertising. But it was important to us, so we worked with Amazon to make sure that it was absolutely clear that we were just crediting artists and not up to anything untoward.

How did your own experiences prepare you to work on a project like this?

Layne: I think of myself as a maker, the result of which is ending up in roles where I either take the lead on coming up with wacky inventions or support other people’s creativity. I’ve been a huge fan of voice tech for some time, and have really enjoyed developing content for voice platforms, so this project was a no-brainer for me.

Daniel: This is kind of a perfect combination of things I’ve been obsessed with since I was a kid — music, technology, and trying to make the world better. Like Layne, I make my living in advertising — creating experiences and campaigns that people like to connect with. And like with any creative job, you bring your interests and experiences to your work, but seldom this many at once.

Lucy: When Layne approached me about Handwash Jukebox, I felt the immediate need to connect with families who struggle to have their children wash their hands for 20 seconds. I know I was having a hard time with my own son. He would sing the alphabet at lightning speed, cutting it down to a mere 7 seconds, which was impressive in itself but wasn’t getting the job done.

Despite the stressful times that inspired Handwash Jukebox, it’s fun and surprising that hand-washing is now something that helps people find bands.

Lucy: People digest music in so many different ways, and discovering new music while doing a seemingly innocuous thing like washing hands is not something I ever would’ve predicted a few years ago! If we can find more ways to integrate music into our daily routines — creating a soundtrack for our lives — we’ll discover some incredible and eclectic works being published. It’ll be an important and new way to feed our musical souls.

Learn more about Handwash Jukebox at www.handwashjukebox.com.

On the Guest List: VIP Clubbing Goes Virtual

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We hear a lot about virtual concerts, with artists and bands performing using various tools (Twitch, Instagram, YouTube, and so on). These tools were (at least) tangentially created for these uses. Twitch is perhaps the most appropriated, initially intended as a video gaming platform, and now hosting all manner of live experiences.

Zoom is now being led far astray from its original purpose. It’s a business conferencing platform transformed into an engine for the likes of happy hour meet-ups, birthday celebrations, and family check-ins. Despite its immediate growing pains and merited controversies, Zoom is leading the isolation zeitgeist, inspiring memes, and brilliant #stayathome music videos:

Bands are successfully adapting their performances and experiences to the livestreaming space, but what about the nightclubs? That leads to another unexpected role for the Zoom platform: the virtual VIP club. As this article in Bloomberg reveals, “Just as a choose-your-own-adventure book hacks the static nature of a novel, these parties are hacking corporate technology for new purposes.” Here’s more:

In some senses, if you’ve been to one Zoom club, you’ve been to them all. The platform’s layout is always the same: A featured musician performs a set underneath a carousel of small windows with voyeuristic views into people dancing or lounging in their homes. Channeling the true spirit of nightlife, it’s up to the crowd to create the party’s vibe via active participation—turning down the lights, throwing on a costume, talking to each other in the group chat. These social interactions can feel new and awkward, but we’re hungry for it.

These ‘clubs’ are more elaborate than you might think. Zoom’s technology allows for multiple rooms, including ‘secret’ rooms that require a password. Each room can have a theme, or a DJ, or a dress code. There are sponsors — according to the article, Red Bull and Paper Magazine are in on the act — as well as bouncers and mingling celebrities. And ideas for monetization are materializing.

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The biggest Zoom nightclubs — and some of them are quite big — were dreamed up by desperate promoters no longer able to throw parties in the meatspace. And, as happens with these things, finding ways around one set of limitations reveals new possibilities. As one promoter says in the piece, “We now have access to people who can’t attend clubs because they have children, social anxiety, disabilities, or live in places that don’t have clubs.”

The requirement is that we all agree a space — virtual or otherwise — is a nightclub. This idea reminds me of the time I was invited to an exclusive day time event on the beach in Miami. When I arrived, I found an impromptu nightclub, created by a large circle of folding chairs connected with rope. Inside the circle, there were about 50 people, a bunch of coolers serving as the bar, and a DJ priming the sandy dance floor. There was a cover charge — though you could hear the music just as well outside of the ring of chairs, you weren’t inside the circle (literally and metaphorically), so, incredibly, people were paying for the privilege. I knew the promoter and he motioned me in, like lifting some invisible velvet rope. I followed him into the ‘club’ and discovered there was an additional half-circle at the far end of the circle of chairs — a lip in the larger ring that served as the VIP room. Remember — this was all happening on an open public beach, an exclusive nightclub invented by some rope, a lot of folding chairs, and the participants agreeing on the idea.

It seems these spaces for creating community alongside a sense of exclusivity can exist anywhere. I admit, my first thought was a dismissive one upon hearing about the Zoom nightclubs, which is why I thought about Miami Beach. But now I see these virtual clubs as an inventive way for some promoters to adapt to the Strange Times and for stuck-at-home party people to recapture the clubbing experience. As with a lot of the recently concocted ad hoc solutions for maintaining a hint of normalcy, the concept will likely outlast COVID-19 and spawn new platforms. I’ll see you on the dance floor.

Update: I expanded on this post in the latest issue of my weekly newsletter. Check it out here.

Blowing Up The Vinyl Boom

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Here’s a fascinating article from FACT on where the real problems lie in modern record manufacturing … to paraphrase James Carville, it’s the electroplating, stupid:

Electroplating, a process which involves coating the master lacquer in a metal layer to produce stampers, is time-intensive and requires highly trained personnel. Those who have learned electroplating are still a long way from being able to prepare the lacquer – the lengthy process requires a great deal of experience and expertise. Only then can it be guaranteed that the music sounds how it is supposed to sound. And all this has to happen quickly – when the music is cut to the lacquer, it can’t be stored indefinitely. A time period of over two weeks is considered to be problematic.

{Silke Maurer of Handle with Care, one of the largest production agencies for records:} “In the last four years, vinyl production has almost doubled here. That sounds super, but you have to take a closer look at how the numbers come together. In the same timeframe, the first run of a title has reduced nearly by half. That means more work for the press. The machines have to be reconfigured more often, which takes a lot of time. But the real problem is not in the pressing – the bottleneck is in the electroplating.”

Thus, having to constantly create new lacquers for short runs (as records – especially in the dance realm – don’t sell close to the numbers they did twenty years ago) in a process that is time consuming and takes expertise creates real headaches. Pain also comes from the constant recalibrating and readjusting of the pressing machinery to handle each new short run project. These machines are all over thirty years old, remember, with new models only now appearing in limited form.

And then, here come are those mustache-twirling major labels:

There was a gold rush at Sony and the other majors, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that the labels are trying to sell their archive a third time, this time to middle-aged buyers who can remember buying vinyl, naturally switched over to the CD, sold or threw away their old vinyl and aren’t completely happy with streaming today. A look at the vinyl section of a large Berlin store proves the shelves are full of reissues of old titles, mostly from major labels. Record players can be purchased right at the checkout. There’s nothing wrong with that – music should be sold in the formats that meet customer demand. But there are indicators that the majors are actively trying to secure substantial vinyl production capacity at the remaining pressing plants. How? By paying in advance. There might even be presses completely reserved for certain companies. That techno EP can wait – Led Zeppelin can’t. In the course of researching this article, we received emails that confirm such requests by the majors.

If this is the case – and the pressing plants are denying it – it would mean that the majors are attempting to buy their way into an industry that they played a significant role in destroying. And they are attempting once again to starve the indie labels, the very labels that never gave up on vinyl. On Record Store Day, when the shops are full of specially-made vinyl records and customers wait in line for these limited editions, the pressing plants have already had many hard weeks of work leading up to it. Who knows how many machines were quickly patched-up in lieu of a proper repair? Nobody has time to take a breath. The next releases are already on standby, and the machines continue to run at a furious pace.

Related: Columbia House To Relaunch With Vinyl