To put it more precisely, it seems like the music industry has obviously evolved.  And there’s a good amount of data at the high end that looks to measure performance for the old industry.  That is, CD sales on a national level and attendance and ticket revenue for major venues.  But, given that most of the music industry actually happens in the longer tail of clubs, session musicians, and working class musicians, it feels like the data mis- or under-represents what’s happening in the middle market.

Obviously, we’ve all read about how CD sales are declining.  And we’ve read about what’s happening with digital sales.  But the music industry that I’m part of, and that most of my friends are a part of, isn’t really defined by those statistics or those metrics.  Irving Azoff and Jimmy Iovine have nothing to do with with what I, or my friends, are trying to do every day with our music.

Our music industry is probably defined by things like what rates session players are getting for gigs, whether that’s changed from last year, how many days they’re being booked on a time scale, etc.  And it’s further defined by the strength of the venues where we play.  Madison Square Garden is somewhat interesting.  And Bowery Ballroom is more interesting.  But even more interesting than that is how clubs like Rockwood, The Living Room, Town Hall, Union Pool, Pete’s Candy Store, etc. are doing.  Because if those clubs go out of business, we don’t have anywhere to gig anymore.  And if they’re doing well, as I suspect some of them are, then whether or not national CD sales are declining is largely irrelevant.

This is, I think, gettable and useful data.  You’d have to build a database of session musicians, of local studios, and of clubs, and you’d have to, by hand, start pulling together a survey that asks those folks how they’re doing, particularly in reference to previous time periods.  And then, you’d give survey respondents the aggregate answers to the survey for free and you’d charge for high-end analytics that cuts the data more finely and helps them understand how their business is performing against relevant benchmarks.

Maybe it’s something like if they’re charging too much or too little for drinks.  Or if the session guy is charging too much or too little for his gigs.  Or if a band is getting below or above average cuts from the door based on attendance.

My instinct is that this data, some kind of monthly index that would be distributed to the middle-market industry players, is both quite valuable and currently unavailable.  There may be a business there.  A small business.  But a service that would be helpful to the people that are actually part of today’s music industry.  Not the old guard of the music industry – older dudes in LA and New York that don’t have anything to do with the constant hustle that’s happening every day on the street as artists try to get their music heard.

To that end, we’re calling this next group of shows “An Autumn Symposium”.  At first, that’s all it was going to be.  Just a little branding mechanism.  Something to link the show that we’re playing next Wednesday and then the subsequent gig that we’re playing at Rockwood on Thursday, December 3rd at 9pm.

But then I was remembering that Bronwen, one of the singers in the band and a teacher during the day,  had spent all this time a few months ago putting together a course reader for her students and the beginning of the school year.  And then I was remembering the old days when John used to work at The Copy Shop and you’d go there or to the book shop above it to pick up your course reader for class and how you’d have all these photocopied pages in your hand, excerpts from books and articles, how that experience felt cool and home-made and like your teacher or professor had spent some time actually thinking about things and was leading you on this strange photocopied path through some place new.

So, anyway, I decided to make a course reader myself and I decided on two lessons for these two shows and the first lesson is going to be “Heroism and Autobiography as Fiction: Themes from Saul Bellow” and I got in touch with noted cultural historian, Frederick Pettigrew, to write an introductory essay.  We had coffee on the Upper West Side by Columbia where he teaches.  And I told him I was looking about some of the ideas that I had and that I was looking for some kind of introduction to the whole thing, maybe like Nat Hentoff wrote on the sleeve of some Bob Dylan records I remember.  You remember those essays that people would write on records in the 60s and 70s.  They’d be all beat prose and poetry.  Rambling run-on sentences and you’d imagine some horn-rimmed glasses guy with a fuzzy goatee, smoking cigarettes and drinking and sleeping with his students and he’d be a person that people referred to as a “cat” and he’d frequent the jazz clubs and his apartment would be very messy and there would be books everywhere.  He’d have written one great novel and then years later a spartan little book of poems and then he’d be working on some translation of an obscure German writer that you’d never heard about and your heart kind of sank when he told you that was what he was working on because it was the same old story, as they say and as you know.  That story being the story of squandered youth and unrealized potential.

Doctor Pettigrew understood what I was saying and he wrote this great little essay that you’ll get to read later.  And the point of the whole thing is both silly (me being weird) and somewhat serious.  And it really does relate to notions of heroism in fiction and what it means and how maybe we misrepresent things second of all and first of all we tell stories to make ourselves the hero.  Because we are working our way through life with this concept of heroism which is also about mortality.  It’s about meaning.  It’s about, “There must be a narrative here that has me doing something heroic at its climax and ultimate moment and that must be why it’s okay that I’ll die and evaporate or dissolve into the earth one day.”  And then some older people reading this will perhaps scoff or laugh.  Maybe a small chuckle.  They’ll say, “Geez, Sam is really dark and a downer and why’s he got to be so darn melancholy.”  Which is maybe true but, of course, missing the point.  I’m not saying it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  I’m not saying, “It’s so sad that we’re going to die.”  I’m saying that people have these concepts of narratives and they give their lives stories and stories have protagonists and the reasons are because the time is finite, not infinite, and we want there to be a story to our lives and a plot.

And in the midst of that are storytellers – singers and songwriters and writers and producers and creative people and also everyone – and we tell big stories and weave in larger narratives and try to make big human truths from these things and the other point of the idea, and specifically pulling from Saul Bellow, is that there are always more sides to a story than the one being presented.  And life isn’t neat and doesn’t fit in boxes with brown ribbons up on the shelf in the hall closet.  You can say, “Oh, that’s my youth” or something to that effect but that’s now how it works in reality.  And when you do say, “Oh that’s my youth” or something to that effect, maybe you shouldn’t be trusted.  Because, whether it’s a book or a song or a film or a bunch of people sitting around the metaphorical campfire, you’re still presenting just one side of that story.  And it’s not good or bad.  We’re all just being human.  It just is.  And it is and is and is.

So, anyway, that’s what we’ll be presenting in this course reader next Wednesday and there are excerpts from books I’ve been reading.  One of them is Becker’s “Denial of Death” that my friend, Mary Ellen, gave me.  And then others are from the Bellow books I’ve read this year.  And then some stuff from Rilke because that’s always good and, as cliche as it may be, the guy dropped some very beautiful knowledge and reality in his letters.  And a few other things.  And the first 20 people will get a copy for free and they’ll be strange and weird and you probably won’t read all the way through but you’ll maybe pick up one or two things and then it’s also art and it will have traveled its way into your life somehow.

Enjoy yourselves, mates.

For some reason I have teams and groups on the brain these days.  As I wrote, I think that structured collaboration is the key to driving beauty and, ultimately, success in a group context.  And, I suppose, I think groups are important in general.  And teams.  The people you work with.  They mean something. They’re important.  I still can’t tell, for myself, whether the quality of the team is so important that it trumps the mission of the team.

But I know that it’s really really important to have a productive dynamic with the people you work with.

Teams and groups are important and the ways that people work together in those groups are important and a good team can be bigger than the sum of its parts.  Which is a different way of saying that a team of average people that can work really well together is often much more valuable and productive than a team of all-stars that don’t have a working relationship together.

And one thing I’ve learned is that it doesn’t matter at what level you’re operating.  You still want to create a team dynamic.  And there is no point at which basic human motivations, basic human psychology trumps these notions.  There is no point at which you can say, “Well, they’re professionals.  It’s their job to create a team dynamic.  That’s what they’re paid for.”  Well, you can say it, I guess.  But it won’t get you very far.

I’m a musician.  And I’m a business dude.  And I like football.  And I am a Washington Redskins fan.  And I see Dan Snyder and Vinny Cerrato fundamentally misunderstanding team dynamics when they make decisions.  They seem to think that these players they pay for are just cogs in a machine and that you can you swap pieces in and out and ultimately you’ll stumble upon the right combination of players that will win you championships.

But, I guess, I’m making a nurture vs nature argument with teams.  And teams are grown.  And team dynamics are grown.  And you can delude yourself that you can swap people in and out until you discover the combination that wins you awards.  And, of course, sometimes you really do need one new piece or two new pieces or what-have-you.

But, really, I think that it’s more likely that with practice and determination and a focus on the long term, the team will emerge.  And the people on the team will become better than they might have been otherwise.  And constantly shifting and changing the dynamics and the pieces will probably give the impression to the other folks that they’re equally dispensable and the team loses an identity and you start to feel like you’re in those terrible trust-building exercises and that if you close your eyes and fall backwards you’ll crash onto the cold marble floor and your back will hurt very badly.

I remember the Redskins from my youth and the things that stand out, besides the championships, is the great sense of team.  The constancy.  I know the names of the players.  And I also know that some of those players would not have been all-stars on different teams.  But they were critical components of the Redskins.  Only on a great team can an otherwise average quarterback like Mark Rypien become an all-star and a Superbowl MVP.

I watch the Pittsburgh Steelers play or the Phillies or the Pittsburgh Penguins or the Celtics and I get that same understanding.

Same deal with music, of course.  I saw my friends play the other night at the Mercury Lounge and, again, you got that team vibe.  You got that idea that these guys had been playing together for years and, as a result, the set was tight, energetic, and powerful.  Each player was better for being on that team, in a way that wouldn’t be possible in a different context.

And I guess I’m coming back to the same ideas I’ve been writing about for awhile.  That relationships matter.  Because relationships are how you create good team dynamics.  And that you need to focus on nurturing and building relationships in honest and good ways to create the chemistry that will ultimately lead you to success.

The Flying Change Live
Wednesday, November 11th
9pm

Piano’s
158 Ludlow Street
New York, NY

I think Steve Jobs talks about that concept.  Training people to understand what they will need or like and then leading them to that place.  As many have said and written, mp3 players had been done before the iPod and nobody was saying they wanted one.  And yet there one was.

Here’s a controversial example from the music world.  Email.

People say they don’t want email.  Some people unsubscribe.  Some people tell you you email too much.  Some people, if they have a sense of humor, should comment on this post and simply write, “You email too much” and that would be funny.  Some people say you can get kind of annoying.

But, don’t listen to them.  They’re lying.  Or they’re not lying.  It’s just that they’re not that helpful.

Here’s the truth.  Strong, repetitive signals work.  And they work because there’s already so much noise in the atmosphere that, until you have a immutable brand, something solid and permanent with widespread recognition and acclaim, you need to broadcast the signal as loudly and clearly as possible to get people’s attention.

While I know it can be annoying.  And I know it can be irritating.  It’s far better to fail because you’ve sent too many signals and turned a few people off, then sent too few and not pierced through the collective consciousness of your fans or your audience.

Meaning, if you’re a band or an artist, while I might annoyed, and maybe I’ll unsubscribe, I encourage you to make absolutely 100% certain that people know what you’re up to rather than err on the side of being too docile, too quiet, too pliant.

It’s important that people know.

People I know will get as many as 7 emails through Facebook and my mailing list before this next show at Piano’s.  And I know it’ll be annoying.  And I’ll always try and include something in the email like a song or a remix or a cool image.  But the truth is, some people will get annoyed.  And some people will unsubscribe.

And more people will come than if I had tried to be polite and not told them.

The scene is a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at a band that seems to have clearly lost their way.

As I think about making art and I think about what makes great art, I think back at the process of recording this record, and I think about the time we spend in rehearsals prior to shows.  And I also think about the ways that I try to interact with other people that I create art with, whether it’s Chad designing posters or Nancy doing a remix or, really, any kind of activity that involves creating something.  And maybe it’s not even about art, but about groups of people and what groups of people can make and how they should make them.

But for these purposes I’ll stick to art.

I firmly believe that great art, in groups, is created through structured collaboration.  And I mean that in reference to unstructured collaboration.  Which is another way of saying that I believe in groups only to the extent that groups are compositions of individuals that are given direction and guidance and then allowed to use those constraints to leverage their own personal talents to create something beautiful.

So, with the band, I write the songs.  But really, I just erect a frame.  I’m thinking of that scene in Witness where the Amish build that house.   I believe they call it a house-raising party or something.  The point is, I bring the vibe and I bring the sentiment and the theme and I bring a chord progression and some, but certainly not all, melodic ideas.

Then, in the case of the record, Paul, the producer, took all of that and he thought about what the songs needed and shaped them.  He also thought about how the sounds went together and what arrangements were necessary.  So the vision kinda started with me but then he took it and he led.

And then, we gave those basic ideas to the band and they came up with their own ideas about how what they could do would enhance the songs.  And Matt came up with beautiful melodies on the piano.  And Rob wandered around on his bass and found rhythm and melody. And Bill created the textures on Hold My Heartache and all the other tunes.  And on and on.

And these things all came together and beautiful music was made.  And there was structure, of course.  And there was guidance.  But there wasn’t too much.  It wasn’t domination.  It was enough breathing room to let each artist bring something of themselves to the piece.  And in that sense it’s collaboration.  But, again, not in the way that you might think.

Not getting 5 people in a room and saying, “Ok guys, let’s jam.  We’ll come up with a song that way.” Because without structure, the collaboration becomes muddled.  And nobody is sure who has the final say.  And you end up building something by committee reflecting the lowest common denominator of interest.  Or you can incorporate everyone’s wacky idea, but you have no theme and no foundation, and the pieces don’t fit.  And you’re scared to tell someone that their idea sucks and they should stop doing that.

And you have this sinking hollow feeling in your chest as you stand around and realize that it’s simply not working.

Compare that to the feeling you have when everyone has a good blueprint, but people still feel like they have the ability to insert something of themselves into the process.  That feeling is altogether different.  That feeling is one of realization. When no single person is responsible for everything.  When there is a guiding hand but still gentle and when you can step out of the way and let artists do their thing and absorb it and encourage it and not micro-manage.

So you need to have a boss.  And then that boss needs to delegate and let people do their thing in the way that they do it.  And I guess that’s why this lesson applies

That is how great art is created in groups and it’s at the heart of most of what I do.

Something to think about.  You’ll never create something great by scheduling a rehearsal, or a meeting, and then just throwing everyone’s ideas on a wall and hoping that their combination will yield something beautiful.  Give guidance.  Lay the groundwork.  And then give people the freedom to share of themselves and interpret within that context.

Here’s more information from Music ThinkTank

On the one hand, it’s a clever gaming of the system and you gotta do everything you can these days to make a buck making music.  And on the other hand, it seems like a tremendous amount of work and it seems rather dispiriting and soul-crushing.

And then the voice inside my head proclaims rather loudly, “Sam, enough with this soul-crushing nonsense.  It’s time for you to man up and get your soul-crushed a little bit if you want to make some dough.  Stop being such a nancy.”

These things are all true.  But it’s nevertheless, more fun when someone makes a mix of their own and puts one of your tunes on it and it’s especially fun when they don’t know you and you don’t know them.

Interview with John P Hastings

1. Describe your background and how you came to be working in music?

I grew up in the Washington, D.C. area and starting playing music when I was 13 years old. I was initially influenced by punk music and the D.C. scene and eventually started my own band in high school. That band played and toured throughout my college years before breaking up about 8 years ago. I drifted about, playing in other bands and such until realizing that playing rock and pop music, while certainly enjoyable, was no longer what I was really interested in. I went back to school and began studying music again and now I primarily compose longer form music to be performed by various ensembles.

2. Who are your primary influences?

What sparked my initial move into different realms of music and music making was Brian Eno (as he is for many musicians). Just from him you can move to so many different places, his work with Bowie and U2 obviously, but also Krautrock bands such as Neu! and Harmonia, minimalists such as La Monte Young and Steve Reich, and even to modern art and design. So he was a biggie for me. And since going back to school two composers have influenced me in a big way, James Tenney and the previously mentioned La Monte Young. The influence of Young is music as life, literally. He creates tonal environments, these sound spaces that people’s lives move through. With some of his works lasting 4 to 6 hours you really are experiencing your life in a musical fashion. James Tenney, who died in 2006, was someone who created music conceptually wound into the physical properties of nature. His influence has instilled in me a sense of logic and structure that might not have been there before.

3. What ideas were you working with on this remix?  What story or stories or images were you evoking or conjuring?

I started this remix with a preconceived notion of creating this absurdly long, beat driven track. But after trying that, and really listening to the song, the next logical step was to just strip things away. The lyrics to me reflect a sadness, with hints of deception. I had this idea of waves: waves of sound, regret, tension. I really just wanted to distill the song down to a few notes and to characterize it in an effective way.

4. What artists or albums have you been listening to recently?

I’ve been really enjoying the latest Flaming Lips album. I see it as a return to form, though I enjoyed their last couple albums. This one though is crazy, sprawling, chaotic; everything that I love about the Lips. I’ve also been listening to the German techno label Basic Channel. They released a series of 12″ cuts during the mid-90s that I only recently found out about. Amazing stuff. For me its the perfect melding of long form music with beats. If you like the Field, prepare to get blown away by their music.

5. What’s next and upcoming for John P Hastings?

I’ve been organizing this experimental music festival out in California so that has been taking up my time as of late. I’m also working on a few new pieces at the moment to be premiered in 2010, one for a septet of my own devising and one for solo trombone with pre-recorded sound. And I’ve been asked to perform on several upcoming concerts. All in all pretty busy.

UPDATE: Here’s the interview.  Dig it.

Here’s the full paragraph:

This is what artists do. As well as re-shuffling the deck of influences and instrumentation, for a new/old way to rock out, they also re-orient you by the archetypes of your time. Where the supposedly ‘modern’ rock song intersects with ‘traditional’ healing rituals is in the swirl of images that may not be new, individually, but remind you that you’re on a well-trodden path. This year, Sam Jacobs (as The Flying Change) released a magnificent album to do what the doctors literally couldn’t, for his sick wife, while Shearwater (on Palo Santo, and several songs from Rook, last year) used the drama of Nico’s life, and the symbolism of her art to ask how and why we turn the one into the other. So, Yes, you’ve heard much of this before. That’s a good thing, in this case.

Little pots of water on the stove, my friends.  Little pots of water.  One day they’ll bubble over.