A week or so ago, after I introduced Yeah Yeah Yeah’s fabulous It’s Blitz! to a fellow blogger, we pondered over the lengthy time it was taking La Roux to get their album out. As we recalled, the way the release of an album used to work was this: one single, then perhaps one or two weeks later, the album arrived.
Of course, La Roux have an excuse: they’re a new band so they actually need to write songs to go onto their debut album. Other bands don’t, but occasionally marketing hype demands one or two singles to be released way in advance of an album. This increases the weight of expectation on that album to perform, which usually doesn’t because the album (not its songs) was the goal in the first place. Ten or so songs packaged up into some concept or sold to illustrate a story or life-changing series of events.
What’s the alternative? Well, as Bob Lefsetz writes “[artists] should focus on single tracks..attractive to the target audience.” For musicians that’s their core fanbase. The album was a necessity born of the logistics and cost of creating, recording and putting music into the hands of people. On a return on investment basis, when everything was physical, albums made perfect sense. However, with the exception of some artists who knew how to work with the scope of that increased time period, it usually led to lower quality songs.
People don’t buy albums today because, aside from two or three singles, they suck. Not necessarily due to the demands of writing (resulting in filler tracks) but because few people have the time and inclination to work with an album. We’ve all short attention spans and distractions (that’s why most of my serious music listening comes when I’m walking, or during the autumn and winter.)
Some bands are already working around this, exactly as Bob suggests, providing fans with songs as and when they’re written. Digital production and distribution makes periodic releases financially and logistically feasible and a talkative fanbase will do most of the marketing work. And not being holed up in a studio for weeks (or months) at a time paradoxically gives them opportunities to be creative in their songwriting and allows time for touring or ad-hoc gigs (where their real income is made). For those artists who sell their songs, it brings in more income per song than an album would. Following these arguments, it’s clear that albums don’t make sense anymore.
Except for one thing: when you’ve 10 songs, or perhaps a years’ worth of songs, why not also release them as an album? All killer, no filler.
As someone who first heard Peaches via her collaboration with Gonzales for the song Red Leather, back when I actually used to listen to radio, I never understood or appreciated her subsequent duet with Iggy Pop on her Kick It single. Whilst its minimal, riff-rocking guitar and drums production suits her ranting vocals, Iggy’s contribution sounds curiously lackluster, despite being typically grunting and guttural. Their vocal performances clash and split the song between genres.
One line from that song has Peaches singing “Like you said ‘Search and Destroy.‘” I guess, therefore, if she was going to do a cover for War Child Heroes, it was bound to be this one.
It’s through this cover of Search and Destroy that one makes the connection between these two musicians, because Peaches’ bassline and synth lead treatment takes the original’s Vietnam War-inspired protopunk glam and turns into a sweet but lonely night time drive. A song of desperate isolation rather than the nihilism of Iggy and The Stooges, and yet it sounds like either of them could have written it. Perhaps that’s a clue for bands looking to create a good cover? Not so much to reinvent or replicate, but to wear a song and inhabit it, to make it fit their own style.
Peaches - Search and Destroy (Last.fm, full version) Peaches - official website
Somewhat belatedly, we now have an answer. According to a survey carried out by Ipsos MediaCT (catchy name folks) more 15-24 year olds in the UK watch music videos on YouTube than on TV. Other results point to 69% of those still in education watching YouTube music channels, but that older people still watch more via television.
So at a time when people are directing more of their attention to online video, YouTube removed premium music videos from UK viewers, because they couldn’t reach agreement over licensing fees with the PRS for Music. The PRS were demanding rises in fees “many, many factors” higher than the previous agreement. Yet the Music Publishers Association joined them in petitioning Google (which owns YouTube) to reconsider because “Music publishers are in the business of getting their music heard by as wide an audience as possible.”
The unwritten caveat to that sentence should be “So long as we get plenty of dosh for it because there’s all this nasty piracy going on and no-one is buying recorded music anyway.”
They fail so obviously to appreciate and realise that back when MTV launched in 1981, video was a promotional device. It still is, but it’s probably even more valuable today - we have the interwebs! Reducing the exposure of artists through monetary greed hurts everyone and makes the music industry even more wobbly.
In honour of this insanity here’s an unofficial video of a favourite song of mine from The Brooke (A Tiny Ocean):
Sometimes I think the record industry is here for music lovers’ amusement. Not content with their usual paranoia about music piracy, and their eventual backtracking away from DRM, or with their attempt to squeeze more money out of artists by applying 360 degree deals, they’re now onto variable pricing at the iTunes Store.
To be fair to them, this was announced at Macworld in January 2009, but somehow the intervening two months have made it appear more ludicrous to me. From April 7, individual songs will be sold in the US at one of three prices: 69 cents, 99 cents (as is current) and $1.29. The lower price will be for unpopular songs; the higher price for more popular songs and (probably) new releases.
In most industries this pattern of pricing according to demand makes sense, but it doesn’t for music. Firstly, the labels are trying to fight piracy (which in itself is a sad case of self-delusional misdirection) so how is a 30% price hike on your most attractive product going to be received by listeners? Furthermore, the artists and bands who see the future of music realise that money is to be made only by acknowledging and embracing what their fans desire, and hence there’ll be a gradual move towards songs being given away for free, with everything else providing their income. Funnily enough this strategy kills music piracy immediately, because there is no longer anything to steal. There are a couple of hidden bonuses too: because the entry point becomes zero cost, it’s likely that more people become fans, and in turn, more fans become (un)official evangelists.
It must be terrifying for record company executives to see the value of their main product diminishing so rapidly in only a few years - that’s why they’re scrambling around for replacement revenue streams - but this is a natural consequence of digital technology. It started with home recordings, bedroom studios and DIY albums. Now with low cost content delivery networks (such as Amazon’s S3) and the maturity of social networks, most other aspects of a career can be handled and directly by musicians and their core fans. The introduction of variable pricing is merely additional proof that we’re getting closer to the demise of the industry.
It is one of my life’s great ironies that during my time spent at university in Manchester, I was too busy being involved in the indie and goth music scenes to appreciate and value what was going on in the other reaches of Madchester. Whilst I spent much time weeping into my bottles of Newcastle Brown at The Banshee or bouncing off the walls at The Boardwalk, others were nearby at FAC 51 The Haçienda, dancing the night away - an oversight which has caused TheYank to yell at me about on more than one occasion.
It’s even more ironic that upon the cusp of leaving Manchester, a flatmate of mine began listening to 808 State’s Newbuild LP, and through that I entered the world of house, techno, trance etc. For almost 10 years thereafter it became my staple diet of music.
Mike Dunn was one of many DJs who became involved in the Chicago house scene in the mid-eighties, before it evolved into techno at The Warehouse nightclub (a sound and style that was later to migrate to Detroit.) So Let It Be House was released in 1988, and it bears the marks of that time: minimal crisp drum beats, acid squiggles and soulful vocals (and as such leads a path to what became known as deep house). It’s just made to make you move.
Ever since musicians made it onto the internet I’ve often been frustrated that many don’t leverage it to their advantage. My particular pet peeve is with blogs. Few musicians appreciate the value they give to fans by telling them what is happening. A timely, regular stream of blog posts, followed up by replies to comments is better than heaps of press releases. It’s better than a Facebook fan page too.
But this is old news, because while blogs are still crucial, there’s something around that’s more organic and immediate. Twitter is where it’s all happening now. Oh yes. If you’ve read our About Us page, you’ll know already the benefit it’s brought to our lives. Musicians, as it turns out, are discovering it too.
Whilst Twitter started out as a simply way of telling everyone “what are you doing?” users quickly discovered that were actually no rules to what you had to post in 140 characters of less. The social media gurus who try to formulate policies, laws and etiquette haven’t a dingbat of a clue about Twitter. So we can ignore them and move on.
Musicians therefore started to use Twitter as a means of posting quick updates, regarding songwriting, upcoming releases and tour dates. Others began to incorporate their life outside of music. This aspect is crucial because fans like to know everything. I’m particularly fond of all the weird and daft things that Kristin Hersh’s family gets up to. It’s all about providing a connection - to feel part of an extended family.
if you want what i have to offer, great.
if you don’t, great. there are people who want it.
i don’t need to make you love me anymore.
which sounds awfully like what I wrote here. (By the way, there’ll be more from her later in this post.)
She’s already been using Twitter to give free tickets away to gigs, to organise impromptu meetups, and most importantly, pillow fights.
Back to Kristin Hersh. A couple of days ago she asked “Could you share some of your experiences and opinions re: live music?” and, based on the replies she received, it appears that there’ll be things afoot regarding rebuilding live music “from the ground up.” This indicates the immediacy and the value of connecting with fans. Fans know what they want. Simple.
I promised more Amanda Palmer, didn’t I? Well, yesterday whilst on the way to the WorkPlay Theatre in Birmingham, Alabama, she became bored with van travelling and decided to hop onto Twitter to answer questions. Here’s a picture taken by Kim from Vermillion Lies to prove it.
I fucking love the future. Fuck everything. Fans => twitter => artist => twitter => fans. End of story.
I am of course disappointed that she didn’t answer my question (which was all intellectual, naturally, and about her lyrics - mopey sod that I am) and that she uses a Blackberry because she couldn’t type fast enough on an iPhone, but I’ll still love her way after my bones turn to dust and the sun dies. Why? Because she gets everything about music and Twitter is just one more way of channeling her passion.
So, if you’re a musician tempted to try out Twitter, or you’re one already on Twitter, but not using it too much, give it a proper try and embrace your fanbase. Furthermore, because Twitter grows personal networks, your fanbase is likely to grow too. It’s daft not to.
Last week, SpiralFrog, the allegedly pioneering ad-supported music service closed down. The New York-based company which started up in August 2006 managed to survive longer than I expected. Apparently its demise was due to “compression of the ad markets” and the oft-used global economic slowdown. Obviously, therefore, nothing to do with its restrictive DRM policy or that it failed to get two of the four major record companies to license music to its service.
Maybe it just failed to predict the future of the music industry: Apple’s iTunes Store, the most successful online service now sells music without DRM - I think exclusively, as of this month - which means little possibility of losing playback capability if it closes down. Then there’s the subscription aspect.
Until recently, I strongly felt that the subscription model was flawed. Speaking as one who wants to own music because I can choose to play what I want, where and when I want, the idea of renting (or borrowing) music seemed wrong. Especially given there’s always a risk of my musical companions being taken away from me. Now that I’m using Spotify (a music streaming service based in Sweden) I can see a benefit for me: it allows me to listen to or try music by new artists or those I wouldn’t usually buy, and in turn it benefits artists by increasing their exposure.
It doesn’t however give me any way to download music for off-line listening, but that doesn’t matter to me because there are other stores which already do it proficiently (as indeed they did back in 2006). SpiralFrog failed precisely because it overreached its ambitions, trying to corner the subscription market whilst holding onto the download market, just in case. It failed to do a single thing well.
Spotify still has a way to go before it becomes indispensable: firstly it needs to expand to more countries (particularly the US and Canada) and it needs to be more consistent across borders as to what music is offered. Ironically, both of these obstacles remain due to archaic music licensing issues and the fragmented way in which major labels are managed. It’s up to the labels to change their ways. The technology, and probably the audience, is already here.
Ryan Lott’s debut album is one borne of rumination. His classical training brings real instruments and cut-up electronica together in a mix of broken beats, perfectly reflecting the nightmarish scenarios that we find ourselves in occasionally: lying awake at night, where order can barely be found out of the chaos of our thoughts and fears. This is emphasised further through the songs themselves. One word titles convey the bleakness of everything and the lyrics, which are mostly repeated phrases, endlessly plead or question.
But within each song (if one can call them that) there is musical variety. This allows us to continually re-interpret those phrases, without perhaps finding out what their true subject is. In this respect they end up speaking to us, and Son Lux’s walls and mazes become our own. So, after some time away from this album, re-listening to it yesterday, I discovered that Ryan’s words could in fact be my own.
Strangely, as it turns out, for most of the album it’s not contemplation on oneself. It’s about another. The proper lead song Weapons makes this clear “Lay down your weapons, let me in through your open wounds.” A line that becomes more powerful as it repeats, accompanied by piano, arpeggiated synths and cacophonous trip-hop. Other songs comfort and praise. Wither bears the line “You don’t have to be afraid” and Stand varies its backing to emphasise the thanks in “You stand between me and all of my enemies.”
Son Lux bears the scars (and scares) of relationships going wrong. There’s nihilism behind Betray’s curiously upbeat but languid lushness, conveyed through piano, flute, strings and bass “You will betray me baby, and I will be true.” And Tell is even more empty “Tell me everything you want to tell me. I have nothing to say.” Throughout the album Ryan’s vocals are creased with dispair, burdened through a life of, and in, ruins.
However, what all of these songs do is build a foundation for the surprising finale. War changes tack, albeit with the same instrumentation, but with vocal harmonies and in extraordinary celebration. And the last track Epilogue sends us away with that in our hearts.
What interests me most about this album is that others have concentrated on the music - in particular the attention given to how each song’s melodies and rhythms evolve, breakdown and rebuild. When in actual fact, it’s all about the words. If you listen to this and think it’s merely an album to put on and chill out to, you’ve completely missed its point.
What does Spring mean to me in respect of Music? There’s the literal interpretation, which just sounds a bit too dry to me - do you know any songs about crocuses? And there’s the figurative representation of it being about renewal, emergence and growth. I think we decided to go a third route (although you’ll have to see the column right to confirm that, I could have gotten this completely wrong.) To me, this alternative means the energy and life that some music can bring out of us to make us feel joyful and expectant. Perhaps hope is an appropriate word here too.
Spring is also a striking contrast to the gloominess of Autumn and Winter, two seasons that very much invoke depression. I can be a bit of a mope at times - and there’s an awful lot of mope-worthy music in my collection - perfectly summarised within the opening lines of High Fidelity: “Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable, or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”
For this theme, therefore, I’ve chosen songs that give me that fist-pumping impetus, that give me a natural high, that make me deliriously happy to be on this planet, that I love listening to when out and about, walking. Believe it not, extensive trawling through my collection revealed there to be at least thirty candidates, which for a miserablist like me is quite staggering. Here are, perhaps, my top five.
Love Corporation - Love
Just look at that cover. Ed Ball, musical polymath and one time executive at Creation Records wrote this first Love Corporation album, which he delightfully calls “the 2nd Acid House album” on his MySpace page - just in case you didn’t deduce that from the cover. It was released in February 1991 towards the closing months of the Second Summer of Love.
Love is the opening track and it’s all about the piano. Unusually, it begins like a coda. A simple but melodic, jaunty housey piano dominates. Its pitch flitting amongst the soft shuffling beats and acid squiggles. In effect a summary of all the dance music that appeared during those years. Then just when we’re becoming accustomed to its prettiness, the tune turns darker through hanging squalls and delays.
But that exists only to highlight the elated conclusion where the piano lead occasionally sprouts bluesy chords and we discover that this coda was actually just the beginning of a much longer sequence. Whether Love is composed or improvised doesn’t matter, it’s lovely.
It’s difficult to imagine this song existing without its accompanying videos - there are at least three of them. In fact, were it not for those videos, the song might not have the energy it does. One time N-Joi singer Saffron does her blokish ladette impression, in an extreme sneering example of what’s now called Mockney. She happened to do that on all of Republica’s songs, not that I’m complaining. So when she sings “I’m standing on the rooftops ‘aving it!” you know and feel exactly how she feels. Sure, there’s a darkness behind the exuberance of the song, but that’s not stopped it featuring on hundreds of (mostly football) compilation CDs.
Ready To Go was released in 1996 as the forerunner to their eponymous debut album, although two other singles had arrived two years earlier, including Bloke - which was part of my answer to TheYank’s curve-ball question last year “What Republica song are you?”
If you want a stereotypical example of how all house piano sounded during that time, this is it - Love Corporation’s piano isn’t full enough, which is why the US-centric rock mix of this song is so disappointing: dropping the piano and Garbage-ing it up with extra grinding guitar riffs, thereby removing much of its cheerfulness.
Such is my love of the videos that I had to include one here. This, I think, is the second version that was made for the UK market. It’s longer than the original and is special because, well, Saffron’s pink jacket is just gorgeous:
Don’t get me wrong, I love Canada. Some of my favourite people are Canadian. But it’s so underpopulated that anyone who makes music ends up winning a Juno Award at some point in their career. Tiga James Sontag is no exception, winning the 2007 Dance Recording of the Year for the ‘concept album’ that is Sexor - from which this song comes.
This is ideal strutting (not walking) music, in an “opening scene to Saturday Night Fever” kind of way - although have you noticed that in the Bee Gees’ video they just amble? What’s that all about? One listen to the dot-dot dot–dot dash bassline will get you moving, especially when Tiga’s vocals join in so percussively. His fairly nonsensical phrases are usually delivered in a call and response fashion, building and releasing tension several times a measure. As with all good dance music, this is as much about the space between each sound as it is the music itself.
Once you’re hooked into the song through those rhythms, Pleasure from the Bass stays interesting by adding synth lines which mirror or complement the bass, becoming more acidic as the song nears its conclusion. Elsewhere there are builds through the introduction of other percussion - in particular the surprise arrival of lightning handclaps, which serve to defuse then reset expectations. Tiga’s monotone vocals playfully turn into melodies at unexpected moments to increase the brilliance of this track.
Last year’s Cut Copy album is the one that LCD Soundsystem should have made back in 2005, instead of the tedious techno trudge that James Murphy ended up releasing (and, yeah, maybe I was the only person on the planet not to be impressed, but still). In comparison, In Ghost Colours is a neon rainbow, burning out retinas through its palatial indie-dance - and it’s proof that Australia does have some musical talent.
Lights & Music, positioned as that all-important third track, is a homage to thrill of dance, played out through the eyes of illicit or unrequited love - of what exactly we’re never told: “Lights and music are on my mind. Be my baby one more time,” and as such could be a companion piece to its predecessor Out There on the Ice.
In contrast to Tiga’s song, this works through multiple layers of sound, shifting sublimely from verse to chorus, break and drop. There’s no rush to get to the rush: that’s why there are two opening stanzas, occupied by bass and lead guitars, achingly kept apart by just that bassline and a shimmering synthetic haze, When the chorus does arrive a full two minutes in, it’s via a two-dimensional swept riff, a rollercoaster teasing us before the fall. Then - just to mess with our heads - Madonna-esque chords teleport us back to the Eighties.
“Because I’m stuck in a groove, I didn’t hear what you said. Because there’s too many tunes going round in my head”
And lookie here: another Melbourne-ite. Josh G. Abrahams’ second collaboration with fellow Australian Amiel Daemion was less successful than Addicted to Bass, which had reached #2 in the UK in 2002, three years after its Australian debut. Stuck in a Groove is however the far more accomplished song, although it only reached #26. A sure sign of a one hit wonder.
I’m soft on songs about music, even if they start with a sleepy R&B acoustic guitar cut-up and the most trite lyrics - as this one does - because once they filter away, Amiel’s dryly processed spoken / sung intro is beguiling. Behind this, the backing revs up towards the chorus. When that hits with its power chords, sparkling keys and pad bass (think Hybrid), it’s a direct reminder of all the incredible things that music can do. Then, just to the strengthen the point, it’s re-interpreted, stripped down and bettered on the short break just before the close.
My next door neighbour often wonders why I frequently ignore her when she passes by me, out and about in Inverness. She needs to listen to this song.
Looking back at these five songs, three of them have some bearing or relationship to music. Not surprising really since whenever I’m out walking - and I prefer to walk anywhere than use transport - I’m plugged into my iPhone. Obsessed, me? Yes, and I love it.
Perhaps it started with the music press micro-categorising: turning each small collection of artists into their own ultra-specific genre? Maybe that gave us the desire to focus on the musicians we really care about. And we tune out everyone else? Bob Lefsetz perceives this ‘narrowcasting’ as the future of music, which is entirely sympathetic with the (realised) concept of sponsored funding of musicians by their fanbase.
Inevitably, in his post, he mentions the relatively poor US sales of U2’s new album and that people have stopped talking about their music - it’s all about everything else. And, if my Twitter stream is anything to go by, he’s right. The interest at the moment is on pre-sales concert news and merchandise sales.
So narrowcasting gives a way for musicians who care about their music to connect to the fans who matter. For those there will be a future, but for those who go after the money, maybe not because we’ve all wised-up to the “sale.”
What about the idea of free music? If a band gives their music away for free, perhaps because they have financial support from their core fanbase, how does that impact on the exposure of the general public to their music?
It’s something I wondered about until two days ago, when Kristin Hersh remarked that the last 50FootWave release was downloaded over two million times.
TheBrit and TheYank's theme posts are usually added every other Wednesday. Individual posts are added whenever we feel like. If you have an idea of a theme you would like for us to tackle, email us.
