Franz Schubert...The Lost Week

Since the time I first became aware of music, long ago in early childhood, I have had an abiding interest in music history, particularly the lives of the great composers who lived and worked in Vienna. I find it fascinating to look further than the dry biographical texts of my college days and examine more closely the daily experiences that inspired Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms and so many others to the sublime heights of creativity attained in that city during the golden era of the Hapsburg empire. These were, after all, living, breathing musicians with all the passions, weaknesses and quirkiness prevalent in their heirs of today's music world.

My music history professor at school was an avid disciple of Mozart and we debated many hours over Wofgang's alleged superiority over my hero, Franz Schubert. I had read every word I could find about my favorite composer, and had an intimate knowledge of his letters, notes to friends, personal diaries and even knew the details of his laundry and shopping lists. I felt that I knew, as well as could be known from a distance of 150 years, enough about Schubert to have a keen appreciation for that which made him the composer he was.

When my grandfather passed away in 1974, I received a package from Salzburg containing various personal effects which my grandmother sent according to his last wishes. At the bottom of the box there was my grandfather's handwritten journal describing his adventures as a submariner during the first World War. I carefully pulled back the cover to reveal a note in his handwriting that could not have been older than a month. Translated, it said, "My dear grandson Peter, knowing your passion for stories about your favorite composer, Franz Schubert, I am leaving you something very special which has been in our family since his death in 1828. You may know that he passed from this life in the house at nr. 6 Kettenbrückengasse where my own grandfather was employed as a house servant. On these few scraps of paper are written in the maestro's own hand the facts concerning his absence from Vienna for seven days during the late summer of 1822. You may remember from your studies that Schubert was not a famous man during his short life, and his disappearance was noteworthy only within the small circle of his friends. This cherished momento from the hand of the master I leave to you upon my passing from this life."

Eureka!! Imagine how my heart jumped as I held in my humble hand that which Franz Schubert had held in his own a short 150 years before. Here, translated for the very first time is the document describing seven lost days in the brief life of the great composer:

Ach, Saturday! Today I will not write music. I feel lazy and I think that the best thing is to go for a long walk in the woods. But better that I take paper in my pocket, the symphony must be finished and maybe I will get some ideas from the songbirds...

(Later that night) What a very strange day it has been. I thought that I had walked every path in these woods, but an hour after I passed the Heuriger (Viennese wine garden) I felt that this was a different forest altogether. I did not see the usual landmarks. Where was Hofstetter's hunting shack? The giant Castanian tree that fell in last year's storm was gone. But the sun was still high in the sky and the birds were singing so there was no reason to be worried. I kept wandering in my beloved woods, thinking, always thinking...mein Gott, but the symphony just won't let itself be finished! But now it is dusk and I am very tired. Tired and hungry. I think I will rest for a moment and then try to find my way home. The moon will be almost full and I will surely find the way.

(Sunday Night) I had the strangest dream...and as I awaken it is again dark! Have I slept under this tree all day? It cannot be. But I am no longer tired and my hunger is gone. Ah, the dream...I heard the most interesting music, primitive but yet very soothing to the spirit. It came from the very depths of the forest, from a place I do not know. I dreamed that I followed the sound as a spaniel follows his nose to the back door of Hirschpichler's butcher shop. The strange music drew me deeper and deeper into the forest until I saw a house...well, it looked like a house, but it was built very low to the ground. It was made of a strange material, long tube-like pieces tied together. And the roof was made of long yellow grass-like branches. There were no doors or windows, only the holes where such things should be. And as I looked down I noticed that the forest floor was no longer covered with the dark green moss but that I was now walking on clean white sand! But what was this music? There was a guitar playing only simple chords on the second and fourth beat of each measure. And a low drum on the downbeat with some sort of percussion on every off beat. Nothing sophisticated at all, but the repetition was hypnotic and if I wasn't dreaming, I think that I would have gone to sleep. And go to sleep I surely did because now it is almost morning and the nearly full moon is sinking to the west. Ach, I should have stayed in my room to work on the symphony!

(Sometime Tuesday) The mystery is still a mystery and I am still hopelessly lost but at least I am with friends. Yesterday I was awakened by the same haunting rhythm of this strange new music. I approached the grass covered house and looking in the door, I pulled myself back in terror. Inside there was what appeared to be at least 5 or 6 people, men women and children...but like nothing I had ever seen in Vienna. They were barefoot and dressed in very bright colored clothing. The women had multicolored head coverings and the men...mein Gott, the men had hair and beards nearly to the waist that looked like sheep's wool. And all of them had skin the color of a Sacher torte! I had never seen beings like this but as I recoiled from the door I felt a hand on my shoulder and a voice, "Ja Mann! Come in and Jam a while mann!" The hand was attached to a giant of a man who's shining black eyes looked out of a deeply lined brown face. His deep voice asked, "What is your name, Mann?" I answered, almost shaking out of my clothes, "My name is not Mann, It is Franz." "France!" he thundered. "This is not France, Mann. I don't know where this is, but this is definitely not France! If it is France you are looking for, then you are even more lost than we are." At this the entire population of the house broke into laughter repeating that this was not France at all.

When I saw that they meant me no harm, I found my voice enough to explain that yes, I was indeed very lost, tired and hungry, that my name was Franz, not France, and that I had been wandering in what I thought was a familiar forest in search of the final chords for my Symphony. "Ah, you are a music man, Mann!" "Yes, but why do you still call me Mann, my name is Franz." "We call every man Mann, but we spell it M-O-N, Mon. You...we will call you France, mon. Because you are lost like us and also like us you are a music mon." They went on to explain that they were the last of a lost tribe of Israel and had been wandering the earth looking for their rightful homeland. I was made to feel completely at home among these lost wanderers. They gave me food and drink and when I confessed that I played the guitar, I was not left in peace until I played one of my Lieder for them.

Later that night I sat on a log in the clearing wondering if this was still a dream and if, when I finally woke up, I would find my way home. Bruddah John, as the leader of this band of fellow wanderers was called, came to sit with me. As I looked up at the now full moon, he asked, "Do you want to go there mon?" "Where?" I asked. "Up there mon...to the moon." And with that he passed a long sweet-smelling cigar into my hands. "Take a taste of that mon, and you will be there, on that moon. And then you can look back at us down here. Maybe then mon, you will find your way." I had smoked the last of my pipe tobacco and was craving a smoke so I accepted the cigar and took a long draw... Now it is Tuesday and If I am still dreaming, I am tired and must sleep.

(At this point in the manuscript the writing becomes unintelligible but for a few musical scribblings, symbols outlining what appear to be rhythmic motifs, drawings of the moon in its various phases, and a recipe for mojitos. On the next page Schubert continues...)

Ach Gott im Himmel! If I am not still in a dream and if I have counted the days correctly, it is Saturday and somehow I must either find my way home or wake up! It won't do to miss church again. My new friends and benefactors have taken me in and shared everything with me. Their food is delicious although spicier than even the sharpest goulash. Their tobacco is most interesting however. I find that I cannot smoke an entire cigar or "Spliff" as they call them. After one or two draws, I must lie down while the most curious thoughts fill my head. I feel as if I can create any music in my head but in the end find myself wanting only to eat and play repetitive patterns on the guitar. Bruddah John and I played music for hours while the children clapped on two and four of every measure and the women tapped their cooking pans with wooden spoons. This music has such a charm, I must write something in this style one day. One thing is very certain...I have no more heart to finish the verdammpt symphony. I think that I will just give the first two movements to that idiot Hüttenbrenner in Graz. I'm through with it. They can call it the "Unfinished Symphony" for all I care.

I found that Brudda John's family is even more lost than I am. They are searching for an Island they called Jahmekka. I told them that there were, to my knowledge, no islands anywhere near Vienna, as the city is situated far from any sea where such an island might be found. I made the promise that upon my return home, I would look at any maps that could be found in Father's school house and would return with any information that may prove helpful to these kind people in finding this Jahmekka. But now, Bruddah has held a hot coal to a spliff and...

Here the narrative abruptly ends. Was it a dream? or did Franz Schubert really happen upon a band of future Rastafarians in the depths of the Vienna woods? And do these scraps of writing finally explain why the "Unfinished" is...well, unfinished? I read and reread the handwritten notes repeatedly searching between the lines for more insight into the mind of this great composer. But the true treasure was to be found in what I had dismissed as illegible scribbling. As I stared at the markings a composition began to take shape. Here it was, the original manuscript sketch for one of Schubert's finest songs, "To The Moon." It was all here, the melody and the chords were outlined in a rudimentary way. But there was more. There was a bass line written out and rhythmic patterns were outlined that are unmistakably similar to the music of Jamaica. You can hear the original version of this song, arranged according to notes written in Schubert's own hand by looking at the Sellaband profile of a great band from Austria called ConFused5.

Who could have guessed that a Viennese composer, the immense output of whose short career would not be recognized until after his death, would become the father of Reggae?

Sadly, three years ago, the "Lost Week" manuscript was lost during an unfortunate accident while mixing a pitcher of mojitos. But I can swear that all of the details set forth above are true...well, most of them.

...Some of them...O.K, well... my grandfather DID send me a box of stuff!

Words, or Music? Anyone...

This from the Sellaband forum, "What's more important: music or lyrics?" An interesting question, especially as it comes from a very talented artist and songwriter, Francis Rodino. As it stands, the question is open for discussion from the listener's point of view as well as that of the songwriter. An attempt to discuss the methodologies and philosophies of songwriting in all its various genre is far beyond the scope of a blog entry, so let's assume that Francis is asking the question in reference to songs that fall into the vast category of popular (read commercial) music. I choose to look at this from the songwriter's angle because any songwriter seeking an audience must have the listener in mind during the writing process.

The question I'd like to discuss is, what is it that elevates a song to the status of being considered a "great" song? Is it the lyric? Is it a melody that burrows its way into your consciousness? Or is it the artistic result of finely tuned collaboration between music and the written word, both of which exist as art-forms in their own right?

Historically, the word "song" has been used to define a rich body of literary work. There is "The Song of Solomon" in the old testament and the songs that make up a large part of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." Elements of both having been set to music, they exist nonetheless as songs in their original written form.

In medieval Europe, traveling minstrels wrote songs or "Ballades" using legends, heroic stories and folklore as their texts. Many of these melodies passed from generation to generation and found their way into early church music with the idea that the melodies would make attendance more attractive to the local peasantry familiar with these songs.

The "Art Song" or Lied became popular as a method of setting literary poems to music in the local language of the intended audience. This style reached it's peak with Schumann and Schubert and great care was taken to craft music which captured the intent and emotion of the poetry. The best composers had a strong understanding of the human voice and composed melodies which gave the singer every opportunity to deliver the lyric most effectively. Composers carefully considered which vowels were to be sung in which range in order to provide the best possible marriage between words and music. These songs were meant for performance in intimate settings and were usually accompanied only by piano so the voice could be not only heard but understood.

With the advent of the Musical Theater as an option to Grand Opera, we see the birth of the popular song. As recording and broadcast technologies became more sophisticated, these songs became the core of what we call "Standard Tunes" and were recorded in every conceivable style and whistled at every bus stop. Most of these songs were originally written by lyricists and set to music by composers. This, in large part, continued until the emergence of the "artist as songwriter" concept developed in country and rock music, Hank Williams and The Beatles being prominent examples.

Looking back over the history and development of the song as an independent form, the interconnectivity of words and music is profound. Instrumental music has its forms and the spoken word exists independent of musical accompaniment. Some listeners may be entranced by a gripping melody and others by the story or message of a meaningful lyric. But for a song to be a song, it seems that both elements must conspire to create art on a level neither can attain independently.

So now, enough with the history lesson. What is it that makes a song so compelling as to be considered great? The major property of great art in any medium is its ability to transcend. Great songs transcend time in that they remain relevant. The music and the message maintain a vitality regardless of styles, fads or current events. Great songs allow each listener their own personal interpretation. John Lennon's "Imagine" is the type of song that spells out a concept without being overly specific. Each listener is allowed to go on imagining his own personal idea of perfection long after the song has ended. Or, As Francis very aptly writes:

"Sometimes I just try to stress some "keywords" and basic human feelings and emotions. I remain vague on purpose, so that people can draw up their own conclusion of what the song means, which can be different for everybody, based on their own life experience."

The other area which a truly great song transcends is that of performance. It's been said about Motown songs that you could have had Bozo the Clown singing those songs, they would have been hits anyway. And as Dennis St. John liked to say, "A hit song is a hit song...period." I remember when "That's What Friends are For" was released. Because Stevie Wonder and Elton John sang on the 1985 release, it was widely thought that the song had been written by one or both of them. The record sung, by Stevie, Sir Elton, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick went on to be a billboard #1 hit. Most people didn't know that the song was recorded in its original rock version by Rod Stewart three years earlier. And the punch-line is that the music was composed by Burt Bacharach and the lyrics written by Carole Bayer Sager. Small wonder that it was a hit.

Some years ago, I subbed for a friend and played bass on a couple of gigs with the great songwriter Paul Williams. Being the cocky bastard that I was at that time, I didn't crack the book open until the downbeat of the show. How hard could it be, right? As I played that show down, I was floored by how many great songs Paul had written. Songs for so many great artists. But the one thing that struck me the most was this. Paul is a great guy, but he's far from being a great singer. Sorry Paul, you know you're no Teddy Pendergrass, right? But in spite of his voice, every one of those songs touched that audience. They were great songs that transcended time and performance.

Francis Rodino asks a very pertinent question, "What's more important, music or lyrics?" I think that Francis already knows the answer. And I hope that in twenty years time he can look back at having pulled off a few great songs.

Nothing Up My Sleeves!

This is from the Sellaband forum posted under the thread, "What's the secret?" Posted by
Lush Progress a new band to Sellaband.

"I've spent a couple days browsing through the site, and it seems that there is a very small, elite group of bands on SAB that do very well. I'd guess maybe 10%.

So, what separates those bands from the other 90%? What is their secret? Maybe the better question would be: What are believers looking for when they invest in a band?"

As any expert in prestidigitation would say, as he rolls up the sleeves of his red brocade tuxedo, "Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat. Nothing up my sleeve!" There is no secret. The harder you work, the luckier you get. And when it comes to making a dent in the wall that is the business of selling music, Lotsa Luck! The 90/10 ratio given in the above post are liberally skewed in favor of success. I'm certain that the actual failure to success ratio across the board is much steeper.

But to address the question, why do some artists succeed and others fail? Let's make a list of some fairly obvious reasons:

1. First and foremost, as my sweet old granny liked to say, "If it's so fucking easy, anybody could do it!" (She was a real inspiration and had a wonderful way with words.)

2. Some artists/music happen to touch a wider audience. This has fuck-all to do with quality. Selling music is a business. Tofu is a higher quality food source than Sir Barf-a-lot Breakfast Krispies, but you don't get a toy so we all know who gets your dollar.

3. And then, there is the issue of quality. Some people are simply better than others. When we pay money to see anything...music, movies, sports, we want to see something at a higher level than that which we can do ourselves. To be worth the price of admission, something had better be special. This is a concept that is getting more difficult to grasp in a society that wants to ban any form of reward for excellence. There are school districts that have eliminated competitive activities like "dodge-ball" and "tag" from physical education classes citing that weaker students may develop esteem issues when they lose against more aggressive or athletic students. After twelve years of having their mediocrity rewarded it is no small wonder that an entire generation finds it hard to excel in the real world, which is for all intents and purposes divided into two classes...ass kickers and ass kickees. Now that is not to say that all the ass kickers always win all of the time. But those who find their asses constantly on the end of a foot don't have a chance.

In the early eighties (Aw shit...another one of Pete's dumb-ass stories) I was in a band called Target. Don't even bother googling...we were ass kickers but got our asses soundly kicked by the pros. We had it all going for us. We had at least five songs that were hit material. The main writer had a voice that was unforgettable and a style that had star quality written all over it. Every musician in the band was top notch, sang well and looked the part. We simply had no weak spots.

Wally Holmes, the producer of "Rock the Boat" by the Hughes Corporation was mentoring us in our quest to be the next great thing. He said one thing that has stayed with me through the years. We were having a hot dog at Pink's in Hollywood when he noticed my eyes following a big silver Benz driving past. "Do you want to drive a car like that?" he asked. I nodded, and he said, " All you have to do is work your ass off. There are 24 hours in a day. Most people work for eight and sleep for eight. It's what you do with the remaining eight hours that will make the difference. You can go to the movies, watch sports or just hang out. But just remember that when you go to a movie or see a concert or even watch TV, you'll be paying to see the people who use those eight hours to kick some ass...and they're the ones who drive those big silver cars."

We had spent two years talking our way into enough after-hours studio time to record some impressive demos. It was time to do a showcase for a heavyweight record producer who only wanted to see us in front of an audience before signing us to a lucrative deal. So here we were, the featured band on a Saturday night in a club then called "At My Place" (now the Temple Bar in Santa Monica). And boy did we wow the audience. It was a show not soon to be forgotten. Seems that our songbird suffered from an over-abundant dose of self-prescribed "external courage"...got reeling drunk on red wine. We kicked off the first tune of the set, he stepped to the mic and promptly puked on his shoes and into the drinks of the first row of tables. After the initial impact of the scene had subsided, I looked up in time to see our recording career walk muttering out the back door and drive off...probably in a big silver Benz. GAME OVER.

The lessons I learned from being in that band were these...If you aren't ready to work hard, forget it. If you don't have a hit song, forget it. If you go to bed at night thinking that you practiced enough, forget it. If you play your music for people and they don't go nuts, forget it. If you have to hand out a pamphlet with your cd explaining why the sitar part zooms across the stereo mix, forget it. If you think that being a recalcitrant asshole makes you "special", forget it. And if you spew your courage all over your shoes at the first sign of pressure...really forget it. None of these things will necessarily prevent you from being a great musician. But any one of these "Ifs" can throw a wrench into the prospect of being commercially successful.

There is one more point I want to make about the last part of the posted question,

"Maybe the better question would be: What are believers looking for when they invest in a band?"

This may not be directly related to the question, but it's an observation nonetheless. I've noticed two distinct approaches in developing artist/believer relationships within the Sellaband community. There is the artist who arrives as a dinner guest with flowers for the lady of the house, a nice bottle of wine or perhaps a special dessert...and asks what else he can do as he clears the dishes from the table. And then there is the artist who arrives late, complains that the broccoli is overcooked, takes a piece of cake to go, then walks off with half the silverware.

To be successful in the business of selling, and in music it is yourself that is for sale, people have to like what they are buying. Nobody purposely pays for something they don't want. The more successful artists on Sellaband are those that bring something to the table...something more than just the music. It is a mistake to come to Sellaband empty-handed and expect financial support from the existing financial base. For the system itself to be viable, artists must bring along a "primer coat" of belief. Otherwise the current believers will be counting the forks and spoons.

So...I guess the secret is out...nothing up my sleeves! Here's wishing Lush Progress all the success that hard work can bring.

Great Demo! Now Why Does My Master Feel Like Shit?

I was going back and forth with my friend Pieps today via email and he brought up a great subject. I started to discuss what I felt but as I have only so many keystrokes in me, I chose to save them for this entry.

I've said a lot in this blog about broadcast standards and recording techniques, how to mix a demo to portray a song effectively and the benefits of professional recording when attempting to actually sell music. But Pieps raised an extremely valid point that I have failed to discuss. This concerns the "spirit" of musical creation as opposed to the technical aspects of recording.

When it comes to recording the art of music, one size does not fit all. Carnegie Hall is regarded by many to be a nearly perfect acoustic environment. But would you really want to see Rammstein perform there? Sometimes a bedroom recording rig is the perfect environment to create an ethereal sound collage not requiring an acoustic environment. Or, in the case of a young bunch of musicians playing their hearts out and recording their inspirations on a laptop, will a professional recording environment improve the spirit and intense vibe of their efforts.

So what's more important, ass-kicking feel, vibe and honesty, or a proper equalization curve? Well, I want it all...all the time. But I have to side with Pieps' opinion that properly recorded crap is still crap...and that there is a huge amount of great music out there that bears listening because of what it is, not how it is recorded.

And this brings me to the title of this entry. What the hell are you supposed to do when you record a demo dripping with vibe...and you take the song into the studio only to find that the "moment" will never allow itself to be recreated? This is absolutely the most frustrating experience an artist can have when working on a record. When you're watching the clock, paying triple-scale musicians and have some idiot suit breathing down your neck it can make delivering pizzas seem like a viable option.

When we were recording the "Windows" album with Beej Chaney, we ran into that situation a lot. Beej recorded his song ideas on cassettes. He would make up a kooky drum loop, play his jagged style of guitar and sing the song at the same time. Now this guy only had one way of doing things. It didn't matter if he was playing to a cassette, 2 inch tape or 50,000 people, he made his music with every cell of his body. The cassette demos were technically horrible, but there was an honesty, feel and vibe that would prove to be difficult to capture in the studio. Luckily, he owned the studio and we did settle into a work routine that allowed us to come damned close.

We decided to track only one song a day. We would convene at about 2:00 pm, shoot the shit and hang out for about an hour with the demo playing in the control room. Then we'd drift into the studio, pick up our instruments while still visiting and absent-mindedly start noodling along with the demo which was still looping over the speakers. Gradually, the feel of the demo would start to infect everyone in the room because each of us was playing along with the wacky little drum loop and all the other idiosyncrasies on the cassette. After about 2 hours of jamming with each other along with the cassette, things would start to bubble along. Then we would take a dinner break, come back to the studio where the guitar player would make a round of ridiculously strong cappuccinos, and hang out at the back door smoking cigars and farting til about 8:30 or so. We'd go in, tune up, mount up and push record. Many times the first take would be the track but we always did at least three just because it was fun.

It sounds like we were just fucking around, doesn't it? Actually a lot of thought went into the process. Any of us could walk in, play whatever was on the music stand, collect a check and be home in time for American Idol. But the idea was for all of us to become Beej, to play our parts as if he were playing them. In the end, we were fairly successful in capturing the vibe of eighth-graders with studio chops. But I did get spoiled and that's why I say that I want it all...vibe and quality.

There was another instance at Shangri La in which the compromise between capturing a vibe and recording properly became a hands down decision to opt for the vibe. John Hanlon was producing Belgian artist Admiral Freebee's album "Songs." We had the grand piano mic'd up for a ballad. While we took a break, the Admiral went across the room to the old upright and started to play through the song. As he noodled, he started to sing the song to himself and also to play the harmonica which he still had on his neck holder from a previous track. Suddenly, John reached over and put the tape machine into record. I told him that the upright wasn't mic'd but he said, "Listen to that man, he'll never sing it like that again!" It didn't seem to matter that the upright and the vocal were all being recorded through microphones that were about twenty feet away from where they should have been. After the song was over, the Admiral pushed back the stool and walked down the hall to the control room, opening and closing doors as he went. John caught it all on tape and that's the last track on the album. We could have worked that song for the next two days, but we never would have caught that moment again.

Yes, there is a lot of great sounding, technically correct crap out there. Some music doesn't warrant the ridiculous piles of money and resources thrown at it. But that's the nature of the business sometimes. Wouldn't it be great to be a fly on the wall when a bedroom recording genius kicks one through the goal posts? Better yet, wouldn't it be great to be a fly on the wall with a nice pair of C-12s so the moment is recorded properly? I can't help it...I want it all. Thanks Pieps, you always make me think.

We've Run Out Of Dilithium Crystal!!

I had planned to take some time off from writing Sellaband articles for a while. I had the distinct feeling that this blog was being perceived as having official ties to the organization, or that I was in some way attempting to endear myself by writing articles which cast too positive a light on a music marketing system still involved in working out its organizational kinks.

Well...FUCK THAT! I write what I write and tonight It's going to be about Sellaband. And if you don't want to read another review here's a link to some fart noises. Have a ball!

Now, before I get to the artist of the evening, let me explain that my personal tastes read like the menu at Jerry's Famous Deli. I started as an eighth grade garage musician, studied ethnic music at the East West Center in Honolulu, Renaissance music in Vienna, Jazz with Monty Budwig, blah blah blah. My first love is the music of Brahms, and I'm a Motown freak. I've been around great singers, musicians and songwriters for thirty years.

I enjoy music from the inside out and it is from this vantage point that my observations are made. My opinion is no more valid than the guy living in the dumpster behind the supermarket nor less valid than the Pope's. I prefer to write about things I like and leave the negative comments to the pros. And when I write my impressions of an artist's work, I mean every word.

Tonight's guest of honor is a most interesting artist working in Portugal who goes by the name of The Average Person. TAP is not a writer of pop songs but rather a serious composer who demands full attention of the listener. A receptive mind and disregard for the usual genrephobic comparisons, difficult for genuine "average" persons, are essential listening tools if one is to appreciate the striking soundscapes created by this artist. This is indeed music at another level and some listeners may require program notes when attempting to make their way from one end of a track to the other. I don't see that as being a detriment, as program notes are quite common in the opera house or concert hall and this music would most definitely feel at home in such a venue.

The song "Fugitive" unfolds in a most visual way. My first impression was the memory of walking down the hallway of the practice room wing at college. On a busy day, every step would be a fresh turn of the musical kaleidoscope as you walked past the rooms of practicing students. But within seconds, the image changed. I almost smelled cigar smoke and felt as though I were listening to the last few moments of finger loosening before the tango ensemble counted off the first song of the evening. But the "uno, due, tre..." is not forthcoming. Suddenly I realize that The Average Person has caused me to" feel" more in ten seconds than most music can squeeze out of me with repeated listenings.

The Average Person demonstrates a high level of accomplishment in putting his visions to sound. His work is a collage of traditional orchestral instruments very skillfully punctuated by seemingly arrhythmic percussion motifs. He uses the human voice, in this case, that of the extremely talented and flexible Chris Tanzi, as another instrument which just happens to have the power of words in its musical vocabulary. The result is 3 minutes and 55 seconds of raw, gut-wrenching emotion that may be uncomfortable, and may be difficult to digest for some. But the listener free of prejudicial expectations will experience a remarkable journey into the depths of a most creative musical mind.

The Average Person's three tracks on Sellaband are collaborations with vocal artists also on the Sellabend roster. There is the above mentioned "Fugitive" featuring Chris Tanzi, "Drift Away" with Outrance singing a vocal track that could hold its own with Peter Pears, and "Only If" with the voice of conscience hauntingly performed by Kane Sol. Three pieces that provide very distinct images but with the soul of a distinctly unaverage person woven throughout.

Whenever I listen to an artist, I can't help but wonder what influences may have served to hammer a style out of the original raw materials. In the case of The Average Person, the music itself holds the answer. One dark, moonless night, his craft took a wrong turn and crash-landed into an abandoned warehouse full of musical instruments. Thinking the instruments and electronic recording devices may be helpful in repairing his craft, The Average Person tinkered away but to no avail...at least as far as repairs to the saucer were concerned. What we hear are the results of that tinkering. This guy is not from here, he just ran out of dilithium crystal. But he's here now and that's all that counts.

I have to be honest, I had a hard time starting to listen to The Average Person...but now I find it much harder to stop.

"One of Us...Or One of Them..."

There are times when being good at something can be a real pain in the ass! One of the really dumb-ass things I'm pretty good at is being big. Now there is something to be proud of, isn't it? I had to really hit the books for that one.

During the second half of the eighties, I graduated from "bass player" to "musical director" for a national act and I'm certain that the gig fell into my lap because of my size. Our drummer was a big, burly guy who wasn't to be fucked with. Added to his less than sunny disposition was the very fact that he hit things for a living. Quite simply put, the artist was scared to death of him...and the drummer knew it and used this to his advantage. I know that I was given the job just in case this guy would ever need to be fired. Well... fuck it. A raise is a raise, right?

All I ever really wanted to do was play bass, keep my head at a reasonable cruising altitude, and learn to fall out of limos without spilling my drink. But somehow, here I was again, writing arrangements, running rehearsals and sweating bullets while trying to get my band through customs.

Our operation ran on the streamlined plan. All the musicians sang and the keyboard player had a lot of string and horn parts to cover. But at a certain point, I was able to talk the artist into spending some of the substantial money he was making on a horn section. We had three weeks off and I made the calls, hired the players, wrote the charts and booked the rehearsal hall for a week. After the break we were to leave on a four week stretch of dates, following Michael Macdonald into a San Diego Venue and ending with a week in the Caribbean. My guys were going to make some good dough and fill the dead time with decent rehearsal money.

I learned a lot during rehearsals...about sequencers. I was always amazed at how Tim, our keyboardist, could cover all of the horn and string cues and still be the consummate showman. Turns out that he had most of the parts sequenced to trigger off single keys. Now that we had the horns in place, all he had to do was play the piano and organ parts and a few string pads. The only problem was that his set up had become so complicated and the choreography of his deception so intricate that he no longer knew the goddamn songs. What he had accomplished was cool if he were doing a nightclub act, but the artist found it unacceptable for the concert stage. (Little did we know how prophetic Tim's system would prove to be).

Tim had recently hooked up with some very notable songwriters and had been doing the odd writing sessions while we were off the road. At the first rehearsal, Tim strolled in two hours late with the excuse that his morning session with so-and-so had gone over. We waited while he set up his keyboard rig and started rehearsal a full three hours late. Afterwards, I had a word with him and he assured me that it wouldn't happen again. The next day, same trip...only worse. Tim was an amazing musician who had actually played with Freddie Hubbard as a teen-ager. We were playing songs that were hit records and the parts needed to be played accurately. But this was boring for him so rather than memorize the correct parts, Tim improvised. It was really hip shit too, but way too hip for the gig. Imagine Thelonious Monk sitting in with Roy Orbison and you get the idea.

Now, Tim was one of my closest friends. I hired him the moment he moved to LA and let him stay at my apartment, so we were close. But he was keeping me from effectively doing the job I was paid to do. So I had more words. I told him that the five hours we had lost waiting for him, when multiplied by the seven other musicians, represented thirty-five man-hours that I, through lack of leadership, had cost my artist. I told him that if he was planning to be late again, that I would like to borrow his phone book so I could get a good replacement.

When Tim wasn't there at the start of the third day's rehearsal, I made a phone call to another old mate who was dying for the gig. He met with me at the artist's home that evening but not before buying the records and learning the songs cold. That night I had to drop the hammer on Tim. It went something like this:

"What time is rehearsal tomorrow?"
"Same."
"I might be late."
"No Problem. Don't bother."
"You don't need me? You working on horns?"
"Nah, the whole band, but I'll need the time to teach the new keyboard player the vocal parts."
"Yeah, right."
"No bullshit man, here's two week's pay. You're off the band. Sorry."
"You can't do that man, we're leaving in three days for a month of gigs!"
"Already did it... and we're still leaving in two days."
"You'll never find a guy that fast and he'll never learn the show!"
"Found him...and he knows it already."
"I thought we were friends man!"
"We are."
"What do you mean man? You can't fire a friend!"

And this is where I lost it. I let him know that from my perspective, he had used our friendship in a way that made me look like an idiot to my artist. If we were such good friends, why would he force the issue and cause me to do less than the best job I was able to do? As far as I was concerned, we could be the best of friends, but the business between us had come to an end.

As with all shitty situations, I try to glean through the rubble for something positive. I'll never forget his last words to me as he left the apartment to stay with his girlfriend. "Well man," he said, "you're either one of us or one of them." I know how he meant it and I know that he was throwing a cheap shot and refusing to shoulder the responsibility of fucking up. But the statement itself has stayed with me since that time. If "one of us" represents the guys in the trenches and "one of them" stands for the guys standing over them with the lash of authority, I'd rather think of myself as "one of us."

I've always prided myself on having a thick skin, getting the job done, being a good man in a storm, making the tough decisions...fuck that. Being in charge is just the seat closest to the door. I play what I want, write what I want and say what I want to whoever I want. I'd rather stick around for a while, sleep good, have some laughs and be the last guy to the airport for a change. I'm done being "one of them."

Wake Up and Smell the Music!

I feel a rant coming on...yep, a wicked rant is threatening to burst the old medulla oblongata and I better puke it out before some brain shrapnel shatters the window and knocks the paperboy off of his bike! This goes out to all the aspiring artists out there in cyberland who think that a self-produced gar(b)ageband recording will get their picture on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine. Take the needle out! It's probably not gonna happen.

Sellaband is a fantastic idea...raise $50K and make a professional level recording of your songs. The concept is eloquent in its simplicity. The plan is obviously aimed at artists who: 1. Do not have the financial backing of a major label (unsigned), 2. Desire to maintain artistic control in a business where financial investment is frequently infected with "a great idea for the chorus." and 3. Artists in a genre not necessarily in the cross-hairs of the mainstream music buying constituency. Sellaband, like the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor, says to throngs of independent artists and those who believe in those artists, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free." (free of the fetid stench surrounding the recycling dump that the music industry has allowed itself to become)

Think of it... artists can post representative examples of their music on the web, the public invests in the artist based upon belief in the artist's potential to make professional recordings, and, with patience and hard work, a high quality version of the artist's vision may see the light of day. Elegant and functional as an iPod. But, humans being human, even something this uncomplicated can get bogged down in a morass of "what ifs."

It's getting difficult to go into the supermarket without being accosted by chiselers. My favorite is the teen-aged candy salesman who offers overpriced boxes of four-year-old peanut brittle remnants. I have actually offered to buy the entire inventory on condition that the miscreant eat the crap while I watch, and not puke for at least thirty minutes...no takers yet. Then I ask, "Who gets the cash?" "Well, If I sell enough candy, I can go to summer camp and don't have to get involved with gangs." Oh... I get it. This kid's proclivity for gang affiliation can only be curtailed by sacrificing my teeth to a five dollar handful of candy factory scraps swept up by the late shift. "What are you, on glue?" I ask, "So If you don't go to camp, you'll join a gang?" And he answers, "Well, I don't want to...but..."

At that point, I become the kid's worst nightmare and give him some fatherly advice. I point to the newspaper dispenser next to the supermarket entryway. "See those?" I ask, pointing at the papers. "See all that black stuff on the paper? Those are words, and if you take your young ass to school you can learn how they work...they mean things. When you learn how to read, you can go to the laundromat and find a newspaper for free. Look at the biggest part with all the small words on it. That is called the classified ads. It is rammed full of something called 'JOBS'. Go and get one. As long as they still print that part of the paper, it means that there are more jobs than there are crap-candy salesmen trying to scare me with some bullshit about staying out of gangs...lazy bastard!"

You see, the kid is a liar. He wants me to give him five dollars for a box of crap that claims to be fresh from Auntie Helga's candy kitchen on the premise that this transaction will have a positive effect on his future. A gross misrepresentation of the product followed by a gross misrepresentation of the business plan. Bullshit on top of bullshit.

Here is my interpretation of the Sellaband transaction. I listen to an mp3 demo, decide that there is potential, buy a share at ten bucks, the artist goes on to raise fifty grand, and makes a professional recording of the music I believed in by virtue of the mp3. If, after reaching the $50K mark, the artists decides that he wants to spend the budget on promoting the original demo versions, or on touring so that he can sell his demos side-stage, I have to feel that I've been lied to. I didn't invest in a box of crap to send a kid to summer camp. If an artist were to say out front, "Look, I've already made my recordings and I just want the money to buy a van so I can drive along the highway and sell my peanut brittle at rest stops," well, then I have the choice to invest in a van for this artist or a recording for another. I've written about the value of a professional studio experience before, but my position also concerns the very integrity of the business transaction between artist and believer.

There is a link on the Sellaband site to the Sellaband Club area where one will find various playlists compiled by members of the community. One of my favorites is called "Songs with Hit Potential." Notice the wording? It doesn't say "Recordings", it says "Songs." I interpret this to mean that the compiler of this playlist feels that the songs on this list could be made into hit records. If the recordings were radio ready, they might be hit records now. But they aren't. The idea of spending $50K trying to get an mp3 on the radio is absurd. Without a top-notch recording, promotion is a moot point.

As always, I will accompany this rant with a discalaimer. Yes, There are artists capable of producing their own music. and yes, I may be as full of shit as the next guy. But if you are a highly talented and creative musical artist with limited experience, limited funds, and limited knowledge of the many ways to completely fuck yourself in this business...AND you have Sellaband staring you in the face with the perfect plan...Wake up and smell the music.

"You Never Know..."

"...where the hits are gonna come from." These are words of wisdom from studio legend, and I'm proud to say my friend, Dennis St. John. Listening to the music of Sellaband artist Mark Supsic this evening, I remembered some of the great conversations Dennis and I had while sitting at the old API desk in Shangri La. I'll get back to Marc, but first a few words about Dennis.

You may not know his name, but unless cultural or religious constraints have prevented you from listening to the radio during the time that rock, pop and soul records have been invented, you know Dennis' work. Dennis cut his studio teeth playing with artists like Otis Redding, The Classics IV (who can forget "Spooky") and The Boxtops. He was responsible for making "Let Your Love Flow" a hit for the Bellamy Brothers and was at his peak as Musical director for Neil Diamond, producing "The Jazz Singer" and appearing with Neil in the Band's "Last Waltz."

The two Dennis stories that Marc's music reminded me of are these. After the Boxtops' "Give Me a Ticket For an Airplane" had gone to number one in the billboard charts, Dennis was having coffee with songwriter Spooner Oldham. They had an interesting problem on their hands. A number one hit single...and nothing to follow it up with. It seemed that Spooner's well was dry and the chance to capitalize on the record's success would pass them by. Spooner looked at Dennis over the rim of his cup and lamented," Yeah man, Ain't that a bitch...makes me want to cry like a baby!" Dennis looked at Spooner, Spooner looked at Dennis and they both saw lightbulbs! They hurried back to the studio and "Cry Like a Baby" became the next hit from The Boxtops.

It was from Dennis that I adopted the mantra, "Without a hit song, you don't have a record." And Dennis knew hit songs, after all, he played on literally thousands of chart recordings. While Dennis headed Neil's publishing company, he held what he called "Demo day." Once a week, he had a rhythm section set up and anyone in the company, from the mail boy on up, could bring in songs. A few hit songs were discovered in that way, hence the title to this entry.

Sellaband's Marc Supsic has a lot going for him. He sings what he writes with sensitivity and expression. He is an accomplished guitarist and all around musician, playing all the instruments on his recordings, and he has a gift for writing fresh, catchy instrumental hooks. The three songs on Marc's profile page represent three distinct approaches but there is a definite thread representative of Marc's personality connecting the songs.

I couldn't decide if "Lonely One" was Country-Rock or Rock-Country. Marc plays excellent slide guitar on the track and the vocal melody has a bit of Neil Diamond behind it. A really nice bit of songwriting in a neo-Nashville/Americana sort of way. Up until the entrance of the drums, "Invisible" evokes the qualities that made Cat Stevens' records so charming. Again, a very well written song. My favorite of the three is the last. "The Universe is Burning" is catchy without being trite, and again, Marc's excellent musical skills are evident in every track.

I do have a few kind words to say about some of the choices made in the production of these tracks, but knowing that Marc is a virtual one-man band, I hope that my criticism will be taken in the intended spirit. Besides, I could be just as full of shit as the next guy, but I think that Marc is really close to the mark in a lot of departments. One immediate observation is in regard to the vocals. Marc is a very skillful singer with a wide range of dynamics, but I find myself wanting to hear him cut loose. The way he whispers the verse of "Universe" is very effective but when the track opens up on the 'B' section the urgency isn't met by the vocal. It's nice...but it could be great.

"Invisible" is compelling from the start. As the instruments enter, each adds a new flavor and tension. And each instrument has importance with relation to the vocal message...except the drums. The song is sensitive and charming and I think the layered guitars and strings are brilliant on their own. I wonder if Marc has ever mixed the song without drums. I think the track would be mesmerizing.

The only other comment I have will be a moot point after Marc reaches his recording budget goal and walks into the studio. These songs have a size and spaciousness that are very difficult to achieve in a home recording environment with one guy wearing all the hats. Marc Supsic is an excellent songwriter and an accomplished musician. The songs he has posted on his Sellaband profile display precisely the kind of potential for development that Sellaband's system of crowd-funding is designed to nurture.

I look forward to this artist catching the eyes and ears of the Sellaband community and having the opportunity of making a first class album of his songs. As Dennis St. John so wisely said, "You never know where the hits are gonna come from."

Trading Fours With Foreigners

I just finished recording in what could be the largest recording studio in the world. I've worked in a lot of studios, some bigger than others. But this one takes the cake. The guitar room is in Groningen, The Netherlands, the vocal booth is in Basel, Switzerland, the room we used to record bass is here in California and the programming/production suite is in Veendam, also in The Netherlands.

It's a cool studio though...each room has its own kitchen and bathroom, I had no problem finding a parking spot, and my equipment was already set up and waiting for me. The only thing missing was the hang. Because we were all at extremely distant corners of the studio, we never really got to hang out. Such a pity...the band seems like a nice bunch of people.

It all began about two weeks ago. I was going back and forth on the Sellaband forum with a guitar player/songwriter from the Netherlands by the name of Pieps. I can't remember what the discussion was about or if we agreed or not on the point of the thread. But Pieps and I ended up in a corner of the virtual broo-haha talking porn...guitar porn that is. Pieps and I found that we share a passion. I think my pal Jamie Shane put it best when he said, "I like skinny women... and big fat guitars." After looking and listening to what Pieps was all about on his Sellaband profile page, I found that he kept a harem of his own and he knew how to bring 'em to their knees.

At some point, I told Pieps that it would be fun to jam together but with the price of gas, I couldn't justify driving all the way to Holland. About five minutes later I had a guitar track in my in-box along with an invitation from Pieps to lay one down. The track was to be a song which Pieps was writing with another Sellaband artist, Alexia Gardner. I visited Alexia's page to see what I might be letting myself in for. And after changing my underpants, I went immediately to work on the track.

Alexia has one of those voices that appear rarely in the life of a bass player. I have a dear friend named Angela Carole Brown who is just that type of talent. The times that I've had the good fortune to play behind Angela, I spent most of the evening trying to lift my jaw up off of my shoes...she is just that freaking good. I have yet to meet Alexia in person, but once I heard her sing, well, don't tell her this, but I'd pay to lob some big fat low stuff under that voice. I mean, putting some bass under Pieps' fat-ass guitars was already going to be as much fun as I thought legal. But the two of them? Now you're talkin' my language!

I imported Pieps' guitar mix into a Cubase4 project and, listening to the track, started the process of deciding which bass to play. I had just played a blues gig on the '64 Fender Jazz so it was first up. I went directly to the computer through a Millenia TD-1 mic-pre/direct box. This thing is probably the most transparent DI I've ever heard and is always my first choice. The old Jazz practically plays itself, I just have to make sure my fingers are in the right place at the right time. I had no clue what the vocal melody was going to be, so I had fun playing as many notes as I could all over the track as I tried to come up with something complementary to Pieps' well-executed guitar parts.

Hmm, I thought, I think I'll play a mellow thumb-slap part. So I switched to the Zebra-wood monster 5-string and had at it for a while. I came up with plenty of sophisticated jazz-funk riffs that were very clever...and had nothing to do with the tune. I decided to go back to Alexia's profile and see if I could get some direction from just the sound of her voice. Hearing her voice is like looking up and down an empty elevator shaft. Her voice is spacious and no matter where she takes a line, you always know that there is plenty more where that came from.

And that is when my part started to gel. I threw cleverness and the two basses out the window and started over. My part would have to be the glue between what Pieps had already played and what Alexia had yet to write. I plugged in the trusty fretless Gibson Ripper and attempting to channel what would become the melody, I closed my eyes and pushed "record."

After I sent the track back to Pieps, he sent the track to Alexia who then recorded her vocal track in Basel, Switzerland. At this point, I finally didn't meet the rest of the band, Pieps' brother Joris, whose name I know through having reviewed his band, Radio Orange, yet another group on the Sellaband artist roster. I finally saw a picture of Joris on his profile page and he didn't look anything like I had imagined. Listening to his programming and mixing work, I would have thought him to have ears the size of trash can lids. What Joris brought to the table was musically very sophisticated but sensitive and humble. Alexia's lyrics and that juicy, gooey voice had all the room they needed. Wearing the track like a floor-length mink coat, Alexia seduces each listener into a private corner to tell her little story.

The song, "Why Don't You". is now getting the attention it deserves. It was great fun and I've never not played with better musicians I haven't met. Thank you Pieps, Alexia and Joris. The bottom line from the Bottom-end is that I can't wait to do more of the same...but it would be nice to hang out with the band at the espresso machine in the studio lounge some time.

I Discovered My Roots on Sellaband

Years ago one of my sons was given "A Tale of Two Cities" as a reading assignment in school. I still have to laugh when I remember the evening he opened the book to the first page and began to read.

"This guy Dickens is full of shit." he said, closing the book in disgust. I looked up from my crossword puzzle and asked him what he meant. "The guy can't make up his mind. 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...' I mean, make up your mind, what frigging time was it?!"

That bit of wisdom from the mouth of a teenager sums up the current state of affairs in the pop music industry rather succinctly. Music technology is at an all-time high, while music education is at an all-time low. Quality and talent have in large part given way to fame and controversy. Artists who haven't recorded new material in years are making more money on the concert stage than artists with new "hit" records. What was once known as "Pop, Rock and Soul" has been sub-divided into genre too numerous to remember. The proliferation of self-produced music has democratized the market in a very exciting way but has also lowered the bar of what was once acceptable broadcast standards.

New web sites seem to appear daily on which aspiring artists can market products that would once have been considered "demo quality" at best. That's not to say that the music doesn't have merit. But let's face it, ear buds, mp3s and liver-pulverizing car systems don't require the same level of production values that made recordings sound like a million dollars on anything from a home hi-fi to the family station wagon radio.

One web-based organization that is attempting to bring the promise of high quality recording values to aspiring artists is Sellaband. Sellaband does not market previously recorded material, but rather gives artists an opportunity to promote musical potential in hopes of making a professional quality recording. Of Sellabands many attributes, the most intriguing is the potential for international exposure. I say "potential" because, although there are now 5000 artists from every corner of the world on Sellaband, the majority of funding is currently being provided by investors from Europe and the UK. When the crowd-funding concept catches on in the American and Asian markets the full potential of Sellaband may be realized.

Another aspect of Sellaband that I find attractive is the internet-driven ability of artists from smaller, regional markets to reach an ever growing international audience. But again, international support for these artists will depend upon Sellaband's ability to market their crowd-funding concept to an ever-widening international crowd...with funds.

I joined Sellaband in June and the first day my profile was up, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a message from a band from my home country of Austria, inviting me to their profile page for a listen to their music. Looking through the artist roster, I found that there were three(now four) Austrian bands on the site. The four bands cover a wide variety of styles and range in age from the just out of school Rooga to the mature rock,statesmen Confused5. In between there are Kontrust, just a ripping, rapping rock band, and Solidtube, a country flavored bluesy band more reminiscent of the late 60s bay area than Vienna. Ah, the internet is a great development. Here I am, a career musician in LA who still thinks of Austria as home...hooking up with four bands from the 'hood for the very first time.

All four of these bands have recently posted new material on their Sellaband profile pages. Rooga, the young aggressive funk/rock band from Vienna have posted "Me", a powerfully progressive song recorded at Vienna's Fast Forward Studios. The song is rhythmically ambitious but never loses the groove. The vocals and melodic lines are executed with patience and maturity beyond their years. Rooga are sophisticated musicians and play with all the fire of an early No Doubt.

Kontrust, another Viennese group offers their new song "Si Je" which was also recorded at Fast Forward Studio and mastered at Gold Chamber. I've written a full review of Kontrust in the past and this new song only reinforces what I've already said...I don't understand how this band has escaped the attention of major labels. Absolutely original and one of the best bands on the Sellaband artist roster. Lead singer Agata is a star. Period. And the band absolutely rises to her level. I don't go out much, but this is an act I would pay to see. Great writing, great playing, great look, unlimited potential.

And then there is Solidtube. Until recently Solidtube was a trio consisting of very capable guitar, blues harmonica and one of the most sincere and honest voices I've heard in a long time. Mandana sounds as if she grew up playing the San Francisco bay area circuit rather than the Viennese coffee houses and restaurants that the band call home. Their new song, "Perfect", is really indicative of what they do best, write good songs and perform them with heart. Solidtube's recordings are done on consumer equipment, but the message is abundantly clear. When the right producer gets this trio into the studio along with their new rhythm section they will make an album worth listening to.

Markus from ConFused5 was the first musician to post a comment on my Sellaband profile and he is really responsible for causing me to look further into the fine european artists I've grown to admire on the Sellaband site. And this band has a great story. Markus and two of the current band members played as a band over twenty years ago. They put their tight jeans and hairdryers in the closet and went about the business of being responsible adults when along came Sellaband to fan the dormant flames of their rocking youth. Their brand of music centers around the big, overdriven guitars of the late seventies but their latest song is a catchy, minor blues laced with the distinct flavor of New Orleans. Their recordings were done at
Sonic Flow Studio of Salzburg. This is another band that does great live shows and has a loyal local following.

And speaking of a local following, ConFused5 and Solidtube, joined by Swiss artist LorraineJones will be rocking the Rock House in Salzburg in a joint effort to bring attention to their Sellaband quest on November 9th. It's a long way from LA but this is just a train ride away for many of my European readers and I hope you can join the party.

And so, this being the best of times and the worst of times, I take heart in knowing that there is something new on the horizon. Sellaband can be a lot of things to a lot of people. For me it has been a place to meet musicians from a home I left long ago. For those musicians, it represents an opportunity to realize the dream of making the quality recordings that their fans deserve. And to tell you the truth, I don't know if my son ever finished his book. Knowing him, he probably bought the Cliff notes, took the test and forgot all about it.

Revolution vs Evolution

When a regime becomes unresponsive to the society from which it derives its power, a segment of the society, having exhausted all legal or peaceful means of implementing change, may sometimes engage in a revolution against that regime. This "turning upside down" of the status quo requires that a new regime replace that which was ousted. In the arena of consumer economics, given a free market and freedom from predatory monopolies, consumers revolt by means of boycott or organized exposure of faulty products. But, as in political revolution, that which is revolted against is replaced by another, new and improved, crunchier, carb-free product, usually packaged with 25% extra.

We hear of revolutions every day. The revolutionary new SUV, the digital revolution, the revolutionary new painter, novelist, film maker, sculptor or composer. And then we have the revolution taking place in the marketing of recorded music. If there is indeed a revolution occurring in the business of music sales, the current regime will be replaced by a new regime. Authority revolted against must be replaced by another form of authority. And in the case of the music business, the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for" has profound meaning.

I would hope that the "revolutionary" methods by which music is beginning to be marketed are not revolutionary at all. The artists who make, and the consumers who buy music may perhaps think that iTunes, Amiestreet or Sellaband are the battalions leading the revolution for the overthrow of the old guard. Again, I hope that this is not the case.

The leadership of a successful revolution becomes the new regime. And a regime will retain authority in two ways, responsiveness to it's constituency or brute force. The first is sure to fade and the second will eventually result in another revolution. Slogans are written, battle lines are drawn, scapegoats are slaughtered and the big picture may get a photo-shop update, but nothing of substance really changes.

Here is the way it really works...

Once upon a time, the world (the music business) was covered in nice warm water. In this water lived a few giant dinosaurs (record companies). Living in the water, the big dinosaurs did not notice how heavy they really were. They frolicked weightlessly along, unaware that their huge feet were crushing the smaller organisms(Indie companies and consumers) living on the bottom of the water. Because the dinosaurs were so heavy, they never left the water, not even to shit. So they gamboled about in the water, shitting enormous piles of waste (flooding the market with new releases) which began to choke the smaller organisms.

The dinosaurs thought that this Eden would last forever. They really enjoyed living in their own shit and feeling it squishing between their toes as their huge feet mashed their shit and the smaller organisms into the sea bottom. But over the years their shit started to pile up and the water began to recede. The dinosaurs were beginning to feel their weight but couldn't stop shitting. The more they shit, the shallower the water became until the day came that they could no longer move about. What was once a fresh blue sea was now a muddy shit wallow with a few huge dinosaurs struggling to survive.

And then one day, out of the dry shit there crawled a few of the smaller organisms. Because they had to struggle in the shit all those years, their fins had become strong and their breathing mechanisms had learned to survive out of the water. The smaller organisms grew strong enough to go out on the dry land and some of them even developed a taste for dinosaur meat. The dinosaurs begged the smaller organisms for help but the smaller organisms had had enough of living on the shit of dinosaurs. They ate what was left of them and moved out over the land to have adventures of their own.

That... is called evolution. Some organisms learn to adapt to changing conditions and thrive in the new environment. Others try to hang on to tradition and fall by the wayside, becoming the fossils that give us a glimpse of what once was. Stagnant conditions can cause unrest and even revolution. But when conditions change, courageous organisms adapt to the new surroundings, adopt new methods of survival and thrive.

The advent of digital recording technology, widespread access to all corners of the world via the internet and the stench of shit encrusted dinosaur feet have changed the conditions surrounding the music industry forever. There are those who cling to tradition or shy away from the learning curve of new technology and become museum exhibits. And then there are those who become strong on dinosaur meat, embrace the technology and become compassionate agents of positive change.

Sellaband in particular is in the unique position of becoming such an agent of change. I would hope that those in the Sellaband community reject the temptation to take on the mantle of revolution in hopes of becoming the new regime. The effects of revolution can be short-lived...but evolution, by its very nature, offers an exciting future to those eager to adapt to changing conditions. The biggest price to pay is patience and the realization that those who follow will benefit more than those who are first out of the water.

How to Blow Fifty Grand Without Getting Laid

The content formerly under this title has been deleted. What seemed funny at the time proved to be hurtful to an old friend and this was not the intention nor the motivation of the author.

"Well, What Does a Producer Do Anyway?"

I have written a few words about the important role a producer plays in the recording process. My friends in the Sellaband community have made some interesting comments and have asked questions which caused me to take a step back and approach the subject from another angle.

In a perfect world, we would all abide by the sage words of Rodney King and "Just get along." Musicians would make music, engineers would see to it that the music was recorded to broadcast specifications and producers would steer the ship in the most efficient direction. Ego-less collaboration would be the order of the day, flowers would be in full bloom, the lion would lay down with the lamb and every day would begin with a happy ending.

NEWS FLASH! This just in...it's not a perfect world. Collaboration implies cooperation. Making records, as in any endeavor where success hinges on sacrificing the needs, goals or opinions of the individual in favor of the welfare of all, can often become a competition of urinary ballistics or an exercise in comparative male protrusion measurement.

Engineers often see themselves as producers or are themselves frustrated musicians. And musicians are forever grabbing knobs and faders to show that they also know a thing or two about engineering. After the smoke clears, the producer will have a word with the musician, telling him to ignore the engineer's tips on how to play the guitar, tell the engineer to put the knobs and faders back to where they were before the drummer played with them, and try to get a good take so the day hasn't completely been a waste of time.

My friend Pieps, a very talented guitarist and songwriter from The Netherlands checked into the Sellaband forum and asked, "...But what if it all goes wrong...and an artist with a huge potential works with a bad taste producer?" Well, producers can be thought of as soccer referees. They never have a home game and the operative word, "taste", is in the tongue of the beholder. Is a recording bad because we don't like it? Or is it bad because it doesn't make money?

Pieps' question opens a far reaching discussion concerning the cyclical cause and effect inherent in commercial music. The music must sell in order to justify the production costs which support the artists who make the music which must sell in order to justify the production costs which support the artists...etc. But what if we turn this question around? What happens when a producer is assigned an artist with worlds of potential but lacking in the skills associated with professional recording and/or the desire to acquire those skills?

The title of this entry is a direct quote from a young songwriter who was also the guitarist and bandleader of an act we attempted to produce at Shangri La. I'll call him Dip-shit although that isn't his real name. His band mates were John the drummer and an eye-candy bassist and co-writer called Dingbat. The band, Shit-for-Brains (also a pseudonym), had great potential. Their songs were catchy, they had a good look and there was commercial potential in their sound. We assembled a production team consisting of Dennis St. John, Neil Diamond's former musical director and producer, engineer Ron Hitchcock, and me. I was to assist Ron in engineering, help the band dial in great sounds using Shangri La's collection of vintage amps and instruments, oversee the vocal sessions, and help Dennis with any musical issues.

Dennis had been working with Shit-for-brains for two months polishing their songs. He helped them with song forms, had them re-write some weak lyrics and rehearsed the process of basic track recording. All of us, including the studio owner who was underwriting the project, believed that a hit record was in the making. After a long day of loading in, setting up the studio and getting sounds, we put a precious roll of tape on the Studer and mounted up.

What followed can only be described by a caravan of words. Funny, curious, innovative, frustrating, exasperating...and six weeks later, as we listened to the final mixes, the very walls of the studio oozed with vitriolic ill will. Shit-for-Brains respected nothing, learned nothing, acted every bit the superstars and left the studio without doing the production team the courtesy of listening to the mixes all the way through.

When we pushed the record button, Dip-shit lead his band through the first song. Without any discussion with us, Shit-for-Brains decided to ignore the weeks of pre-production with Dennis. It was a classic case of passive-aggressive nutless behavior. Dennis went into the room and tried to give Dip-shit a way out by humorously asking if they had forgotten their medication. But it was clear that there was conflict within the band. Dingbat, who's day job was telephone dominatrix ( I swear I'm not making this up!), stared daggers at Dip-shit as he stammered to Dennis that the band felt that the changes made in pre-production didn't reflect "where the band was coming from." As the studio owners representative, I stepped into the discussion to explain that a great deal of money and resources were being extended to Shit-for-Brains with the intent of realizing commercial return on investment. Therefore the production team, respecting the best interests of all parties, had a responsibility to use our best judgement in creating a viable product.

Everyone pretended to kiss and make up...but every change, every suggestion, every effect, every tone...every last detail was a fresh battleground. We would talk to Dip-shit in the control room, he would go into the studio and talk to Dingbat, she would yell at him and hand him one of his balls so he could remember that he had a pair at one time, the band would half-heartedly run through our version, tell us, "See, it doesn't work!" and go back to their original demo versions. It was absolute hell and if it were left to me, I would have stopped the bleeding immediately. The studio owner didn't deal well with confrontation so he went to Italy leaving me with instructions to "just get it done." I think Dingbat the Dominatrix scared the shit out of him and he couldn't wait to get away.

Speaking of Dingbat the Dominatrix, She really set the bar for stupid when we began to cut background vocals. Her bass playing was weak and out of time. She complained that she couldn't hear the kick in the headphones but when she took them off, they were roaring like a boombox. We decided that she was deaf and planned on letting her overdub the bass parts without the drummer later. When it came time to set her up for vocals, I noticed that before putting on her headphones, she put wax earplugs in her ears! I was twisting the knobs on the headphone box with a Makita trying to get her enough gain...and she was wearing WAX EAR PLUGS!!! I started to point out how counterproductive this was and she launched into a self-righteous ignorant rant that this is the way she always worked and why everyone should think about protecting their ears and do the same. I tried to explain the obvious downside of her listening strategy but it was like pissing into a stiff wind. Besides, it was really hard to make words, I was laughing so hard.

You will never hear the music of Shit-for-Brains. I listened to a copy of the mixes and wondered what could have been. Here was a band that we believed in strongly enough to invest six weeks of studio time and three salaried professionals toward recording a product that would benefit everyone. Ultimately it was our error. They just weren't ready. And to answer Dip-shit's question, "What does a producer do, anyway?"...well Dip-shit, you may never find out. But it's lucky for you that euthanasia is not part of the skill set.

A Demo By Any Other Name...

...is still a demo.

There is a lively discussion on the Sellaband forum which asks the question, "Does the quality of the sound recording really matter?" The comments in answer to that question display the wide diversity of experience and expectations present within the Sellaband community. Opinions vary between artists, investors and fans. I take a very firm approach and answer with a resounding and inflexible "Yes...and No...well, maybe...sometimes."

Most of the mp3 recordings posted by Sellaband artists are of demo quality, that is to say, they are recordings meant to demonstrate the writing, performance and/or production potential of artists hoping to raise sufficient capital investment for the production of professionally recorded products. These recordings can vary widely from nearly complete studio versions to song fragments recorded on the humblest of devices. I'm not aware of any aspiring artists on the site posting previously signed material so I can only assume that the music, regardless of recording quality, is posted to demonstrate potential as opposed to finished, marketable product, although there may be exceptions.

I think of a demo as being in one of three distinct categories:

1. The Writing Demo: This can be as simple as a vocal rendition of a song accompanied by one instrument. The object of a writing demo is to sell a song to an artist, producer or publisher.

2. The Artist Demo: The purpose of an artist demo is to demonstrate the performance level of a particular artist. This could be a singer, a solo instrumentalist or an entire band. Artist demos are not limited to recordings of original music as they are frequently used to showcase talent for audition purposes.

3. The Production Demo: When a band or artist has written or secured material, a production demo can be recorded in order to demonstrate and conceptualize elements of style, instrumentation, character etc. An artist or producer will frequently make a production demo to focus attention on production concepts, explore different effects or to edit arrangements before spending precious or unavailable funds in a professional setting.

When an artist is also a songwriter and is struggling to hone his concept into something worthy of recording, he is frequently self-cast in the role of producer. The advent of relatively affordable recording technology has seduced many aspiring artist/writer/performers into believing that they can produce viable products. In some cases I'm sure that this can be the case. The fact that more and more of the listening audience hears music via mp3 and computer speakers further obfuscates the value of professional production techniques.

But again, allowing for the occasional home recording genius, thinking of even the best demo recording as a finished product can be a mistake. If you put two measures of ground coffee in your mouth, pour in boiling water and milk, and then put your face in front of a steam iron, you haven't made cappuccino. All the elements are present, yes. And you've done a great job of gathering the ingredients and simulating the process. But what you've created is a convincing demo of a potential cappuccino. Before you go into mass production, you will need a pro and you will need pro-level tools.

The last project I took part in at Shangri La was the album "Suitcase" by Keb' Mo'. Keb' has many years of recording experience and two Grammys under his belt and I was thrilled to assist producer John Porter and engineer Rik Pekkonen for the project. During the process of recording, I was in awe of what I heard coming out of the studio monitors. To me, it was all gold. But time and time again, after what seemed like a brilliant take, John would go out into the room and have a word with the musicians or go into the vocal booth with Keb'. It seemed like he was just taking a short break or resting his ears or maybe just sharing a joke. But every time he came back into the control room and had Rik push the "record" button, the next take would be magic. And the difference between Keb's original demos and the grammy nominated album demonstrates to me the inestimable value of the collaboration between artist and producer.

I have written reviews of various Sellaband artists and in every case what is most compelling about these artists is potential. When I listen to The Francis Rodino Band, I bow in respect to his songwriting and the performance abilities of the band. But I also know that what I'm hearing is the tip of the iceberg. The same goes for The Vegas Dragons, Kontrust, Lone Pine, Wetwerks and so many more. Mandana, the voice of Solidetube, and Lucia Iman have the potential of making beautiful recordings. And then there is ConFused5, a band that has resurrected itself after a 20 year hiatus and still retains the exuberance of a band of 20-year-old guitar rods. All of these artists and many more on the Sellaband web site have demonstrated massive potential by way of their demo recordings. But only the open-minded collaboration of a professional producer and all that comes with that will result in a great cup of coffee.

Because a demo by any other name...well, you know the rest.

Sonata Allegro Form and the Gentle Art of Persuasion

Sonata Allegro Form is a compositional formula which began to take shape in the early classical period and reached maturity in the works of Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. A detailed description of the concept can be found here. In discussing how this compositional vehicle relates to the art of persuasion, I will address three elements of the form.

1. Exposition
2. Development
3. recapitulation

These three elements of Sonata Allegro form are at the heart of most logically composed pieces. A composer will make a musical statement. He will follow by expounding on the statement and developing the material by use of various methods. He may restate the material in the relative minor of the original key, or invert the intervalic relationships of the statement. He may cast the statement in a different rhythmic setting or pass the statement like a relay baton between various instruments. And when the original statement has been developed to the composers satisfaction, he will pick up the loose ends in a logical manner and restate the original material.

After the piece has come to a conclusion, the listener has been given information, had the information explained, during which time the listener may have asked himself some questions regarding the material, and finally, the listener is given a conclusion which attempts to answer whatever questions may have arisen during the development.

This form can be as complicated and convoluted as the composer chooses to make it but this is the Sonata Allegro Form in a nutshell. Make a statement, expound upon the statement, and restate the original idea. I think of this formula as being the primary building block of every musical phrase. When the formula of Exposition, Development and Recapitulation is brought to bear in popular music, every element of a song can be crafted not only to express more precisely the message of the writer, but also to make the song more accessible and pleasing to the listener.

Popular music is by definition commercial music, music to be bought and sold for the enjoyment of the listening audience and for the financial gain of the writer and performer. A pop song is really an advertisement for itself. The more persuasively a song is presented in the media, the more likely it is that the public will embrace the song and the more commercial success the writer of the song will enjoy.

The form can exist in miniature in even the shortest musical solo. A great soloist will make a musical statement, show off a bit as he develops his idea, and then wrap it up. A song lyric will follow a formula in order to convey everyday ideas in a more poetic setting. Even a simple joke can be analyzed in terms of Sonata Allegro form...

Statement: A dog with his arm in a sling walks into a bar.
Development: The bartender says "get outta here, we don't serve drinks to dogs."
Recapitulation and conclusion: I don't want a drink...I'm just gunnin' for the hombre that shot my paw!"
And now we know why the dog went into the bar and why his arm was in a sling.

Humans seem to seek form in all things, Form pleases us, it makes us feel safe. We buy cars, shoes, furniture, appliances and most things based on form. You may think that studying over the specifications of a dishwasher will give you the upper hand in deciding which manufacturer best fills your needs, but at the end of the day you'll put your money on the one that looks the best in your house. Developing the shapes and sizes of products in their most persuasive forms is a much larger component of research and development than any consideration for technical advancement. We buy packaging, not products. And we do so because the form of the package is appealing and persuasive.

Persuasion is not a bad thing in and of itself. We try to persuade children to be good and not to hurt themselves. We try to persuade our friends to use certain products or think in a certain way because we care about their health and welfare. We tell others about the merits of this movie or that recording artist because we believe that these things will make their lives better. But sometimes our efforts to improve the lives of our loved ones are met by "Mind your own business, will ya?" And even though we care deeply about the welfare of our friends and neighbors, one such rejoinder can cause us to give up.

Enter the Sonata Allegro Form as a tool of persuasion. Let me illustrate by using as an example something which I feel strongly about, the exploitation of recording artists by the music industry in general and major record labels in particular. Picture this scenario...I'm listening to new music with some friends and the conversation turns to the hot new act on the billboard charts.

Friend: "Hey Pete, have you heard the new album by the Lizard Wieners?"
Me: "Yeah they really rock!"
Friend: "yeah, I read in Billboard that they signed a multi-album deal and got 500 thousand advance money. They really made it big man."
Me: "Oh really? And how much of that do they get to keep? Did you know that now they are really in debt to the label for 500 thousand and that they'll be lucky to see any royalties in their lifetimes? There's a lot better way to go for new bands you know."
Friend: "What do you mean?"

Here comes the exposition...

Me: "There is this new internet thing called Sellaband that treats artists much more fairly than the major labels. Being a musician, I really care about this a lot. I've looked into it and not only do the artists get a fair deal, but its a great site for music fans to find cool new music and even get involved with the artists themselves."
Friend: Yeah right. I've heard about those sites, they're probably all bullshit. The Lizard Wieners got a pile of new shit man, and the label paid for everything. Your full of shit."

And now, the development...

Here I would log on to my Sellaband page, show off some of my favorite artists, or read over some choice comments on my page from bands that are every bit as good as the Lizard Wieners thereby showing how any fan has access to any artist on the site. And I would further expound on my original statement by illustrating how the Sellaband business model works to the benefit of artists, fans and label unencumbered by the greed that drives the conventional music industry. My friend may have some questions which would give me an opportunity to further develop my original statement. And my motive of persuasion would always be clear, this is a better way to go for everyone involved because it offers more freedom to the artist as well as the music fan. I would develop the original statement until any and all questions my friend might have are addressed.

And finally, the recapitulation...

Me: "Now you know what a skeptical prick I am, especially when it comes to getting screwed by labels. Hell, I've starred in that movie more times than I want to admit. And I don't intend on that happening again. So I've researched this Sellaband thing to death and you can do what you like, but I'm running with it. And so are some of my music bros...and you know they aren't into bullshit."

The Sonata Allegro Form came about as a vehicle for composers to organize their musical ideas in a persuasive form that appealed to more listeners thereby making their compositions accessible and successful. There is form in everything we do, we thrive on form. And the principles of form can be a powerful tool when used in the gentle art of persuasion.

Memories of a Studio Virgin

There is still a stack of moving boxes that have remained untouched since my untimely escape from Shangri La. It has been over a year now, so I decided to start at the top and work my way through the hastily packed memories representing my years in Malibu. Years ago, when my grandfather died, I was sent a few boxes of his things, photo albums, trinkets, his military medals...I had the same feelings now as I unpacked my own things, as if they belonged to someone else...someone who had lived a different life.

In the very first box I found a videotape I had forgotten existed. In the last two months at the studio, I had a camera set up in the control room to record whatever may prove interesting. What a find. There was Jonathan Moffett cutting drum tracks for a Gary Miller production. There was footage of the great Greg Leisz demonstrating what was one of the first Rickenbacker electric guitars, nic-named the "frying pan." There was Keb' Mo' cutting vocals for the "Suitcase" album. And most of all, there were people living, laughing and loving every moment.

Watching the footage cut short my efforts at organizing the contents of the boxes, but I couldn't stop watching. Here was a studio that pulsated with music, life and laughter. I wonder if the final product ever conveys this ingredient to the listener of an album. Ultimately, a final mix is more than just notes, effects and soundwaves. That which reaches the ears of the listener is a combination of every emotion, every joke, every cup of coffee, every prank, every callous and every heartbeat of every soul involved with the making of the record.

As the tape unwound, my thoughts drifted back over the many studios, musicians and engineers that led up to the moments captured on that short video cassette. I tried to remember my first real studio gig. I had recorded in many makeshift multitrack home studios. There was the eight track living room of Steve Gillette. And I had done some commercials in another eight track room/garage in North Hollywood that I would later find out was built by my Shangri La partner in crime, Jim Nipar. And almost everyone had a four track. But what was the first real studio? Hmmm...

It was about 1980 I think. I played bass and was musical director for a revue type of show at the old Sahara in Lake Tahoe. We had been on the marquee for almost six months and I decided that I wanted to come back to Los Angeles. I secured a gig with a lounge singer who was quite successful and would play the occasional Nevada dates, but I would be able to spend most of my time playing in L.A. When I gave the show my notice, the producers decided it would be a good time for them to change over to recorded music. They asked me if I would be able to produce tracks which they could use for the show from that time forward. I told them that I would be happy to, providing that I could hire the musicians currently playing the show at premium rates to compensate for the fact that they would soon be without work.

Did I want to produce the recordings? Hell yes! Did I have the slightest idea of how to produce twenty-two separate cues and numbers? Yeah, sure! I was at least as well prepared as Balaam's ass! But they were giving me a studio, musicians and money...what could go wrong? Luckily, not much did and the job turned out to be acceptable. But little did I know how deeply smitten I would become with the world that exists in the holy of holies, the recording studio.

At this time, I knew nothing, zero, nada about microphones, mixing desks, monitors and headphone mixes. To me, outboard gear sounded like boating equipment. These were all assets which I chose to hide from the staff of the studio which was a typical mix of gear geeks, roadies and solder junkies. I kept my ears open and my mouth relatively shut...didn't want to show off...my ignorance. I had a strong musical background and was confident in my abilities in that regard so I told (lied to) the engineer that I was really under the gun to get the best I could get out of the musicians in a short time and that I would leave the technical considerations up to him. Whenever he asked me questions like "Which reverb would you prefer?" I would scratch my chin, look into the air and act like I was mulling it over. Then I'd ask him what he thought, scratch and mull a bit more and agree with his choice.

But where I got the lethal dose, the point at which I knew that I wanted nothing more than to live and breathe in this environment forevermore was when I sat and listened to the first playback. It was the first day of school, the first beer, the first hit of good weed, the first handful of warm breast and the first rush of acid all rolled up in one illuminating moment. It was the high that happens once and only once...but nevermore goes unpursued. I know that I've been in better studios, listened to better monitors, mixed on better desks with better outboard gear...but I have never heard anything that had a greater impact than the first time I pushed "play" in that little sixteen track room in Reno, Nevada.

Watching the tape of our shenanigans at Shangri La brought it all back. The holy "Why" of it all. Anyone who has spent time in recording studios has stories to tell. Stories of legendary all-nighters or marathon three day sessions. Most are amusing and many are true. But can you imagine an insurance adjuster or accountant loving his job so much that he stays at it days on end? I've seen musicians and engineers miss meals, miss weddings, funerals and graduations. I've seen people dodge phone calls or hide under the console to avoid having to leave the studio. And all for the ostensible reason of getting the perfect EQ curve, or the right reverb or a more precise edit. Once inside, they just don't want to leave. Why? Why ask. I don't know why, but every time I listen to a recording I get a glimpse of the sweat, work and sheer joy that went into it. Everybody should be so lucky.

And now... it's back to the boxes. Maybe I'll find another tape.

Sellaband...Year one

I have a twisted respect for annoying people...well, let me clarify that. I have a great deal of respect for people who are driven by perseverance. Whenever the Mormon missionaries show up at my doorstep with their clean haircuts, white shirts and ties, I invite them to lean their bikes against the fence and I listen to what they have to say. It takes courage to talk to strangers about your deepest beliefs, especially if you're a teenager fresh out of high school, and the stranger is in his underwear and offering beer and cigarettes on a Saturday morning.

I'm usually willing to give anyone a few moments of my time as long as they are sincere. I've sent many of these missionaries away with their heads shaking and questioning their own beliefs...but only because my sincerity rivals their own. There was only one occasion that I had had enough. There were two Jehovah's Witness ladies that just wouldn't see things my way...but they kept coming back. I had to respect that, but I had my fill. The next time they came to my front door, I greeted them in my socks...and nothing else. It seems that I had found the limit of their perseverance. After gathering their jawbones up from their shoes, they fled, never to darken my doorstep again.

Sellaband is celebrating its first year. The web-based alternative to conventional record labels now boasts over 4500 artists and just over one million dollars invested. Both reasons to celebrate...but now that the honeymoon is fading, it is time for the Sellaband community to take stock in what has been accomplished and to assess ways in which these initial milestones can be parlayed into real and substantial success for the artists, the investors, or "believers", and the label itself.

Everyone has experienced the first month or so of a new relationship. It's fresh and exciting, full of energy and discovery. But as the relationship develops, cute personal habits can become annoying, and one finds that they can no longer ignore the bad breath, farting, nose-picking and scab peeling that was once so very charming. Long term relationships require hard work. Communication and perseverance become more instrumental than the pre-coffee tumble in making the relationship a successful one for both parties.

It is difficult to sustain energy in almost any endeavor that requires a long timeframe. This is the area that will make or break the Sellaband community efforts. When a new artist posts music on the web site, the community of believers are quick to support the artist's efforts. The first rush of investment can be intoxicating. But raising $50,000.00 takes time by any standards and even the artists with 20 or 30 thousand under their belt will find that raising the last $10,000 will likely be more difficult than the first.

The answer lies in perseverance, not only on the part of the artists, but also the investors. It is critical for everyone in the Sellaband community that the system succeeds. But the nature of the "crowd-funding" business model requires something which many people find difficult. When I visit the pages of my favorite artists, I see many of the same believers. Many have become E-friends and I enjoy discussing musical ideas and exchanging holiday greetings with them. But for the system to succeed, everyone in the community must now take on the role of the missionary. We have to put on our white shirts and ties, hop on our bikes, and go talk to strangers.

I think that it would be fairly accurate to say that Sellaband shareholders fall into one of three distinct groups. There are the friends, fans and family who provide the first rush of investment. Out of this group there is a growing element of what I call travelers. Once they establish their favorite artist, they roam the profile pages and invest according to the opinions shared by friends and fellow believers. And then there are the hardcore investors who look at this system as a way to be involved in a business hitherto unapproachable.

From the ranks of these three groups, there must evolve a second generation of investment from those who are either sitting on the fence or perhaps have yet to hear of Sellaband. In order for the crowd funding model to sustain itself, those already involved must take advantage of the viral effect of personal communication. The most effective tool available to the current investors is sincerity. If investors wish to see their investments come to fruition, they must make Sellaband a topic for conversation. True belief is sustained with sincerity and perseverance...and true believers have a passion for evangelism.

I want Sellaband to succeed. The importance of a forum for new ideas and independent music unencumbered by the greed which characterizes the conventional record label's motives cannot be underestimated. Now that Sellaband has had a year to teethe and take its first steps, it is time to spit out the pacifier and begin the maturation that will define success. No true believer should be shy about sharing the gospel...at least not unless someone answers the door dressed only in socks.