8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

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.

Anti-Social Recording Artists

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I’m thinking about what Darren Hemmings had to say in a recent Motive Unknown newsletter. It’s not a secret that I’m no fan of social media (esp. Zuckbook). You might not know that I’m presently doing a lot of research into how a label or artist can effectively promote music without social media. I’m convinced it’s possible, but not without a fair amount of legwork and reconsidering music marketing traditions. So it was with great interest to see Darren, who runs a marketing consultancy representing the likes of Run The Jewels and Moby, state the following:

… there may be quite a fundamental shift starting here – albeit in very, very early form. It strikes me that some artists are increasingly tiring of existing on other people’s platforms where their relationship to fans is always compromised. Instead, platforms like Bandcamp and community hubs like Discord allow them to sell directly and build a home for those fans that is not subject to algorithmic control over who see their message. They are tiring of social media and tiring of other platforms controlling who they can reach. […] Where I think this could get interesting is when we see the first artists really break through with little support or presence across both DSPs and social media in general. I think many would see that as an impossible notion right now, but to my mind that is something that may happen sooner than we all realise.

I agree. And I would love for some of these breakout ‘first artists’ to be emerging rather than established (I mean, if Bruce Springsteen decided to do a Bandcamp-only release, it would obviously do well).

I also think the anti-platform sentiment that’s loudly brewing isn’t only about lack of direct fan access. There are also political concerns, especially among a younger crop of tuned-in artists. In Spotify’s case, there are problems with the platform’s unsupportive moves against musicians. And issues with Facebook (which, remember, owns Instagram) are so plentiful that the platform’s contributions to things like, uh, genocide are now old news. 

It isn’t easy to find optimism right now, but I’m optimistic about this. Artists and labels are starting to take control. They’re learning that the tools exist, for the first time in history, to reach new levels of independence (and interdependence). You know that thing I like to say: It’s the punk rock dream come true … if you want it.

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.

When Small Podcasts Want Big Music

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Vintage Microphone

Billboard:

For about a year, music-business sources say, rights holders have been monitoring podcasts more aggressively for unlicensed content. “We realized we were undervaluing the podcast market,” says one source, “and started proactively approaching people who had been using music without proper licenses.” […]

Podcasters who use music say their business is evolving from an anything-goes atmosphere reminiscent of early hip-hop sampling or online radio into an industry that depends on licensing — one, some say, in which only big companies will be able to afford the resulting fees.

I like the comparison with the early days of sampling and online radio. Podcasts have legally existed under-the-radar for over a decade, inviting the ‘wild west’ cliche when it comes to music licensing. The media attention given to Spotify’s acquisitions and start-ups like Luminary is a cause for monied interests to sit up and notice. Though most podcasts continue to live in the underground, the industry is no longer an underground industry.

Those ‘underground’ podcasts — 94% of podcasts supposedly have less than 5000 downloads an episode1A statistic that I heard repeatedly at Podcast Movement 2019 but I can’t find an online source to back it up. — have little separation from the Mark Marons and the Conan O’Briens. We judge and hype-up the industry according to its successes and highest valuation. So there’s not much wiggle room for a podcast in the 94-percentile to license a well-known piece of music at an appropriately adjusted fee. And to be fair, the rights-holders for, say, “Bohemian Rhapsody” can’t maintain the infrastructure to field thousands of small-paying requests.

Another problem is the archival nature of podcasts. Licenses are more expensive the longer they are active, so licenses with set terms — such as a one-year license — are a way to cut costs. Perpetuity is ideal, and is standard in film and television licensing, but can be out-of-range for podcast budgets. The Billboard article notes that “an annual track license generally costs between $500 and $2,000 for the master recording, plus the same amount for publishing … and must be renewed for a podcast to remain online.” A podcaster in this arrangement would pay this fee annually or have no choice but to delete the archive.

Here’s Music Ally’s take:

Now imagine the admin (let alone the mounting costs) for a podcast that puts out shows on a weekly or even daily basis. […] That’s not an argument for rightsholders not to be compensated for use of music in shows that can reach wide audiences, but the annual-renewal model seems fraught with challenges: we’ve seen some catalogue games ‘deleted’ by their developers because their music licences elapsed, and the games weren’t generating enough revenues any more to make renewals pay off. Could the same thing be happening for older podcasts?

An in-the-works solution is the forthcoming SoundExchange/SourceAudio collaboration that I wrote about previously. I’m sure annual renewals from podcasts will be required through this system as well but at a much lower cost2Supposedly this service will adjust the licensing fee based on the podcast’s estimated listener numbers. and the assistance of the platform in keeping track of it all.

A more immediate solution for the indie podcaster is to eschew “Bohemian Rhapsody” for independent music, focusing on labels and artists that are receptive and probably maintain all of their rights. Most small labels I know would be happy to have music featured in a podcast, or anywhere for that matter. Of course, that’s no help if you’re doing an episode about Queen. But maybe there’s already too much out there about Queen and not enough about emerging bands. Consider giving the airtime to an independent artist that would enjoy some podcast love.

Less Radio, More Intention: Streaming at a Crossroads

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This Medium post from Motive Unknown’s Darren Hemmings is getting a lot of attention, and rightly so:

We are constantly being told by the likes of Spotify that they can enhance our music discovery. Algorithms and their own curated playlists should give us no end of music to enjoy. But the sheer volume, coupled with zero friction, results in the much-cited “paradox of choice”. Selecting anything is horribly hard, but equally, with zero friction in accessing it, no emotional investment is made and our own consumption becomes entirely shallow. […]

At every step of the way, streaming services are essentially gaslighting us that this ecosystem is an amazing new development. Just like Silicon Valley in general, there is this mindset that having everything available all the time is a good thing. It isn’t — and it is arguably damaging art and culture as a result. […]

In 2019, artists need meaningful patronage, not a speech about how they could get more streams. That patronage might come from merch or other means, but it should come from music too. As someone who makes his living from the music industry, it also occurred to me that frankly, I owe these people. Without them, I wouldn’t have this job that I love.

The author continues with an opinion that streaming is more of a replacement for radio — rather than for albums or fan-cherished media — than we realize. Like radio, most listeners approach streamed music passively and ephemerally — a song or artist listened to now is forgotten fifteen minutes later. Hemmings feels this is partly due to a lack of listener investment (the purchase of the music) as well as the psychological effect of a seemingly endless amount of content.

I still think that music fans can utilize streaming with intention, but it’s not effortless. Rather than clicking on playlists and random recommendations, listeners can seek out albums and new releases from trusted sources (reviews, online radio shows, friends). And once a great album is discovered, learning more about it and its artist is just a few clicks away. That said, requiring intention won’t easily convert casual listeners to die-hard fans, but the seductive nature of playlists and algorithmic recommendations is turning fans into more passive listeners. Intention used to be inherent in the medium. Gone are the days of merely perusing the CD or LP liner notes (or holding a curiosity-inspiring album cover) and digging further.

The comparison with radio may predict another inevitability: that streaming platforms will become more exclusive rather than aiming to contain every available musical recording. Just as you know to turn to a top 40 radio station to hear that format, or a jazz FM station for be-bop, or the local college station for freeform, esoteric selections, we may see a similar separation in streaming outlets. I believe this could be a good thing, and we’re seeing seeds in the Bandcamp model — that platform isn’t actively courting the new Taylor Swift single.

The ultimate model is for artists to create portals for music through their sites like Neil Young has done with his Archives project. If a fan wanted to hear the music first and in the best quality or format then the artist’s site could be the destination rather than that of a corporate third party. This also gives the artist freedom over presentation, to have ‘liner notes,’ videos, behind-the-scenes documentaries, and such featured alongside the music. The emphasis would be on fan-building as opposed to platform-building. One step further is for artists to be connected and networked, perhaps via an organization like Merlin, so music from similar bands are discovered through the artist’s portal.

There are still many possible directions for the future of the streaming industry. I know it feels like we’re at the end-point, that Spotify and Apple’s dominance and agenda-setting are the way things are and will be. But, as we’re learning with society’s now mainstream skepticism of social media, we’re still at the ‘figuring-it-all-out’ stage with digital media. Expect more than a few forks and unexpected crossroads along the way. And if an independent artist’s future is outside of Spotify — just as independents were rarely included on MTV or commercial radio — then it’s likely that artist will end up stronger for it.

🔗→ Music Streaming Services Are Gaslighting Us