8Sided Blog

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

Surviving Spotify’s Future Landscape

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There’s a lot of chatter about Daniel Ek’s recent interview with Musically’s Stuart Dredge. There are more than a few nuggets to dissect, but this one is getting the most attention:

“There is a narrative fallacy here, combined with the fact that, obviously, some artists that used to do well in the past may not do well in this future landscape, where you can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough,” said Ek. […] “I feel, really, that the ones that aren’t doing well in streaming are predominantly people who want to release music the way it used to be released …”

As Liz Pelly has explored on The Baffler, Spotify seems intent on influencing artists to tailor their music to benefit the platform. Yes, some point out that in past decades artists used to release 1 or 2 albums every year, so what Ek proposes is nothing new. But the difference is that artists now almost solely rely on touring for income. It’s impossible for most acts to frequently take months off to record a succession of albums without dire financial risk. No doubt you’ve heard the common refrain that bands used to tour to promote album releases, and now it’s the other way around. 

PRS’s Tom Gray illustrates this using The Beatles as an example. The Beatles stopped touring to concentrate on their studio work and, to Ek’s satisfaction, released a lot more than an album every few years. It’s doubtful a 2020 Beatles could do the same. Without touring income, they would be in the hole. Here’s Tom’s take (click here to read the full thread):

Tom’s numbers get a little fudgey — studio costs and such don’t need to be that high these days — but the point stands. The Spotify age is not kind to bands that camp out in studios. (The streaming model is even crueler to those who write songs but don’t perform, but that’s a whole other harrowing tale I’ll save for another time.)

Damon Krukowski challenges Ek’s statement by looking at current Spotify earnings from his former band, Galaxie 500. Krukowski points out that the band hasn’t released anything in over 20 years so, by Ek’s reasoning, they shouldn’t do well in ‘this future landscape.’ But they get more than one million streams a month. That’s pretty good, right? God knows I wish my catalog got half those monthly streams. 

You might think those numbers put Krukowski and Galaxie 500 in the musical middle class. Instead, those streams amount to about $1250 per band member a month. Here’s Damon (click here to read the full thread):

The concern isn’t what Ek refers to as the ‘top tier’ artists. Those are doing fine. The top artists have always done fine. And, for a variety of factors, they can (for now) live off Spotify royalties and the other compounding advantages of fame and exposure. The problem is the disruption of music’s middle class. This sector relied financially for most of this century (so far) on touring. And with COVID-19 in the air, the absence of touring and the diminished value of recorded music creates a crisis. Music’s middle class was already disappearing — in 2021, it could be gone entirely.1Be sure to put a pin on the idea that this disappearing middle class is reflective of income disparity in our society at large.

That’s what this interview — and Bob Lefsetz’s defense of Spotify — glosses over. Of course, wildly successful artists, with tens or hundreds of millions of plays a month, make good money from streaming. And it’s disingenuous to imply that artists complain because they feel entitled to the same. I can confidently speak for most artists that we just want an opportunity to earn a living through our music. Opportunity is not entitlement. Even though an artist’s ‘middle class’ was always precarious, there’s very little chance now to make it work. 

The implication from Ek is — and he’s not that far off — in the eyes of Spotify, you’re either a superstar or an unknown. The insult is Ek saying that the latter position is mostly the artist’s fault because she’s a Luddite who’s not “putting the work in.”

(I’m reminded of this insightful quote from author Nancy Baym: “It’s amazing to me to see how so many careers, in music and beyond, have shifted such that it’s no longer enough to do the work. Now you have to do the work of making sure everyone is seeing that you’ve done the work.”) 

But I’m not placing all the blame on Ek, streaming, and the Napster guys who let this genie out of the bottle. All of that became inevitable as soon as the first ones-and-zeroes were digitally encoded on a compact disc. But as listeners and recording artists, we play a part by accepting the notion that Spotify is unavoidable and necessary. Yes, I believe that Spotify is not going anywhere. And I doubt they’ll change anything except notch their monthly price up a dollar or two in a few years. What it’s essential also to understand is we’re not obligated to play along. 

As concerned recording artists, we don’t necessarily need to remove our music from Spotify (though, if you do exit the platform, good on you). The key is to treat streaming as the entrance of a marketing funnel to lead potential fans to our sites and mailing lists. Let’s look at it as if it’s radio. Radio in the US egregiously doesn’t pay a royalty to performers, but performers still allow their music on the radio as it’s an entry for new listeners. But they never say, “You should only listen to my music on the radio.” 

Or as a more musically-inclined Tyler Durden might say: “The first rule of Spotify is you do not talk about Spotify.” Only post links to your site or a store like Bandcamp. Seriously — there is no reason to send your fans to Spotify. The distant hope that the company will return the favor by adding your song to one of their big playlists is a broken motivation.

As listeners, we have a responsibility, too. I frequently write about the seductive appeal of streaming — I know I can’t resist effortlessly accessing an album or band that I just learned about. But we should also support the artists we enjoy by directly purchasing their music, ordering their merchandise, and signing up for their mailing lists. It’s not that difficult, and these gestures mean a lot to the artists. And, like musical Tyler, we should spread the word by posting to our favorite artists’ websites and Bandcamp pages, not Spotify players. 

We’ll all benefit the sooner we start thinking of Spotify as an occasional sampling tool instead of a go-to listening necessity. Let’s happily hand the platform over to the ‘top tier’ with their frequent releases and domination of playlists. It’s evident from the interview that’s who Ek has in mind for his company, anyway (besides Joe Rogan, of course). 

A Lot of Honking: The Age of Social Distanced Concerts

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I expect a lot of honking. Ray, a longtime friend, alerted me to The Road Rave, an event billed as “North America’s first-ever drive-in festival of the COVID era.” The festival is led by EDM sensation and Ultra Music Festival veteran Carnage, performing alongside at least four other acts. A maximum of 500 cars will line up in formation, facing the stage, each with two to six inhabitants encouraged to stay seated during the event. “Roaming golf carts” will take concession orders.

The Road Rave takes place Saturday, June 20 (postponed from the original date of June 6), about six miles from my house. It’s sold out. No, I’m not going, but thanks for the invite. That said, I’m close enough that I’m sure the not-too-distant sound of 500 cars honking will echo over Lake Holden and into my eardrums throughout the evening. Every bass drop — honk honk honk. Every on-stage glitter explosion —- honk honk honk. Every DJ raising his hands in the air — honk honk honk. There will be a lot of honking.

We’re now in the phase of The Strange Times where watching a concert from the seat of a car seems attractive. I get it — we’re making our way through this any way we can. And even a glimmer of normality that’s not normal at all can provide reassurance. But, man — all those cars.

In the last several months, there was a push to explore the idea of environmentally-conscious, carbon-neutral touring. Massive Attack and Coldplay were high-profile advocates of the concept. So it’s ironic concert-goers are now encouraged to lean into the fossil-fuels, idling their automobiles as a festival broadcasts over an FM signal, and a guy in a golf cart takes another nacho order.

It’s not only The Road Rave. The concert promoting Borg, known as Live Nation, is planning nationwide ‘drive-in concert’ tours this summer, taking place in the various parking lots of its 40 amphitheaters. And for promoters who don’t own stadiums, drive-in theaters are a no-brainer for events. However, most existing drive-ins are far outside of bigger cities, and the owners would rather show movies. Says one proprietor, “We don’t mind doing one-off special events, but most of us feel we’re here to show movies.” Less hassle, less honking.

In an article about the absence of live music, the drive-in theater aspect inspired Rolling Stone contributing editor Rob Sheffield to remember a scene from ’70s movie dystopia:

There’s a scene I keep re-watching from the Seventies sci-fi zombie trash classic, The Omega Man. Charlton Heston is the last human left alive in LA after the plague. He drives out to the empty theater that’s still showing the “Woodstock” documentary. He sits alone in the dark, a ritual he’s done many times before, watching the hippie tribes onscreen boogie to Country Joe and the Fish. “This is really beautiful, man,” a dazed flower child tells the camera. Heston recites every word along with him. “The fact is if we can’t all live together and be happy, if you have to be afraid to walk out in the street, if you have to be afraid to smile at somebody, right—what kind of a way is that to go through this life?”

Charlton Heston gives a sardonic smirk. “Yup—they sure don’t make pictures like that anymore.”

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On the other hand, there are approaches to social distanced gatherings that border on performance art. For example, the restaurant outfitted with mannequins and the TV show with an audience of balloon people. A precursor to social distanced performance art might be 2018’s Mile-Long Opera, where listeners walked along NYC’s High Line. Singers were encountered along the path, each singing in tandem, and, as an ‘audience member,’ you are encouraged to keep moving. It’s a compelling idea, but nowadays, even a performance in motion has its COVID-19 dangers. Jane Moss of The Lincoln Center, considering the option, worries about transfixed groups stopping to watch in a virus-spreading bottleneck: “The more ingenious and intriguing you get, the more people want to come together to see what you’ve done.”

Performance art directly inspired one daring concert experience. Marina Abramovic’s exhibition (and terrific documentary film) The Artist Is Present featured the artist sitting across from a stranger in silence. The simple act of this face-to-face meeting — at about a socially distanced six feet — caused intense feelings of intimacy in many participants. Some of the seated museum-goers broke into tears during their sittings. From this idea came performances at the dormant airport in Stuttgart, Germany. A musician from the local orchestra gave a series of ten-minute ‘concerts’ to solitary audience members. They faced each other at a short length, with no conversation and no applause. In a NY Times piece covering the event, listeners spoke about the same sort of intimacy that Abramovic’s temporary partners felt.

This intimacy is unexpected, but innovative answers to the live-music-under-COVID problem will produce unexpected results. That’s the subtext of all performance art — experiment with people’s expectations and things will happen. And the further away we get from a traditional live performance, the less it looks and feels like a concert. Understandably, that worries a lot of people.

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Others have attempted to zero-in on the center of the Venn diagram linking live music and COVID-19 safety. There was this small event in Münster that featured famed DJ Gerd Jansen, social distanced dancing (in theory), a 100-person limit, and €70 tickets to break even. And in Arkansas, blues-rock singer Travis McCready played to a sold-out — but still smattering — crowd who were temperature-checked before entering:

On the surface, the concert had all the makings of a typical rock & roll show. Stage lights set the mood. The audience clapped along, with some even dancing in their “fan pod” seats (tickets were sold in blocks to keep groups six feet apart). But when the bank of floodlights at the front of the stage illuminated a nearly empty 1,100-seat theater during Travis McCready’s set, the reality of the situation was clear. The first socially distanced concert in the US felt more like a dress rehearsal than a typical concert experience.

It’s something, but is it helping? And by that, I mean, helping us cope or return to something like our ordinary lives? Since reading the Vulture piece I linked to above I think a lot about this paragraph:

The first fallback options—play to an empty house (as a small sub-ensemble of the Berlin Philharmonic has done) or distribute a few hundred listeners around a hall that could seat 2,000—would only emphasize the melancholy weirdness. That kind of event can have an impact as a ritual of mourning, a dramatization of all we’ve lost. But it’s no way to lose ourselves in some alternate, virus-free world of the imagination.

The music is only one reason we go to concerts, festivals, nightclubs, or raves. We also go for the community, to connect with (as Seth Godin says), “People like us who do things like this.” We’ve all forged at least one friendship with someone we saw at ‘all the same shows.’ Many of us even met our future life partners at a club or concert. These solutions I pointed out — attending in cars, listening alone to a flute player, or boogying at a distance in a near-empty club — only solve the ‘music’ part of the equation. It’s true that we miss and crave the rush of volume, performance, and the live music experience. But until we regain the electricity of community that accompanies it, we’ve, so far, only captured the facsimile.

This post was adapted from Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care, a weekly newsletter loosely about music-making, music-listening, and how technology changes the culture around those things. Click here to check out the latest issue and subscribe.

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.

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.