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The Pros and Cons of Bandcamp’s Vinyl Pressing Service

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Starting Points

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• As a former niche record store owner, I can’t wait to see Other Music, the documentary on New York City’s much-loved and much-missed outsider music shop. Writer and investor Om Malik beat me to it, giving the film an enthusiastic thumbs up. He found a profound message about how the discovery of music we love attaches to a moment in time. There are people, memories, and places forever associated with songs and albums. Unfortunately, algorithmic discovery doesn’t connect itself to our memories, and the music becomes dissociated from personal meaning. Malik writes:

While the film is about a record store, it is really about serendipity and the emotion of discovery. We need a story to make something a memory. I watched the documentary and instantly remembered every single salesperson, their quirks, and even their snobbery. […] This is the missing piece of Spotify as we know of it today. The faceless algorithm does nothing to cement the moment of musical revelation in our memories. I am currently tripping on Oceanvs Orientalis, but I have no idea how I ended up finding them and liking their music. By comparison, a friend’s beau introduced me to El Jazzy Chavo. Every time I play his music, I think of the two of them and our bumpy car ride together.

Even if algorithms are efficient at providing basic “if you like this, then you might like this” music recommendations, they deprive us of the joy of discovery.

This sentiment is on point now more than ever. We’re living sequestered thanks to COVID-19, and opportunities to hear songs for the first time in clubs, restaurants, or in cars with friends are rare. That said, I wonder how much the music we’re finding now will live on in our emotions as the ‘songs of lockdown.’ [LINK]

• Shawn Reynaldo’s latest First Floor newsletter is remarkable. He asks himself, “What does ‘doing better’ actually look like?” Shawn refers to his desire to confront systemic racism, especially as part of the electronic dance music industry. His piece starts with a lay of the land and what others are doing — or are trying to do. Then Shawn leads into a self-examination:

Looking back at my own career, I’d like to say that I had avoided these traps, but the truth is that I’m just as guilty as most other music professionals I know. I admit that before last week, I hadn’t really considered some of these issues, as I was complacent in the fact that because I had written about and booked countless black artists over the years, I was doing my part to help. After all, even though my colleagues and I had been mostly all white, we were also “progressive” people with good intentions and the right politics, which placed us on the right side of this struggle. It almost feels ridiculous to be writing these things now, but after doing a lot of reading, reflecting and listening in recent days, it’s now obvious to me that I wasn’t doing enough.

Shawn goes on to list how he plans to start ‘doing better.’ These suggestions are thought-out and I’m making note, adopting them as well. And, as Shawn knows, these serve as a starting point. The changes we need to make go deep — both outside and within — and they will evolve as addressing lingering issues will reveal new challenges. Be sure to read Shawn’s full article — it’s powerful, and I can’t stop thinking about it. [LINK]

• Related to ‘doing better,’ One Little Indian Records has been using that name since 1985, releasing seminal records from Bjork, The Shamen, Chumbawamba, and others. As of yesterday, the label has renamed itself One Little Independent Records.

• I’m learning about Czech performance artist Milan Knizak, a ‘member of Fluxus behind the Iron Curtain.’ Like Christian Marclay, who followed him, Knizak broke, burned, soiled, and tormented records. Then he put them back together with glue, tape, and who knows what else. Much to the chagrin and detriment of his turntable and needle, he played these reassembled records. If you’re curious about what that sounded like, then hold on to your hat … here you go:

• Today’s Lake Holden photo at dawn is a pretty one = [LINK]

The Promise of Unending Knowledge

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• Here are two audio snapshots of recent protests. First, Radiolab offers a short meditation on Nina Simone’s sad, unbroken thread line to today’s injustices, profiling a remarkable concert she gave three days after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. And via his S/FJ newsletter, Sasha Frere-Jones shares a recording titled ‘Five Minutes June 3 2020.’ The audio — taken from the streets of New York City — is both exhilarating and terrifying. It’s also sound-as-art, a collage of moods and voices that rings in every feeling part of you. [LINK] + [LINK]

• HBO Max shows why escaping to the indie web is looking better with each passing day. It’s about time for a federal version of the CCPA. [LINK]

• I stumbled across this excellent NY Times piece by Peggy Orenstein from 2009. She writes eloquently about her struggles with the addictive qualities of the internet. I’m charmed by this mythological metaphor for our shared dilemma:

Not long ago, I started an experiment in self-binding: intentionally creating an obstacle to behavior I was helpless to control, much the way Ulysses lashed himself to his ship’s mast to avoid succumbing to the Sirens’ song. In my case, though, the irresistible temptation was the Internet. […] Those mythical bird-women (look it up) didn’t seduce with beauty or carnality — not with petty diversions — but with the promise of unending knowledge. “Over all the generous earth we know everything that happens,” they crooned to passing ships, vowing that any sailor who heeded their voices would emerge a “wiser man.” That is precisely the draw of the Internet. [LINK]

• There’s a nice profile of my friend Craig Snyder in the latest edition of Byta’s #HowWeListen series. Yes, he talks about how he listens (and what he’s listening to) and gives a lovely shout-out to yours truly and my weekly newsletter. But my favorite part is Craig talking about how records and the spaces they’re in (‘the room’) should fit each other:

I used to have a big vinyl collection but I’ve now slimmed my collection down to a case that holds 200 records. I remember going into one of my favorite bars called Tubby’s in Kingston, NY and noticing their vinyl collection. I remember asking how they curated their collection and the owner said, we picked out our 200 favorite records that fit this room. No matter which record we pick, it feels right. I also had an experience in an Airbnb in Montreal where there was a small vinyl collection. As I looked around the apartment I realized that these 50 records were the perfect collection for this particular place.

These two experiences made me rethink accumulating records. If I buy a new LP, then one needs to leave. That’s my goal with my 200 LPs. They’re the soundtrack of my living room in the Catskills. If I lived in a different house I’d probably need a different set of 200 albums. [LINK]

• Here’s a moody instrumental tune from Yorkshire’s worriedaboutsatan. It creeps up on you without being creepy.

• Lake Holden’s looking good this morning → [LINK]

How a Factory Fire Underscores Vinyl’s Fragile Future

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This month doom and gloom descended on the record industry. And by the ‘record industry,’ I mean the industry that manufactures, releases, and loves vinyl records. The fragility of the vinyl revival was dramatically revealed by a tragic fire at a factory in California. People are freaking out. And, as I wrote about the story for my newsletter, I started thinking about vinyl in a broader sense — why do we love it, what are its alternatives, and do we really need it?

Before we go down the rabbit hole, you might want to watch an informative video that shows the creation of a vinyl master:

Pretty cool, eh? So, back to this concerning fire. The quick summary: a couple of weeks ago, the Apollo Masters Corp. building in California burned to the ground. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the damage to the facility was severe enough that it’s unlikely the plant will reopen. And that’s bad news because this plant was one of two in the world that provided the lacquers necessary to create master discs for vinyl record production. (You may have noticed that Gonsalves opens an Apollo box for his lacquer in the above video.) The other plant is MDC in Japan, reportedly behind schedule and turning down new customers even before the fire.

This tragedy triggered a lot of doomsday takes, with the founder of record presser Capsule Labs memorably coining the word “Vinylgeddon” in Billboard. I briefly spoke to Mike Dickinson of Austin’s Chicken Ranch Records, and he wasn’t as dramatic: “There could be a bottleneck in the new release categories for a bit, but I don’t think we will see much of a slowdown in already mastered and plated product. It will be interesting to see what labels will do to innovate during this time.”

Chicken Ranch presses with Gold Rush Vinyl, which fortunately uses the Japanese lacquer-maker. Once word gets out that this plant has a reliable source for lacquers, what happens to their backlog? Will prices rise? Will it take much longer for finished records to ship? And, more importantly, what happens to the plants that used Apollo for lacquers? Another wrinkle to this story is that Apollo was also a source for the cutting styli used in Westrex heads. Thus plants with Westrex equipment may have a problem replacing styli.

All is not lost. There is DMM (Direct Metal Mastering) technology that most European pressing plants use. DMM doesn’t require a lacquer, though some feel the sound of DMM records is harsh and lacks bass (thus not the preference for DJ music). With some tweaks, this process could be viable for everyone, but the promise of improving DMM tech might be a fool’s errand. Here’s Abbey Road Mastering Engineer Miles Showell being a total downer:

I highly doubt there will be any serious development in DMM. All the Neumann engineers who designed and knew about this stuff are dead. All of them. They did not write everything down which will probably make reverse engineering DMM technology prohibitively expensive.

The absence and cost of innovation are other issues. For all the talk of a vinyl resurgence, it’s still a niche business. Is there enough financial incentive for invention and new technologies? Physical manufacturing isn’t as sexy a pursuit as some shiny, disruptive music tech start-up. Where will we find the vinyl innovators?

The Discogs editorial team has a more optimistic take. There are quotes from ‘unnamed executives’ that other American lacquer plants could appear soon, and it’s hoped that a retired Apollo will openly share their proprietary technique. Also, master plates are created far in advance, so we shouldn’t see a slowdown in new releases for several months. Record Store Day 2020 is probably safe. And represses of classic titles make up most of a record plant’s business, and those plates are ready to go, no new lacquers needed.

Despite which way things end up, the Apollo fire is a wake-up call. The infrastructure for the vinyl industry is fragile. Another reminder of this instability is the recent — and on-going — scandal with Direct Shot Distribution. All three major labels now use Direct Shot to get their vinyl to stores, including the indie labels distributed through the majors’ indie services such as Warner’s ADA. The handling of all these records by a single distributor has created an inexcusable backlog, delays getting releases to stores, and weird things like shipments “supposed to contain music [instead] filled with bottles of prescription cough syrup.” The situation has prompted some to throw around the conspiracy theory that it’s the major labels’ way of killing off the vinyl revival. I don’t buy it — it’s merely the migraine headache of coping with unexpected analog hold-outs in a world that’s moving toward the digital. The ‘niche’ is so easy to maintain digitally that its physical side can’t keep up in the global market.

This brings me to what I really want to talk about: reliance and identity.

The identity of a lot of independent labels is tied up in vinyl. This strong link is a reason the news of the Apollo fire sent shockwaves around the music industry. I doubt many labels are depending on vinyl financially — the dirty secret of the ‘vinyl revival’ is that most independent labels would be stoked to sell 200 or 300 copies versus the couple of thousand pieces small labels shot for in the ‘90s. But, for many, the identity of the vinyl-pressing label is vital in the wake of digital labels.

Anyone can start a digital label, right? It’s believed that vinyl means you’re more serious, that there’s an investment, and, for artists, there’s prestige. There’s something to be said for all of that. It’s why many labels pressing vinyl do so at a loss — which is fine if you can afford it. But there are other ways to show you’re serious about your label. Springing for an exceptional website that engages fans comes to mind — or spending that vinyl money on someone to help with promotion. And seriousness doesn’t have to cost money. Operating your label professionally and with ambition and purpose says a lot more than a stack of unsold records in the corner of your home office.

Things have calmed down a bit since the fire, but labels relying on a vinyl identity were initially terrified at the news of Apollo’s demise. What would their futures look like if the infrastructure for vinyl collapsed? Here’s an unwelcome comparison: is this fear the same for a label that put all its eggs in the Spotify basket, and now Spotify is shifting its focus to podcasts? Or, how about the fears of an industry propped up by the insane profit margin on compact discs, and a few years later, no one wants CDs anymore?

Today there’s so much opportunity for diversification. Not only in the delivery format of a musical release, but also in the means that a label and an artist can inspire income streams, distribute themselves, and find previously untapped audiences. There’s no reason to narrow one’s scope. Nurturing an identity is cool — branding is a necessary consideration — but not at the expense of putting your project in a predicament if that one aspect you’re tied up in changes direction.

Do we need vinyl? I want to think so, though I did sell my entire collection in one not-as-painful-as-you’d-think decision strategically before moving to a new house. Here I’ll defer to Shawn Reynaldo, who asks some crucial questions about the need for vinyl in his outstanding First Floor newsletter. Provocatively, Shawn — who primarily writes about DJ-oriented genres — states:

It’s funny, electronic music is supposed to be rooted in notions of futurism… But so many of our practices are rooted in sentimentality and notions of “this is the way it’s always been done.” Traditions can be a good thing, and I’m not the kind of person who regularly advocates for “smashing the system,” but when it comes to vinyl, we’re long overdue for a change. The [Apollo] fire is a major bummer, but it might also be the catalyst we need to make some real changes.

Vinyl enthusiasts are sometimes puzzled by people who purchase records and never open them. These record-buyers do listen, but they opt to use streaming platforms or digital downloads (the vinyl probably came with a download code). The album is an appreciation of the music, a totem of sorts, something to look at or to show friends. It’s often a measure of support. And more than a t-shirt, albums become decor, giving voice to the fan like a collection of books on a shelf.

I’d venture that in 2020 most albums are purchased like this. And that gives me pause about an album’s purpose. I wonder if this power is transferable to other collectible items. The answer: of course it is. We already see it in the surprising return — and popularity! — of cassette releases on Bandcamp. The mocking was rampant when cassettes started to reappear. But think about it — if we’re buying a personalized item to support a band and to physically show that support in our homes, a cassette is equally effective. It’s even more potent wrapped in a groovy and personalized package. Financially, a cassette is a lot less risky and more hands-on for the band. And, refreshingly, the investment is in the personalization and creativity of the object, not the cost.

The door is open for imaginative stand-ins for the vinyl album. It could be a screen-printed wooden box containing photos from the recording session and an odd-shaped USB for the music. Or perhaps a compact disc in a hand-stitched multi-page zine with artwork reflecting the band’s political activism. And if you want to get really nostalgic and downright weird with your format, how about releasing your music on a floppy disc?

I’ll go one further. Does this physical object even require music? As long as the listener has the audio files or access to the release via streaming, anything can represent the fan’s love for the band.

I recall my friend David and his support for the South African electronic musician Felix Laband. Felix is also an excellent visual artist and David tracked down and purchased one of his paintings to proudly hang on his wall. Though he loves the artwork on its own, this was primarily a show of support for Felix’s music. As David writes on his blog about the purchase, “If we could do the same for John Kennedy Toole for having written A Confederacy of Dunces or for Brian Hutton directing Kelly’s Heroes we would, but they’re dead so you’re it. We hope that repatriating your art is adequate compensation.”

The first trick is inspiring your fans to offer support and want to display your object in their homes. Next, come up with something crafty, surprising, and personal that connects with a dedicated listener and dazzles her friends. This something could be a vinyl record, but it doesn’t have to be. And, someday, it’s possible that it can’t be. Be ready.

A quick addendum: We can’t ignore that vinyl manufacturing is an environmentally hazardous procedure. The Apollo Masters Corp. supposedly ran afoul of the EPA in the past. Apparently, the plant didn’t have to adhere to some environmental regulations due to grandfather exemptions. Building a new plant removes these exemptions, and that could be one reason Apollo is hesitant to reopen.

Furthermore, as pointed out in a recent must-read article in The Guardian, the PVC in vinyl contains carcinogenic chemicals. The Thai factory where half the world’s supply originates is likely contaminating a local river with toxic wastewater. Records are a petrochemical product, so let’s not forget the pollution and greenhouse gas that entails.

But, as also mentioned in The Guardian piece, digital streaming has its own impact on greenhouse gas. The manufacturing of the phones and computers we use to listen results in toxic waste. And, as our devices are updated, the old ones end up in landfills. Like a lot of news these days, this knowledge is dispiriting. But having this conversation offers a glimmer of hope as we explore and imagine alternative, less harmful ways to listen.

This post was adapted from the second episode of my email newsletter Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care. Click here to check out the full issue and subscribe.

He Provides the Soundtrack, We Make the Movie

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Be sure to check out this mini-documentary from Mixmag on the enigmatic Detroit producer Moodymann. I love his vision for his city, his ruminations on record shops, and how the staff at Archer Record Pressing warmly welcomes him. But mostly I love this, said to Gilles Peterson:

We went to the club to get down and dance. Everybody knew the DJ and we didn’t sit there and look at the DJ. He provided the music … we was more into the room. He provides the soundtrack, we make the movie. Well, nowadays everybody just stands there and looks at the DJ. It’s not like that’s Prince up there performing live. That’s the fucking DJ.

I got into DJ’ing via punk rock. That may seem like a non-obvious association, but hear me out. What I liked about underground punk rock was that the band wasn’t the star — the band was merely the facilitator, and everyone in the club was on an equal level. We were all part of the show, and together we made it memorable.

There was a similar feeling in underground dance music when I started DJ’ing. It was fine — even preferable — if the DJ was in the dark or behind a wall looking through a slit.1Many clubs in the early ’90s had ‘the slit.’ I admit that I hated this at first as it seemed like a (literal) wall between the DJ and the audience. But I’ve grown nostalgic for a time when the nature of the booth implied that the music was the true star of the show. We were there to come together, every person as necessary to this party as the next, rejoicing in the feeling of the music. That vibe, combined with the fiercely independent distribution and economy of underground dance music, was, to me, a new kind of punk rock.

I’m not shaking my fist at a cloud or feeling like things are worse or better than ‘back in my day.’ But it’s different. And I feel Moodymann’s frustration here. A couple of decades ago the role of DJs changed, elevated to stars as punk rock bands eventually were. And more and more it’s a DJ’s responsibility to be the movie. When that happens, who’s the soundtrack really for?

Related: On the Music Tectonics podcast The Verge’s Dani Deahl mentions, with trepidation, a new AI engine that selects, programs, and mixes music from a DJ’s predetermined selection. That way the DJ can focus on ‘performance’ rather than pesky details like queuing up and beat-matching songs. Canned performance is nothing new — the draw of many DJs and music artists is a cult-of-personality anyway — but the thought of such an app has me looking testily toward the sky.

The ARChive is a Necessity in the Digital World

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Richard Morgan in Rolling Stone:

The [Archive of Contemporary Music] is a massive private research library that has been in downtown Manhattan since 1985 … […] Far from the kind of crackpot hoarding that sometimes happens in cities, George’s archive has been supported by powerhouses in music and entertainment. It houses Keith Richards’ blues collection. Their current board is varied enough to include both Youssou N’Dour and Paul Simon (Lou Reed and David Bowie were both once members). It consulted for Tom Hanks on the making of That Thing You Do. It’s the go-to repository for album art for everything from Grammy exhibits to Taschen books.

In a quirky explainer on their site about how they are ready for an alien invasion, the archive notes: “The ARChive collects and preserves everything that’s issued, hoping to define ‘what happened’ in terms broader than those usually described by selectiveness or availability. Taste, quality, marketing, Halls of Fame, sales, stars and value are as alien to us as they are, well, to aliens.” […]

At a time when some in the city were scrubbing Keith Haring murals off subway platforms, [founder Bob] George was welcoming every genre, including then-unpopular punk and hip-hop (among the archive’s greatest collection is a trove of punk 45s). “We could make the good and goofy come alive,” he says, “because no museum or university library is going to do that. They only want things after they’ve gotten valuable. It’s a small view of value. We see things differently. We see the value in everything.”

I almost wrote that The ARChive is like a musical version of the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine. Then I caught myself, realizing the absurdity of instinctively going to an internet-related analogy to describe something classic and rooted in our physical history. That may underlie the problem here — that we devalue the importance of a permanent IRL archive of our artistic triumphs now that the online world seems ubiquitous and deceivingly tangible.

And that problem? The ARChive is in danger of losing the space it has occupied since 1985 due to dramatic rent increases in its TriBeCa (NYC) home. This important collection of music (over three million recordings, whoa), and a building modified and renovated to house the vintage media safely can’t just pick up and find another home, especially in the city. So Bob George and friends of The ARChive are asking for help from music lovers worldwide, via a GoFundMe campaign.

From the GoFundMe page:

Our Independence is important to us. We operate without any City, State or Federal funds. We cherish the ability to work on projects of choice and free from restrictions or the dependence on governmental/taxpayer support. Our once affordable rent on White Street has skyrocketed to $21,000 a month, making it increasingly difficult for a pure research organization to survive in Lower Manhattan. Our home is in New York and we would love to stay here.

Independent historical archives like these are becoming ever important in our digital world, as emphasized by some recent mishaps and decisions of corporate content overseers. We exist in that tricky time-space when physical artifacts are still a part of our lives, but digital replicas are slowly taking over. On a personal scale, I think it’s fine to eschew material collections for digital ones if that’s your inclination. But that can fool us into forgetting that an archive like The ARChive is a cultural necessity, just like that seed vault in Norway is essential. If the digital replicas are lost — which could happen — then it’s institutions like The ARChive that help us relocate our scattered artistic history.

Donate to the Archive of Contemporary Music’s GoFundMe campaign, even if just a little bit. I did. And h/t to Eric Johnson (DJ Bunny Ears) for alerting me to The ARChive’s plight.

🔗→ Rebuilding the ARC: America’s Largest Music Collection Needs Your Help
🔗→ Rebuilding the ARC

Record Store Day and the Spirit of Vinyl

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I sure wish we had Record Store Day back when I owned a record store. The closest thing I had to Record Store Day was that time that the Orlando Lollapalooza date got canceled. My store — the only indie-rock-catering record shop in downtown Orlando at the time — was flooded with disappointed festival-goers looking for somewhere else to hang out. That was the biggest day of profit in the store’s existence.

Record Store Day is a great idea — in a perfect world, every Saturday would be Record Store Day of course — though many independent labels have serious issues as the event becomes dominated by major labels. Last year Numero Group, for example, blasted the current RSD as an “unwieldy grip-and-bitch fest … lines, fights, flippers, backed up pressing plants, stock shorts, stocking, and pricing at 4 am the morning of, and that inevitable markdown bin filled with all manner of wasted petroleum and bad ideas.”

As an independent label owner, I understand these gripes entirely. The now major-label (and major-indie) dominated RSD is mainly a nuisance for the small imprint. I’d instead release a high-profile album a week or two before Record Store Day. That way the shops will (hopefully) have my release in stock already, but I’m not vying for attention with the limited edition Devo boxsets and whatnot.

But as a former record shop owner, I am totally cool with Record Store Day. It was tough to keep the lights on at my store in the early ‘90s. I can’t even imagine how tough it must be now. But I do know that the money earned on Lollapalooza-cancellation day paid our bills for a good month. And it allowed us to take risks on some great new records in the following week’s stock order, too.

Meanwhile, Leor Galil of the Chicago Reader reminds us:

RSD’s founding principle is to support local record stores, but I don’t think such support should be confined to shops that stock RSD special releases. Thrift stores can be great places to buy music, even if they devote only a small fraction of their floor space to it. […]

Secondhand shops … rarely sort or catalog their collections in any way, so that it’s futile to take any approach other than “see what you can see.” Such stores are often the last stop records make before the landfill, and browsing their collections can feel like panning for gold in a sandbox. I don’t mind spending 15 minutes at a Goodwill, though, digging through battered Herb Alpert discs and high school marching-band LPs—the longer I look, the slimmer the chance I’ll find anything interesting, but even the tiniest chance is worth 15 minutes to me.

Though record stores maintain some aspect of discovery, I think customers are a lot more educated before going in than they once were. I doubt many of the people in line on Record Store Day are thinking, “I wonder what I’ll find?” They have their pre-determined purchasing targets. It’s more like, “I hope they have a copy of that Devo boxset left!”

Unimpeded access to new music (via streaming and endless opinion and information online) creates a savvy customer who knows what he or she wants, whether today is RSD or not. I do wonder how many people still ask for recommendations from the geeky clerk behind the counter. “I like crazy modern European jazz … what’s good?” gets replaced by “can you direct me to the new The Comet Is Coming album?”

On the other hand, it’s impossible to go into a thrift store with a record-buying agenda. Though rarely can you ask someone behind the counter for a recommendation, but that’s beside the point. Following Galil’s train of thought above, thrift stores remain frozen, unaffected by streaming, by the internet, by the ups-and-downs of the ‘vinyl revival.’ Just as we did twenty years ago, you go in and hope. You often buy something because the cover looks crazy, not because you went in looking for it (you’re cheating if you call up Discogs on your phone). You’ll take a chance on a record even though it’s got a few deep scratches on side two. And then you take that stack home — whoa, it only cost $7 for all of them — and you put on that one record that makes it all worthwhile. You made a .50 gamble, and it’s the JAM. That’s the spirit of vinyl. Happy Record Store Day!

PS – The above photos were taken this morning by Gary Davis at East West Music & More. Gary got the last copy of the Devo boxset!

PSS – My best thrift store find? I once ran across mint copies of the first several original Telex 12″ singles on the floor of a pawn shop, a quarter a pop.

🔗→ Remember resale shops this Record Store Day

Vinyl’s Rise in Defiance of the Intangible

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The vinyl revival persists, proving itself more than just a ‘flash in the pan,’ according to Buzzangle Music’s 2018 U.S. Music Industry Report. As related by The Verge:

Vinyl sales grew by just shy of 12 percent from 8.6 to 9.7 million sales, while cassette sales grew by almost 19 percent from 99,400 to 118,200 copies sold in the US. It wasn’t quite the 41.8 percent growth seen in music streaming, but it’s still very impressive for two formats that are decades old.

Billboard has some even more encouraging numbers from Nielsen Music:

16.8 million vinyl albums were sold in 2018, according to Nielsen Music (up 14.6 percent) — marking the 13th consecutive year of growth for the format. 16.8 million is also a new yearly high for vinyl album sales since Nielsen Music began tracking sales in 1991.

Before you start charting the course of your digital label toward vinyl production for big profit, understand that most of this growth is outside of the independent sector. It’s mainly driven by legacy catalog and albums that you could have purchased in the used bin for a few dollars each fifteen years ago. The Verge again:

The popularity of both physical formats seems to be being driven by sales of older albums. BuzzAngle reports that over 66 percent of vinyl sales are of albums that are over three years old, with releases from Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac and Pink Floyd all featuring in the list of the bestselling vinyls from last year.

Despite the prominence of superstar legacy releases, this growth is good news for independents. The pressing plants remain healthy and active, and vinyl distributors and stores are more optimistic than they would be with vinyl’s lifespan tied to a fleeting trend. It’s still tough for an emerging artist to move a couple of hundred record albums — making the per-unit cost enormous, which is partly why you’re seeing $25 LPs — but at least the option is alive and supported. Vinyl production can move the status of a label, differentiating from the low-barrier bulk of digital labels. But one must consider the vinyl aspect as part of a label’s marketing effort rather than a sales driver. Breaking even is often the highest measure of success when it comes to record sales.

To bring the point home, A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie has the Billboard album this week, and that’s based on some previously unheard of figures. The New York Times:

Billboard and Nielsen credit “Hoodie SZN” with the equivalent of 58,000 sales in the United States last week, a number that incorporates streams and downloads of individual tracks, as well as sales of the full album. But the vast majority of that composite number is from streaming — so much so that the sales number represents a new low on the chart.

The 823 copies of “Hoodie SZN” that were sold last week — all as downloads, since that title has not been released on any physical formats — is the least number of copies that any album has sold in the week it went to No. 1.

Despite the hype and statistics, vinyl isn’t mainstream enough to warrant a release of a number 1 hip hop album on the format. Even more significant, download sales on the release are incredibly slim (823!) showing the widespread acceptance of music outside of the traditional ownership model. It’s an earth-shaking shift, connected to vinyl’s rise in defiance of the intangible. How vinyl continues to segment itself over the next few years will be a fascinating story.

Hitting the Links: Paper Synths, The Velvet Underground, and Cuban Numbers Stations

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Perhaps a budding Sunday tradition? Once again, I present five online articles that caught my fancy over the past week:

Meet The World’s Most Obsessive Fan Of ‘The Velvet Underground and Nico’

Satlof’s collection began in earnest in 1987: a $90 autographed copy from “a record dealer in an antiques mall on Canal Street,” with a scrawled signature that the seller said was Warhol’s, but turned out to be Reed’s. Satlof casually picked up more of the albums over the years, paying “$10, $20, like $100 for ones with the full banana.” He stresses that his hobby is due to the brilliance of the music and his love for it. But really: 800 copies?



Miniature Analogue Papercraft Synthesizers by Dan McPharlin

Each miniature synthesizer is meticulously handcrafted from framing matboard, cardboard, paper, plastic sheeting, string and rubber bands. Rather than replicating the existing machines, the focus was more about creating a revisionist history where analogue technology continued to flourish uninterrupted.



In Pictures: The 10 Most Stunning Places to Make Music

Some of the best making-of-the-album stories are those where a wild, remote or inspiring location becomes a powerful inspiration on the music-making – The Rolling Stones at the Cote D’Azur mansion Villa Nellcôte for Exile on Main St.; Can at Schloss Nörvenich for Tago Mago; Killing Joke inside one of the Great Pyramids at Giza. In those cases, the band brought their own recording equipment with them. For the less intrepid, the world has many ready-made, custom-built, luxurious studios in gorgeous locations to fire up creativity.



Cuba’s Mysterious Numbers Station Is Still On The Air

While evidence suggests HM01 is operated by the Cuban government, it’s virtually impossible to tell who it’s sending to, which is one of the main tactical advantages of numbers stations: You can easily see the intended recipient of an email, but you can’t prove someone listened to a radio broadcast unless you catch them in the act.



The Word-Of-Mouth Resurgence of Arthur Russell

Shortly before his death, Russell and his family took a small boat out to Baker Island, a flat rock half-covered by seaweed, four miles off the coast of Maine. The musician sat on a slab of granite and recorded the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. The next year, the Russells scattered his ashes from the same rock, and they watched as the waves slowly pulled him away. On summer nights, for decades, unbeknownst to Russell or his family, locals have boated out to this same rock. They play music, and move together under moonlight. They call the place the Dance Floor.

Vinyl Nostalgia and the Album Experience

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Music Industry Blog:

Vinyl sales may have hit their highest level in the UK since 1991 but this is hardly a sign of what is to come. Indeed, a quick look through the top 10 vinyl albums of 2016 reveals that all but one of the artists were releasing music back in 1991! The exception is Amy Winehouse and she’s dead. The majority of the volume of vinyl sales is driven by nostalgic older music fans.



Not only is vinyl not the future (it was just 2.6% of sales in 2016), the big differences between the most popular vinyl, streaming, singles and album artists reveal just how fragmented the music business has become. Each of the top 10 charts (album sales, singles, top streaming artists, vinyl sales) almost reads as a standalone group of artists with remarkably little cross over. In fact, only 2 artists appear across streaming, singles and albums. None appear across all four charts.



As large volumes of older consumers switch to streaming (and Amazon should play a key role here) there will be more opportunity to join the dots. But do not mistake this simply as an opportunity to try to revive yesterday’s formats in today’s platforms. The album is clearly fading. According to MIDiA Research survey data, 68% of subscribers state that playlists are replacing albums for them. It is time to start investing though and effort in rethinking what album experiences should be in the digital era. And that conversation should have no bounds, everything should be on the table (number of tracks, street date vs continual updates, interactivity, changing content etc.).