A response to Irving Azoff

In a recent interview with Judd Apatow, one of the world’s most successful, and most influential artist managers, Mr. Irving Azoff (also the President of Live Nation) has said that “it’s way more difficult now” to make it in the music industry versus how it was in the 60’s and 70’s.   To the degree that I believe he is talking about, he’s right, but by and large I disagree.  The age of the huge rock band who is easily identifiable by everyone is currently dead.  Mr. Azoff says, “basically then versus now, you'd have one hit record and you could come to Los Angeles and sell out three days at the Staples Center - then it was the Forum, but now it would be Staples Center.  One you can't get a hit but if you do get a hit, you get to open up for somebody at a club.”  The aspect that I think he’s neglecting in all of this is that the music industry isn’t in the same state that it was during the golden age.  It’s more in line with what the industry was before the golden age, which was singles over albums.  If you had a successful single back in the 50’s and early 60’s, you weren’t necessarily headlining the Forum.  Probably, you were opening for someone at a club or a midsized venue.  The world, thanks to shorter attention spans and the internet, has moved back to a one hit wonder mentality.  Just because you are the biggest thing right now doesn’t mean you have any longevity.  Maybe I’m wrong but will anyone remember Rebecca Black or Psy in ten years, without a Wikipedia page?

I would argue that right now it’s easier to make a living in the music industry than ever before, but it’s harder to make a killing.  In his defense, I think Mr. Azoff is focused on the “killing” part because if you look at the number of laptop acts, it’s impossible to make the case that it’s harder on the whole to be successful these days.  With sites like bandcamp, iTunes, CDBaby, artists are able to get the same “shelf space” that back in day were only available to major labels.  Targeted promotion has become much easier with fans being able to opt in by “liking” on Facebook or following on Twitter.  A small artist can put up a single on bandcamp for free, see who is downloading it, from where and plan dates accordingly.  On top of that they can mitigate if not remove the middlemen along the way, saving significant percentages.  Since most of these artists are dealing with smaller (if any) budgets, the dollar here and the dollar there genuinely add up to a sum that can sustain a livelihood. 

Another interesting point that Mr. Azoff makes is about the effect of network television and how it has become the musical star maker with shows like The Voice, American Idol, etc.  It’s a very fair point but all of these shows focus on singing ability and not on songwriting or collaborative performance.  That being said there are enough success stories like Kelly Clarksen or Daughtry who have made nice sums of money.  Let’s not forget about William Hung who also made a name for himself through network television.  I think the logic is skewed.  I think Mr. Azoff is suggesting that if you win one of these shows, you should be the biggest star on the planet, which doesn’t make a lot of sense.  The argument should be, are people more willing to spend money on you based on your winning this competition. 

The other aspect that I think gets muddled is that I’m guessing Mr. Azoff is talking about bands when he’s referring to the golden age.  These shows are about individuals and not bands.  Big rock bands don’t really exist anymore.  I personally feel it’s a mix of several factors, such as: taste makers, talent/longevity, and advertising.  The tastemakers of the world like pitchfork and the blogosphere put a premium on being independent and part of the underground.  The coolness factor of being from Brooklyn and not getting radio play was a big part of the appeal.  Let’s be honest, 13-28 years are the ones buying music and going to shows.  If they are being told that things on the radio aren’t cool, they aren’t going to buy or attend.  On the talent/longevity portion, I’m not saying to become great it’s easier to be a rapper or DJ than to be a band but you do need more people to be in the same ballpark as you at more or less the same time.  An individual who practices writing and rapping will have an easier time than if only one band member is working harder than the rest.  Also, as a DJ or rapper, you are the songwriter.  If the band member who is working the hardest isn’t the songwriter, the band can only go so far.  The music industry has advertised in the same ways for decades, radio, posters and some print ads.  In a digital world where being seen as independent wins you cool points, these means just won’t work.  With that it becomes difficult to cultivate a mainstream fan base, especially when you consider that a band can do almost as well (if not better when you factor in the middlemen) on an indie label than on a major.  The casual music listener doesn’t care about what label the artist is on.  The hardcore listener does and major = bad, indie=good.  A band like Surfer Blood jumps to a major and leaves people scratching their heads while 20 years ago that leap would be the norm.

How does the trend of singles and no bands change?  Simple.  The model changes.  Majors are still built around singles.  They’ve always been about singles and they hid that through selling CDs for $18 when there would only be one good track on the record.  Profits are going to drop off when people are able to pay $.99 for that one track instead of $18 for the album or $7 for the CD single (remember those?).  Make the model an album model.  Complete, well thought out and well crafted albums.  One of my favorite records of last year was “David Comes To Life” by Fucked Up.  It’s a bit of a rock opera in the sense that it has a narrative that’s carried throughout but more importantly every track is good.  If bands start making full lengths that are great throughout, in time they’ll sell out the Forum or the Staples Center.  The last huge album that was solid all the way through on a major was American Idiot and that sold over 6 million domestically and 14 million globally, oh and it became a Broadway too.

Mr. Azoff talks about the fan’s perspective and how it’s more closely to them as compared to a sports team.  As with any music business article, here’s my mention of the iPod.  Judd Apatow jokes in the interview that Steve Jobs killed music, in actuality, I’d argue that he saved it.  The iPod has opened up people’s music collections and broadened horizons.  Growing up in the 80’s and 90’s, music separated rather than brought together.  There were the rock cliques with their subgenres of punk, metal, alternative and there were the hip hop cliques with their respective subgenres.  My point in all of this is that back then I’d agree with Mr. Azoff that people held onto whatever their music preference was tightly and flew it as a badge of honor.  Then the iPod came along and everyone started mixing and matching a little bit.  I think you’d be hard pressed these days to find anyone’s music collection that isn’t in slightest bit varied.  It becomes difficult to wave that flag as vehemently when you’ve been exposed to other things and like them as well. 

In summation, times have changed, it’s easier now to make a living as an artist than ever before, bands are dead unless they produce quality full lengths, the iPod saved music, and consumers have become more eclectic. 

The Mayor of Santorini

We boarded a prop plane in Crete and landed in the tiny airport of Santorini.  We left the plane headed into the airport to grab our bags.  There was small hitch.  The airport was locked. It was 3pm on a Friday and the airport was locked.  That’s how small Santorini is.  There’s one guy with the keys to the airport and basically you have to wait for him to finish his cigarette or coffee before you can get inside.  After getting our bags and we exited to the taxi stand. 

We were flying blind with no itinerary, lodges, or idea as where to go or what to do with our three days in Santorini.  In my experience this is the best way to travel.  It opens up the possibility for adventure to a greater degree and tends to not disappoint comparatively speaking to having everything planned well in advance. 

I’ve found that anytime you don’t have a plan as to where to stay and you exit a major transportation hub, there will always be people looking to earn a commission by directing you to hotels with vacancies.   Santorini was no exception.  We saw three cabbies outside of their cabs.  Two of which were leaning against the cabs smoking but the third was far more hyperactive.  I put him in his 40’s because of his salt and pepper hair, thick glasses and slight paunch. Upon seeing us he stopped on a dime and pounced on our bags.  He was the third cab in line and so I suggested we take the first since that would be equitable but the first two cab drivers didn’t seem to care and seemed thrilled to get rid of the guy.  He wrestled the bags out of our hands, threw them in the trunk and locked it so there could be no further discussion. 

We got into the cab and he asked us where we were going.  We responded with wherever there are available hotels.  Right on cue, he knew of the best place, no wait, the perfect place.  Feeling adventurous we said we’d take a look.  Now Santorini is a crescent island broken up into three districts, it takes about a half hour to get from side to the other and this place was one the opposite side of where everything else was.  Being from New York City I’m not only used to dealing with crazy cab drivers, it’s the default.  The hyperactive cabbie wouldn’t stop talking or firing off question after question, without letting us get a word in edge wise.  He was rambling jumping from topic to topic with no discernable course on the conversation.  Luckily there’s only one main road in Santorini so we didn’t have to worry about that course.  At one point he mentions that he’s the mayor of Santorini and that everyone calls him the mayor.  We all have nicknames and this guy seemed crazy enough that he’d insist on people calling him the mayor.  I didn’t give it a second thought but instead focused on the probability that we’d end up dead either because he wasn’t looking at the road or by the very nature of the flophouse we were inevitably heading towards. 

We pulled up to a regular three or four story house with a little shop on the first floor, so far so good.  The place wasn’t great but by no means in bad shape.  The mayor jumps out of the cab and rushes to the door to get the woman who runs the place’s attention.  He rushes her to show us around and keeps pushing that this is the best place on the island that’s available.  He must really need this commission I figured.  For ease sake we take the small room on the second floor and he’s all smiles.  He asks us when our next flight is and insists that he’ll take us back to the airport.  This man hustles. 

We spent the next few days exploring the island’s views and food.  Since most of the touristy things were on the opposite side of the island we had the option of calling a cab or taking the bus to get there.  We opted for the bus but when we would get back to hotel we’d inevitably see the cabbie there.  We started to piece some things together.  He wasn’t working for a commission, the hotel was his and the woman working it was his wife.  Can’t knock the hustle.  I mean good for this guy, he’s bouncing around like a high bounce ball fired from a canon to ensure that he can maintain his cab and his hotel. 

On our last night before our morning flight the cabbie reminds us that he’ll take us to the airport and for us not to call anyone else.  His wife the rest of his family have been very kind to us over our stay and we wouldn’t think of calling a different cab. 

Morning comes and we head downstairs with about 45 minutes before our flight.  The cabbie is nowhere to be found.  We ask his wife who placates us by saying he’ll be here any minute.  Remember that the airport isn’t exactly JFK and they get at best two planes in an hour’s time, with that missing a flight could potentially mean spending another day in Santorini if not two.  After fifteen minutes he shows up and apologizes citing another emergency for the mayor.  I politely laugh it off while calculating the time from the hotel to airport minus the time until our flight. 

We are cruising along at his normal reckless pace when he slams on the breaks.  Tires screech.  Dust erupts all around us.  He flies out of the door complaining about people having no respect and how he has to do everything.  The dust beings to settle and I see him carrying a large piece of metal that looks like it’s the engine of a small motorcycle.  He’s now covered in oil and he throws the chunk of metal into the trunk.  He races back to the driver’s seat and off we go again at breakneck speeds.  I’m thoroughly confused.  We are in a serious rush and this guy is stopping on a whim to pick up scrap metal.  If we miss our flight there’s going to be hell to pay.  He starts talking about how all the tourists and the locals litter, how much it costs to pick up the garbage, and how as the mayor he has to do everything to save anything they can from the budget.  I politely laugh as he shoots me a quizzical look.  Then it hits me.  Yes this guy is eccentric but he’s not a bullshitter.  He’s the actual Mayor of Santorini!  My personal cab driver is the Mayor of Santorini!  I’ve been staying in the Mayor of Santorini’s house!  After the amazement  leaves my face I lean back into the vinyl seat and relax.  Our flight won’t leave until the Mayor says it’s OK. 

Bobby The Gorilla

The summer after our college graduation I went backpacking through Europe with my three closest friends. It was a run of seeing the major cities, museums, and landmarks. It was basically a non-stop culture fest.  After about 11 days of straight up culture, we agreed for some lower brow entertainment on the day.  There were would still be plenty of time to enjoy architecture in Prague, Opera in Vienna, and the Renaissance in Italy, but today it was Berlin Zoo time. 

The Berlin Zoo, at least the Berlin Zoo in 2002, was not a modern zoo.  By that I mean, for the most part there was no effort put into recreating the natural habitats of the animals.  It was just concrete and bars.  You could get within 3 feet of the lions’ cage and if your arms were long enough physically put them in a cage with multiple lions.  The lions were also inside of the building, so when they roared the entire building felt like it was going to come down.  A massive burst of sound coming at you like a flood in a tunnel in an action movie, but instead of running away from it you head straight in. My memory may be playing tricks on me but the aquarium is also attached to the zoo and similarly the tanks are all flat, old glass, which felt like it could and would crack with tap or a flash induced charge by even a tiny fish. 

We made our way outside to the more modern part of the zoo.  The habitats were a little more natural but still not like most zoos where there are points that the animals aren’t visible.  We followed the signs to what seemed to be the main attraction, the gorillas.  There was a massive large statue of the zoo’s most famous gorilla, Bobby.  Bobby had died a while back but there was either a descendant of his or another gorilla that was also named Bobby as the new star.  The four of us walked up towards the railing shoulder to shoulder as Chris says,

“Hi Bobby!”

Like strafing fire from a pillbox we are under attack!  Shit.  Piles of shit. Gorilla handfuls of shit are being whipped at us like fastballs out of a batting cage pitching machine.  The four us leap and dodge roll in various directions.  It’s become every man for himself and survival is the only thing that matters.  I looked to my left and I see Chris who greeted Bobby so sweetly, in a slow motion scream to the heavens.  He had been hit and nothing was ever going to be the same again.  Passed Chris there was a Grandmother pushing her grandson in a stroller.  She ducked and covered until the fecal assault let up.  As soon as it was safe she gave the gorilla what he deserved, a 70 year old middle finger. 

Our battalion regrouped and decided that our honor needed defending.  Chris’ Green Lantern shirt was now a Brown Lantern shirt and that simply wouldn’t stand.  If the old lady could stand up to this bully, four 22 year olds most certainly could… or at least to whatever degree wouldn’t get us in any trouble since none of us spoke German and the idea of a German jail as Americans on the day that America was playing Germany in the World Cup made a Turkish prison seem like a luxury spa.  We spread out and resorted to the antics of third graders playing dodge ball.  Waving our arms, jumping around and most importantly, name calling.  That’s right, yelling names at a gorilla in not only not its native tongue, but not even a language that it hears with regularity. 

Bobby’s surprise attack was his only successful move of the afternoon.  After that, victory was certainly ours.  

Subway Stories

As a New Yorker the two main ways you get around are by walking and taking the subway.  Anything you do over and over again will eventually lead you into some strange circumstances.  There’s one story that leaps to the forefront of my mind.

I was heading home on an uptown train on a weekday night after having a met up with a few friends for a drink or two.  It couldn’t have been later than 8:30 or 9pm.  I got on the N  train at 34^th street to a fairly empty car.  As I walked in and sat down in one of then few available seats on the long bench in the middle of the car.  The train pulled up to Times Square and quite a few people exited, but there was a far greater influx of people getting in.  I tried to slide over and grab the seat next to the arm pole in the middle of the bench but as I was sliding someone swooped in and took that seat.  I stopped myself in mid slide and was sandwiched by two people who just boarded.  The train filled up completely to the point that it looked like a rush hour train.  The train slowly starts exiting the station as a smell of ham wafted through my breathing zone.  I turned my head to left to see a 50 something Indian gentleman in a pair of glasses that you’d expect on an engineer, a trimmed but still unkempt mustache, a light brown jacket that felt like the spiritual successor of a Members Only jacket and a striped, white button shirt with a breast pocket that was far from new.  The man had just burped again releasing more ham stench.  The train slows down in between stations, coming to almost a dead halt. 

I turn my head so I’m looking straight away again and wonder what this guy had to eat.  I hear another burp from my left and I turn in time to see a small amount of vomit make its way out of his lips and onto his white shirt and beige jacket.  The best part is he is completely oblivious.  I quickly realized that this guy is bombed out of his skull, doesn’t drink often, and I’m wedged against him with no hope of getting out of the situation since the train car is jam packed and the train is going 1/50^th of its top speed.  I avert my eyes in hopes of “if I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.”  I look straight again and notice the lady who is pressed up again me shifting her weight to my right.  We lock eyes in and both start to giggle, appreciating this very New York moment.  Through these glances we have a non-verbal conversation saying things to each other like: can you believe what just happened?  What are we going to do?  It’s amazing that he doesn’t realize what he’s done!  This is going to be a fantastic story!  Why can’t this train go any faster!

The sound of our giggles hit the man’s ear drums and he starts looking over at us, which caused us to look back at him and attempt to hold in our laughter even more so.  In the midst of all these back and forth glances, something green/pink catches the eye of the man and he pieces together that he’s just thrown up a little on himself.  The embarrassment sets in as he tries to wipe off the mess.  The train picks up speed. Then it hits my nose again.  More ham.  The second wave of vomit comes and the man does his best to contain it.  He did a pretty good job of it considering the circumstances. The train pulls up to 49^th street.  The man now fully red in the face, I’m guessing more from embarrassment than from booze, pushes his way through the crowd and on to the platform.  The woman and I let loose our contained laughter, not at the guy but more at the situation.  She gets off at the next station and we never exchange a word, but we most certainly exchanged an unforgettable subway story.  

Wackiness in Waco

I took the summer of 2003 to design, design makes it sound way more snooty and highfalutin than it really was, and work a light show for one of my favorite bands, Dirt Bike Annie.  They had just released their second album and had asked me to come up with a light show for their record release party.  The light show went over pretty well and more importantly they had liked it, so there was I in a white, extended van for 7 seven weeks.  There was a worth while story to tell on a daily basis but for some reason this one has been on my mind more recently.

An early stop, that the band was excited for was in Waco, Texas. We were playing a birthday show that a friend/fan of the band’s named Andrew had put together for his girlfriend at the time’s (Melanie) birthday. It was an all day affair and for a punk show, no expense was spared.  Andrew had booked all of Melanie’s favorite local bands, obviously Dirt Bike Annie and her favorite band The Bobbyteens.  The Bobbyteens live in San Francisco.  To fly a band out, cover their hotels and meals for a one off show with no cover is equivalent to taking all of your money out of the bank and lighting it on fire.  The fire idea might serve you better actually. 

I met Andrew who was the nicest, sweetest guy you could dream of.  He radiated happiness that day over everything coming together so perfectly.  The bands were all there.  There was a ton of food, with the grills being helmed by his mom and his brothers.  There were cases upon cases of beer.  The weather was idyllic.  There were hundreds of people there celebrating his girlfriend. Melanie seemed on cloud nine.  The entire day was going along perfectly.  Andrew’s family was also celebrating one of his brothers coming home from prison. 

The venue was a clubhouse of sorts in the middle of a park in Waco. It must have been used in a similar manner to that of an Elk Lodge, for meetings or small conventions.  It was far enough removed from any other building that you didn’t have to worry about noise, which made it perfect for music.  There were 6-8 local bands who were scheduled to play before Dirt Bike Annie and then it was one more local band followed by The Bobbyteens.  We got to spend some time with the Bobbyteens, who some of us were a little star struck by, as the music got started.  We spent the next several hours drinking Lone Star, eating hot dogs, enjoying the company and the weather.  By DIY tour standards you really can’t ask for anything more.

The Dirt Bike Annie set was one of the best of tour.  The entire clubhouse was packed and crowd was going nuts.  Easily two hundred and fifty people became incredibly sweaty and shouted for encore after encore.  If the day had ended after their last song, Waco wouldn’t have been anywhere nearly as memorable. 

We started breaking down the gear and the lights so the next band could get on.  At this point it was probably 8pm and people had shown up to the party around 1pm.  Which means they had been comfortably drinking for easily 6-7 hours.  As the next band started setting up, there was a large commotion outside.  Apparently someone had hit someone else over the head with a beer bottle.  That first someone was Andrew’s brother who had just been released from prison.  The cops were immediately called.  Andrew’s mother was in tears and she kept repeating that she knew that his brother would ruin Andrew’s big day.  In retrospect, that’s a lot more heartbreaking than I realized it to be at time.  In my defense, we were all busy trying to figure out what to do about the show.  It had turned into a full on crisis zone.  The local band didn’t get to play so the Bobbyteens could play.  We swamped out gear and got them set up as quickly as humanly possible.  Everything seemed like it was going to work out; well, except for the guy who got hit in the head and for Andrew’s brother. 

The Bobbyteens hit the stage and started their set.  Their songs aren’t very long, maybe a minute and half to a two and a half minutes.  They got through three songs before the cops pulled up with multiple cruisers.  The cops quickly arrested the brother and told everyone that they had to leave.  Everyone and everything had to be outside of the venue in the next twenty minutes because after 20 minutes they were locking up and anything left inside would be kept as evidence.  There was a mad dash of bodies making out the door.  We were like a slow salmon trying to make it upstream carrying amplifiers and drums through the horde of Wacoians, Wacoers?

After the dust settled, Andrew and Melanie decided that the show must go on and it was moved to her apartment. About ten or so die hard fans piled into cars as we all caravanned it over to Melanie’s place; remember it’s 2003 and GPS wasn’t prevalent.  DBA set up all of their equipment and the Bobbyteens took the stage, by stage I mean moved the coffee table to the side of the room and began playing.  I don’t remember how long the set was but I do remember thinking how something so incredible can come from something so horrible.  Here was a room full of people all embracing this completely spontaneous moment, that no one could have dreamed would be the nightcap to their day; and at the same time here was a band that was flown in to play in front of hundreds of people to end their night playing to 12-15 people in an apartment building.  It was truly beautiful. 

I’ve run into Andrew several times since then.  He and Melanie broke up shortly after her birthday show, which I always felt was sad.  I never got his take on how the whole day played out or what happened to his brother.   I know he was excited about how the show was salvaged and that those who stuck it out got to experience a once in a lifetime thing, but I was always curious if he could, would have changed how it went?