8Sided Blog

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

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. 

Creating Scarcity in the Digital Marketplace

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In the latest Water and Music newsletter, Cherie Hu notes a startling development in music monetization. Utilizing the blockchain, a pair of electronic music acts auctioned digital artworks — “short-form, looping videos soundtracked by original music” — earning close to $40,000. Using non-fungible tokens (NFT), the buyers can own (or control) these pieces despite the content’s digital replicability. 

Cherie’s article then considers scarcity, a fan-driven quality of music and collectibles that, in the digital age, rarely exists outside of touring. As Cherie says, “In a capitalist economy, artificial scarcity creates the conditions for discovering culture’s true market value.” In old school (but still existent) terms, think of limited edition albums, the hand-crafted numbered cassette, or that t-shirt you can only buy directly from the touring band. But applying this to the digital marketplace is a tough nut to crack. Cherie writes:

… artificial scarcity could not be more antithetical to how the streaming economy works today, because we expect digital music to be as close to free and ubiquitous as possible — i.e. the opposite of scarce. In a noisy online media landscape, many artists also feel pressured to achieve the same level of ubiquity as the services that monetize their work, constantly churning out content in order to keep up with “the algorithm” and maintain fans’ attention — a burden that is ever more amplified in a world without touring. 

After reading this piece, I checked out Shawn Reynaldo’s latest First Floor newsletter. Shawn speaks with electronic musician Jordan GCZ about his embrace of the Patreon platform. Jordan suggests that he may release music only through Patreon — that is, not on vinyl or Bandcamp or the streamers, but only to his 36 (as of right now) supporters. And these won’t be cast-off tracks or outtakes — the artist promises to release some of his best songs this way, delivered only to his most ardent fans. 

Unless there’s something like incorporating tokens as Cherie writes about, there’s nothing non-fungible about Jordan’s Patreon-only music releases. These fans are free to copy and pass on these music files, and they might end up on piracy sites and YouTube. The scarcity is only in the files’ initial distribution. But I am intrigued by this idea — albums and releases distributed only through ‘fan clubs’ as an alternative to the corporate outlets. I just wonder if the status of membership and being the first to receive the music is scarce enough. 

🔗→ Digital Music’s New Drop Culture
🔗→ Patreon Creeps into Electronic Music

Exploring New Opportunities in Livestreaming

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Quarantine has led to the proliferation of livestreamed concerts, confirming the need for music in uncertain times. I’d guess that many more people are checking out livestreams than regularly went to shows before the pandemic. And like every other change that’s occurred in quarantine’s wake, there’s a lot of thought on how livestreaming might remain established once things normalize (fingers crossed). Before COVID-19, there were suggestions that virtual touring might gain popularity as a means to offset the environmental toll of actual touring. Current events have pushed the prospect to the forefront for entirely different reasons.

It seems there are two main categories of livestreamed concerts. First, there’s the streamed band performance, like a concert movie with the artists playing a straightforward set from a stage. And, secondly, the intimate live-from-home show, where band members — individually or together — perform casual, stripped-down versions of songs. The nature of live-streaming changes the dynamics of performance through its limitations, but, for the most part, it’s an imitation of an in-person performance. Here’s Cherie Hu in Pitchfork:

Recreating such emotions in livestreaming requires taking advantage of the medium, which often means getting rid of the superfluous spectacle you might otherwise see in normal stage setups. From the fan’s perspective, the “stage” in a livestream is just the screen, and the audience is the chat room. There’s a diminished sense of hierarchy between artist and the fan, leading to interactions that can be much more social, interactive, and intimate.

There’s a lot for the artist to lean into here. The trick is emphasizing the unique aspects of livestreaming — the loss of hierarchy, the ability to interact with fans (and for them to interact with each other), the flat screen — rather than relying on what’s lost. The platforms that win are the ones that build features that could only exist in a digitally livestreamed ecosystem. And the artists fully exploring and exploiting these features will have the upper hand, too.

Creating experiences that are exclusive to a live-streaming format — you won’t get this in clubs! — also adds possibilities for monetization. The key is giving something special, not found elsewhere. Free streams of concerts are found all over YouTube, and, to offer a high-profile example, Coachella livestreamed the last few festivals without any fee. As DJs are also finding out with their DJ sets, years of offering performances for free makes monetization of similar content difficult. Getting creative and thinking far outside of what happens in a club environment is a must.

Another note: if, after COVID-19, live-streaming remains an established part of a band’s marketing and income toolbox, then I see an opportunity for studio spaces and music venues. Many cities could have brick-and-mortar ‘livestream studios’ where bands could perform. These spaces would have the technology and infrastructure to stream performances and make each one distinct and tailored to the act. The interactive and livestream-exclusive features I mention above are built-in, with each studio offering a different specialty or feature set. Engineers and staff are on hand to manage technical as well as online (e.g., chatroom and social media) tasks. The artist would book a date, plan the details of the performance, show up, and play. The business could be stand-alone, or part of a live music venue, a recording studio, or even a co-working space. And it’s not just for bands — theatrical plays, author readings, performance art, and academic talks are some of the other potential client use cases. If live-streaming continues its path to normalization and you’re an entrepreneur looking for a future business idea, this might be something to consider.

The Shifting Definition of Independent Music

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Recently a reader called me out for repeatedly throwing around the phrase ‘independent artist’ or ‘indie label’ without explaining my definition (or if I even had one). Fair enough. Let’s discuss: what does independent mean in 2020?

The ‘indie’ tag has meant less and less over the past thirty years. There was a stark difference between indie and major labels until the grunge years of the early ’90s. The success of Nirvana triggered an ‘indie band’ signing spree that saw a lot of independent labels get into bed with the majors, both publicly and covertly. I remember insiders up-in-arms over The Smashing Pumpkins, whose Caroline Records debut was supposedly just an ‘indie cred’ warm-up to their already planned sophomore album on a major label. Caroline, at the time, was a subsidiary of Virgin, after all. Even then, there were debates over whether an act such as this could be considered independent.

Things seem less complicated now, but only at first glance. One can’t get any more independent than self-released, right? And bedroom labels are rampant, a far distance from the three major label behemoths. But the confusion lies in distribution, marketing, and the third party deals a label or artist signs in the guise of ‘label services.’ Is a self-released artist independent while using a distributor that also controls her publishing? While promoting solely through a social media platform that is the gatekeeper to her fanbase? And while relying on Spotify playlist placements for discovery and traction?

We’re likely splitting hairs. Some of the bands we considered the most independent in the ’70s and ’80s relied on corporate record chains to sell their music, or entered into deals with management agencies and live venue networks. But now there is an air of acquiescence that seems different. Is ‘selling out’ even an available option when the biggest corporations in human history are necessary for exposing one’s music?

This circumstance presents a challenge when defining ‘independent music.’ And this challenge is depressing. If we’re in bed with corporations because of the tools we use, then there’s not much hope for the punk rock dream.

Historically, we’ve looked at independence in terms of control. Who’s in the driver’s seat? I think that stands, even if we need to tweak things a little. It’s natural to call a label or artist who controls songs and revenue flow — traditionally through a distributor — an independent. But even that’s debatable, as Cherie Hu pointed out in a recent post:

… according to Billboard and Nielsen, copyrights owned by Universal Music Group account for a 29% share of the recorded-music market — but if you look at [indie label] catalog distributed by Universal, that share increases to 38%. On the flip side, copyrights owned by indie labels account for 35% of the market, but copyrights distributed by indies account for only 16%. This implies that many artists and labels who we categorize as “indie” actually rely on distributors owned by major labels to release their music — a nuance that can be complicated to discuss in the open.

Also, a difference from decades ago is that the current independent artist must also exert control of her fanbase. In other words, the audience interacts through the proprietary website, or an email list, or at live shows rather than solely through the corporate go-between of social media. As I’ve spoken about before, an independent artist uses social media as a mere tool, not a reliance.

Our definition of independent is increasingly subjective. If Taylor Swift managed to gain control of all her recording masters, publishing, and fanbase access, we could call her a sort of independent artist even when Universal distributes her music. Likewise, an emerging artist on a small independently distributed label, but who signed all his recordings and publishing to the label for perpetuity, isn’t exactly independent.

I believe the title of ‘independent’ now leans towards those who understand and control their rights. It used to hinge on the size and scope of the artist’s associated label, which made the definition easier to suss out. But as more and larger artists continue utilizing 21st-century tools to seize their rights, the meaning of ‘independent’ only gets blurrier.

What Am I Doing Now? (May 2019 Recap)

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  • I’m gearing up for a few days at MusicBiz 2019 in Nashville, starting on May 5. I’m expecting terrific panels, productive meetings, new contacts, seeing some old friends, and perhaps an announcement or two from my camp. If you are in Nashville for this conference, then feel free to drop me a line and let’s meet up.
  • The first Q-Burns Abstract Message release since 2011’s “Balearic Chainsaw” is out now on 8D Industries and it’s called AUDIOTOTEMPOLE. This is a special release, and it closes a loop of sorts. These are songs spanning the years. The one with ‘1997’ in the title is that old, and I completed the newest track three months ago. I think that I can now move on to new pastures, new sounds, new — and more frequent — Q-BAM releases.
  • Additionally, on the Q-Burns Abstract Message front, I’m breaking my DJ retirement for one night to play at the Phat N’ Jazzy 25th anniversary party. There are only a few things that would get me to DJ again and this party qualifies. Twenty-five years ago I had a weekly gig playing spacey trip hop records in the backroom of Phat N’ Jazzy at The Beach Club. It was my first residency, and it’s where I honed my DJ craft. I’d probably be in a different place today if the P’n’J crew didn’t trust me to command the backroom vibe. For the May 11 anniversary party I’ll be playing the tunes from that classic era, or at least the ones I still have on vinyl.
  • Consultancy: I’m currently working with Reza of Vexillary, Deepak of Hidden Recordings, and I’ll be advising Snax once again starting next week. A big thanks to my clients for being on board and receptive to some crazy (but effective!) ideas. I’m expanding the consultancy into special one-on-one workshops over the next couple months.
  • Soon you’ll hear me blabbing about music industry stuff on the This Is Orlando and Scotch and Good Conversation podcasts. I also did a long interview with the site MyMusicMoments that I feel good about. I’ll post links to all of these in the blog once they’re online.

Listening (music):

• Simon Scott – Below Sea Level
• Khotin – Beautiful You
• Mary Lattimore & Mac McCaughan – New Rain Duets
• Kankyō Ongaku: Japanese Ambient, Environmental & New Age Music 1980-1990
• Helado Negro – This Is How You Smile
• The 180 Gs – Commercial Album
• Revisited Sonic Youth’s Sister and Mission of Burma’s Vs. in a big way.

Listening (podcasts):

• Cherie Hu’s relatively new Water & Music podcast is great. Stellar music industry commentary. Check out the episode with Amber Horsburgh for starters.
• On Russell Brand’s Under The Skin, I enjoyed the conversations with Douglas Rushkoff and Derren Brown.
• Bob Lefsetz’s podcast is back, and the episode with Billy Bragg is a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed the history lesson on skiffle.
• John Livesay’s appearance on Big Questions With Cal Fussman was super-insightful on the topics of marketing and developing stories.

Watching:

• Cold War
• Free Solo (inspirational)
• Silent Light
• We finished The Americans. I was unsure for the first couple of seasons but we hung in there which paid off … the show got really good (as I’m sure you’ve heard).
• And, sure, we’re watching Game of Thrones. And Gay of Thrones.

Reading:

• Finished Bobby Fischer Goes To War which was fantastic, though it did wind down a bit mid-match (and 3/4 into the book) once it became apparent that Fischer would win. I wholeheartedly recommend it, though. One big complaint: the book mentions throughout that Bobby Fischer often listened to ‘rock n’ roll’ while preparing and practicing, but there’s no mention or clue as to the records of bands he liked. I want to know!
• I’m now halfway through Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash after multiple people coincidentally recommended it to me over the same few weeks. Confession: this is the first fiction book I’ve read since 2001. No idea why I gave up on fiction, but I’ve meant to get back into it. So far so good — I’m enjoying Snow Crash, though I still am not sure what it is about the book (or me) that inspired various friends to point me to it.

Misc:

• I started using Focusmate over the past few weeks. I’m using it right now. It’s a game-changer — expect a blog post about this soon. In the meantime, here’s the article that convinced me to give Focusmate a try.
• Civic Minded 5, my favorite concert promoters, hosted the trio of Nels Cline/Larry Ochs/Gerald Cleaver a couple of weeks back. A mind-blowing show. There were two sets — the second half of set one was explosive and set two was at times drone-y and Krautrock-y. So good. Again, I’ve never been disappointed by a Civic Minded 5 show and am grateful they are here in Orlando. Your city should be jealous.

Make Way for the Virtual Dance Floor

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On our blog about “music’s place in the 21st century” we rarely get to write about anything as futuristic (in a ‘shape of things to come’ way) as this, via Music Business Weekly:

Yesterday (February 2), DJ star Marshmello played an exclusive in-game concert in Fornite at 2pm ET. Fortnite players could watch the virtual show for free, so long as they made sure their avatar was available at the concert’s location (Pleasant Park).

The numbers are now coming in on the event’s audience, and they’re mighty impressive: according to reliable sources, over 10 million concurrent users witnessed Marshmello’s virtual concert. These people’s in-game avatars were all able to hit the virtual dancefloor in front of Marshmello’s own avatar and show off their moves.

Mark Mulligan in Music Industry Blog:

For my son and his friends this was every bit a shared live experience, each of them talking to each other via Xbox Live and dancing with each other on screen. In-game live experiences like this are nothing new, but it may just be that we are beginning to get to a tipping point in shared gaming experiences for Gen Z that will shape their entertainment expectations for years to come.

and Darren Hemmings in the Motive Unknown newsletter:

I tweeted over the weekend that this brought to mind when US rock bands of a certain age talk about the influence KISS had on them. Often it wasn’t about the music so much as the spectacle of it all, and how much that impacted them as a child or teen. I think there’s parallels here; these are the kind of great experiences that really get fans hooked in, and strikes me as a colossal win for Marshmello as an artist.

At a point where I often grumble that innovation is drying up in music, this proved to be a fine example of how great things can come together to make a massively successful event for all involved.

Marshmello’s DJ set is also now exclusively available on Apple Music, no doubt a high-profile pay-off of the streamer’s association with Dubset.

Video games took some of the blame when music industry profits declined in the late-90s/early-00s. We reasoned that kids who once spent their allowance on music were instead using it on games. There was probably some truth in that, setting up tension between the game and music industries. But we’re now starting to see cooperation in marketing games and music that’s going leaps beyond background songs and Guitar Hero. And as journalist Cherie Hu talks about on a recent episode of the Music Tectonics podcast, the integration of music and non-music media and interactive entertainment may be the big music business story of 2019.

Regardless, we’ve come a long way since this:

🔗→ Marshmello just played a live set to 10m people in video game Fortnite
🔗→ Marshmello Just Live Streamed on Fortnite…So Just What is a Concert?
🔗→ Marshmello’s Fortnite concert shows it should be done

Don’t Let Music Become Software

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Above: another pic from the sticks, hope I don’t get ticks. I’m hiding out in this remote location for a couple more days.

I’m a fan of email newsletters — I subscribe to way too many — and one of my favorites is Cherie Hu’s Water & Music. Even outside of the newsletter Hu is one of my favorite music industry writers/pundits, and she seems to reserve her most thought-provoking opinions for the newsletter. And 2018’s final edition of Water & Music, titled ‘The Music Industry’s Inconvenient Truths,’ is a corker.

The premise revolves around answers to the question, “What is one truth about the music industry that very few people agree with you on?” I can’t say I strongly disagree with any of the responses Hu received, and this one bolsters the direction of my consulting work. But it’s Hu’s two answers to the question that elicit the most thought — this newsletter’s been reeling in my head since I read it a few days ago.

Hu’s first answer has familiarity as she’s dropping some Seth Godin knowledge and I just finished his latest book, This Is Marketing. The concept of the ‘smallest viable audience’ is emphasized, which states that an artist should only seek to please his die-hard fans. Musicianship and ‘honing the craft’ remain important, but not at the expense of serving the needs of those who support you. Says Hu:

Let’s put it this way: as long as music can be materialized as an item or activity whose purchase generates revenue for somebody, music is a product. People who buy or engage with a musical product are referred to by the industry as “fans,” so “fan” is just another word for “customer.” Customers buy the products that best satisfy their own needs and desires. So, like in any other industry, the best music products most effectively address customers’ needs and satisfy clearly-defined gaps in the market that other products haven’t filled.

In This Is Marketing, Godin argues that we are all marketers as individuals seeking to make a change in others. For the recording artist, that change is as simple (or complex) as convincing a listener to check out her album rather than someone else’s. Godin then challenges us to think of ourselves as something more than marketers — also as teachers, delivering value and reward to our customers/fans. With a teacher mindset, we’re encouraged to produce meaningful content for those who are paying the most attention.

I could go on and on about this but I’ll save it for a future post. I’m cutting myself short as I can’t wait to get to Hu’s next proclamation: “The word ‘creator’ does more harm than good:”

I understand that the word “creator” might be the simplest, most easily accessible term for addressing all possible users releasing content on a given platform. And don’t get me wrong: democratizing creativity is undeniably a force for good, and the last thing the world should do is give fewer people access to tools for making art and expressing themselves. But who owns and profits from that creativity is an entirely separate debate, in danger of being obfuscated by the widespread adoption and promotion of “creator” as a job title.

It may seem like semantics, but the way we adopt and use language rewires our thinking (hello, George). 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 — as Spotify did with its #PraiseV campaign (see Hu’s newsletter) — we’re desensitized against protest. Hu again:

Throughout history, the democratization of creativity has coincided with a dilution of clarity around ownership […] [and] the mechanisms by which other companies can claim IP ownership in a world of democratized creation are becoming much swifter than reading through tens of pages of a record contract.

I feel like the tech platforms — Spotify, Apple, Amazon, et al. — would like us to start thinking of music as software. That is, we’ve ‘created’ something that’s inseparable from their technologies. Just as Omnifocus, my to-do app of choice, won’t run and can’t exist without my iMac, a song can’t exist without Spotify. Then we start thinking of our music as dependent on the platform when, of course, it’s the other way around. 

That’s one thing I love about music publishing. Its framework forces us to think of compositions as separate from the recordings and undetachable from the songwriter. A song isn’t a creation, per se, but an idea tied to an individual (or individuals, if there are co-writers). The tech platforms have had their problems with music publishing, showing that the intimacy of composition may help protect against music becoming software.  But, as Cherie Hu points out, the real battle may be fought through language and how a shift in simple phrasing affects the ownership mindset of future songwriters. Let’s hold on to our ideas and understand that songs are breathing things that exist on their own, platform be damned. Don’t let your music become software.

P.S. — I realize this last bit may seem in contradiction to the first, where it appears I’m referring to songs as product. But it’s not in opposition at all if you understand the type of marketing we’re doing as artists. Godin’s This Is Marketing will help you understand and I recommend it. 

P.P.S.— There’s no disrespect intended to software and software makers. But I feel programmers have a better understanding of their IP rights in the milieu of platform-dependence than songwriters and artists do.