New speaker, Marcie Allen of MAC Presents, the queen of sponsorship.
The funny thing is we don't see eye to eye, I'm all about keeping the corporations at bay and she's about creating the best relationships with them so there should be some sparks, although I'm always willing to learn, we do live in a new world and...
You can Google Marcie and find reams of information.
Or you can just hit this story from two days ago that'll fill you in on the details:
"Cracking The Glass Ceiling; Clever CEO Marcie Allen Creates Endless Opportunity With Her Company; MAC Presents: http://huff.to/2mtabQu
Conference link: http://www.musicmediasummit.com
E-mail jim@liveworksevents.com if you've got any questions.
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Wednesday 8 March 2017
Tuesday 7 March 2017
The Album Doesn't Count
It's about the event.
For how long have we heard it's about the new record, the hit, that they are the engine of all that follows.
Maybe with Top Forty, but in the rest of the music sphere...
Lady Gaga had one of the stiffest follow-up albums of all time, even rivaling Peter Frampton's "I'm In You," but now she's gonna sell out stadiums, how can this be?
She can't seem to write a hit to save her life. But she was on the Super Bowl and the Grammys, never mind two years with Tony Bennett, and she's seen as a star and is doing business accordingly.
Now if you're playing the hit game, if you occupy the Spotify Top 50, it's a different world. So many of the popsters live and die by the hit. Without it, they're nothing. Especially if their tracks are part of the combine, made by the producers du jour. But if you're more self-contained, if you're doing something a bit different, the music is still important, it's what seals the deal, gives you your audience, but to sustain it's less about having hits and satiating those who haven't cared previously as opposed to staying in the public eye. The old days of disappearing between album cycles, of being mysterious, those are done. Today you humanize yourself and stay in the game. As for recordings, they should be dripped and dribbled out, to keep fans satiated, but to get them coming to your show...
You've got to be on TV and online and...
Kinda like John Mayer. He's on Snapchat, masquerading as Hank Knutley on Kimmel, you see him around, you think of him as a friend, like someone on a sitcom, as opposed to the distant musical titans of yore.
So you go where the eyeballs are. Unless your credibility is at stake. You take chances, mistakes are forgotten overnight, you play with whomever asks, you make YouTube videos, you weigh in on popular culture and more, and when it comes time to monetize...
You're top of mind.
For far too long the industry has been playing a radio game. Wherein the charts are all that matter. Getting on the airwaves, reaching mass. But the dirty little secret is music is now all niche. Think about satiating your niche, not those distantly interested. Every act today is a big niche, from Taylor Swift to Beyonce to Metallica. All that press about Ed Sheeran? Most people have not listened to his new album and will not, they don't care, in today's overloaded society you have a hard time keeping up on what you do care about.
Forget the radio, forget the charts, forget sitting at home afraid you're not gonna get it right. Get into the swim. Sure, hire a PR agent to spread the story if it's worth telling, but really you're looking for your fans to talk about what you do, and it all happens online, and online becomes so two-dimensional that people yearn to interact live.
We're wiping the classic acts off the map. As well as their handlers and the record company people who sustained them and were inured to the old ways. Younger people are infiltrating the business who are willing to take chances, to start with a blank slate.
Your act can get started on NPR, like Alabama Shakes, a press story if there ever was one.
Or "CBS Sunday Morning"...
The former gets other scribes paying attention and the latter is a victory lap for those who care.
But both are event-like.
Think about what you can do that's new and different that will generate a story, that will live on YouTube, that will endear yourself to your fans. It's much more important than working with indie promo and slaving over adds and chart position, neither of which resonate with the public. Come on, if you're listening to terrestrial radio you're the most out of it person extant, you probably can't afford a concert ticket. Better for an act to appear on Howard Stern or a hit podcast or some place online with traction.
Once again, the old metrics do not apply.
Sales are good, but they tell only part of the story.
Streams are important, especially if they continue to grow.
But even more important is your identity, propped up by the music. You're a musician, act like one, do your act, that's what you do, not make hit records.
The Last DJ?
He already left the building. Tom Petty can sell tickets without him.
And so can you.
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For how long have we heard it's about the new record, the hit, that they are the engine of all that follows.
Maybe with Top Forty, but in the rest of the music sphere...
Lady Gaga had one of the stiffest follow-up albums of all time, even rivaling Peter Frampton's "I'm In You," but now she's gonna sell out stadiums, how can this be?
She can't seem to write a hit to save her life. But she was on the Super Bowl and the Grammys, never mind two years with Tony Bennett, and she's seen as a star and is doing business accordingly.
Now if you're playing the hit game, if you occupy the Spotify Top 50, it's a different world. So many of the popsters live and die by the hit. Without it, they're nothing. Especially if their tracks are part of the combine, made by the producers du jour. But if you're more self-contained, if you're doing something a bit different, the music is still important, it's what seals the deal, gives you your audience, but to sustain it's less about having hits and satiating those who haven't cared previously as opposed to staying in the public eye. The old days of disappearing between album cycles, of being mysterious, those are done. Today you humanize yourself and stay in the game. As for recordings, they should be dripped and dribbled out, to keep fans satiated, but to get them coming to your show...
You've got to be on TV and online and...
Kinda like John Mayer. He's on Snapchat, masquerading as Hank Knutley on Kimmel, you see him around, you think of him as a friend, like someone on a sitcom, as opposed to the distant musical titans of yore.
So you go where the eyeballs are. Unless your credibility is at stake. You take chances, mistakes are forgotten overnight, you play with whomever asks, you make YouTube videos, you weigh in on popular culture and more, and when it comes time to monetize...
You're top of mind.
For far too long the industry has been playing a radio game. Wherein the charts are all that matter. Getting on the airwaves, reaching mass. But the dirty little secret is music is now all niche. Think about satiating your niche, not those distantly interested. Every act today is a big niche, from Taylor Swift to Beyonce to Metallica. All that press about Ed Sheeran? Most people have not listened to his new album and will not, they don't care, in today's overloaded society you have a hard time keeping up on what you do care about.
Forget the radio, forget the charts, forget sitting at home afraid you're not gonna get it right. Get into the swim. Sure, hire a PR agent to spread the story if it's worth telling, but really you're looking for your fans to talk about what you do, and it all happens online, and online becomes so two-dimensional that people yearn to interact live.
We're wiping the classic acts off the map. As well as their handlers and the record company people who sustained them and were inured to the old ways. Younger people are infiltrating the business who are willing to take chances, to start with a blank slate.
Your act can get started on NPR, like Alabama Shakes, a press story if there ever was one.
Or "CBS Sunday Morning"...
The former gets other scribes paying attention and the latter is a victory lap for those who care.
But both are event-like.
Think about what you can do that's new and different that will generate a story, that will live on YouTube, that will endear yourself to your fans. It's much more important than working with indie promo and slaving over adds and chart position, neither of which resonate with the public. Come on, if you're listening to terrestrial radio you're the most out of it person extant, you probably can't afford a concert ticket. Better for an act to appear on Howard Stern or a hit podcast or some place online with traction.
Once again, the old metrics do not apply.
Sales are good, but they tell only part of the story.
Streams are important, especially if they continue to grow.
But even more important is your identity, propped up by the music. You're a musician, act like one, do your act, that's what you do, not make hit records.
The Last DJ?
He already left the building. Tom Petty can sell tickets without him.
And so can you.
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The New Economy
Which way do you want it? To be able to get an Uber at midnight or pay a cheaper price for a regulated cab in the morning?
I feel like I'm living in "Groundhog Day." To get up and repeat a process is so weird. No one is prepared for it, especially the cab company, which canceled my reservation, it had to be a mistake, after all I went to the airport YESTERDAY!
And when the car didn't show up, I checked Uber.
The prices were STRATOSPHERIC!
UberX was nearly double the price of a cab and UberXL, which I needed, because of my skis, was about the same price as hiring a black car in advance.
How did this happen?
I'm confused. They say regulation is bad for business, but what about us common folks?
Now I know why the white working man feels so detached. Maybe we all feel detached, that the world is spinning out of control, that no one is looking after our rights, that it's every man and woman for themselves.
Maybe it's always been this way, they just told us otherwise.
But one thing I do know is when they deregulate, we're the ones who usually suffer.
Now I know I'm at the airport and prices came down when the airlines were deregulated but have you noticed they've now gone back up and they're scamming you to boot, with no-frills fares, with no carry-on baggage, never mind luggage under the plane? So you're being nickeled and dimed all day long, it's like being pecked to death by ducks, and it's making us a coarser society. Ever checked into a hotel recently? The stated price is nowhere near the final price.
And I'm not an economist and everybody's got their own opinion and their own news sources and I'm not sure whether to engage or retreat.
The clerk didn't believe I was entitled to free baggage. He had to ask around and call to confirm what I already knew, that AA elite status transferred to Alaska. But then he wanted to charge me $75 for a barely overweight bag, as if the cash were going to go directly to him. I shifted some contents and avoided the expense but he was eager to take my money.
And I know, I know, the internet disrupted the music business, sucking a ton of cash out of recorded music and minting new billionaires and not everybody can play live, but in a digitized society we're all looking for experiences and when we all give up our possessions, and I'm ready to now, everything's on demand, where does all the money go?
Soon the cab companies will be bankrupt. It will only be Uber. Drivers working for a pittance as Travis Kalanick continues to employ subterfuge that our underfunded government cannot detect.
Meanwhile, there are those who want to thrown the government overboard, believing it's bloated and inefficient.
I just have one question...
Who's gonna look out for me?
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I feel like I'm living in "Groundhog Day." To get up and repeat a process is so weird. No one is prepared for it, especially the cab company, which canceled my reservation, it had to be a mistake, after all I went to the airport YESTERDAY!
And when the car didn't show up, I checked Uber.
The prices were STRATOSPHERIC!
UberX was nearly double the price of a cab and UberXL, which I needed, because of my skis, was about the same price as hiring a black car in advance.
How did this happen?
I'm confused. They say regulation is bad for business, but what about us common folks?
Now I know why the white working man feels so detached. Maybe we all feel detached, that the world is spinning out of control, that no one is looking after our rights, that it's every man and woman for themselves.
Maybe it's always been this way, they just told us otherwise.
But one thing I do know is when they deregulate, we're the ones who usually suffer.
Now I know I'm at the airport and prices came down when the airlines were deregulated but have you noticed they've now gone back up and they're scamming you to boot, with no-frills fares, with no carry-on baggage, never mind luggage under the plane? So you're being nickeled and dimed all day long, it's like being pecked to death by ducks, and it's making us a coarser society. Ever checked into a hotel recently? The stated price is nowhere near the final price.
And I'm not an economist and everybody's got their own opinion and their own news sources and I'm not sure whether to engage or retreat.
The clerk didn't believe I was entitled to free baggage. He had to ask around and call to confirm what I already knew, that AA elite status transferred to Alaska. But then he wanted to charge me $75 for a barely overweight bag, as if the cash were going to go directly to him. I shifted some contents and avoided the expense but he was eager to take my money.
And I know, I know, the internet disrupted the music business, sucking a ton of cash out of recorded music and minting new billionaires and not everybody can play live, but in a digitized society we're all looking for experiences and when we all give up our possessions, and I'm ready to now, everything's on demand, where does all the money go?
Soon the cab companies will be bankrupt. It will only be Uber. Drivers working for a pittance as Travis Kalanick continues to employ subterfuge that our underfunded government cannot detect.
Meanwhile, there are those who want to thrown the government overboard, believing it's bloated and inefficient.
I just have one question...
Who's gonna look out for me?
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Monday 6 March 2017
Planes, Trains & Automobiles
I used to be afraid of flying. Until one especially gruesome flight into Denver wherein Jay Krugman leaned over the back of his seat and told me I could freak out as much as I wanted to, but I was never going to die in a plane crash.
That cured me. I'm now a relatively calm flier. Especially since I learned turbulence is irrelevant, not indicative of any flaw at all, only air pockets. I've come to enjoy the ups and downs, to a degree anyway.
But then there was that flight out of Aspen about a decade back. There was a 5:15 cutoff, after that we'd be stranded. It was blowin' and a-snowin' and the pilot had us on standby, waiting for it to die down, and about 5:10, just before American had to pay for hotel rooms for the entire cabin, the pilot came over the intercom and said "We're gonna go for it."
Never a less encouraging word has been heard.
Now there are worse airports than Aspen. I think of Telluride, that one in Nepal, but Aspen is surrounded by mountains and that private plane crashed back when and they gun the engines and we leave the runway and we're bouncing up and down and gaining little altitude and I'm starting to get scared and I figure the best way to assuage my anxiety is to speak to my brother, in this case, Mark Kates, sitting next to me, I asked him if he was scared, and he told me he most definitely was and he preferred I didn't talk about it.
Obviously I lived through the experience.
But I wasn't so sure today.
You see I was flying to Sun Valley. There, I said it, let my inbox fill up with wankers denigrating my lifestyle. I've become inhibited. Not only do I worry about the political police, but the financial ones too. Everybody wants to drag you down into the hole they're in, as if living on the bottom with pockets turned inside out makes you a better person. As a result, those who do and have remove themselves from the discussion. If you're boasting about how much money you've got, you probably haven't got that much, kinda like our President.
Anyway, it was my idea. Sun Valley historically gets less snow than other western ski areas, but it's got the best mountain, one with no flat spots, it's the same steepness from the first foot to the last. And in the case of Limelight, on the Warm Springs side, that's close to thirty degrees. As in steep, if you're not a skier.
Marc wanted to go to Whistler. Which I've sworn off of. Because the altitude's too low, barely over 2,000 feet. In March, it rains at the bottom, it's soaking wet, even in January the weather can be less than winter.
As for Sun Valley, it's less high than the Colorado resorts, 5,945' instead of Vail's 8,150'. But despite that, they're having the year of years, the best February since record-keeping began. 294" and counting this season, whereas Vail hasn't even hit 200".
But Vail is easier to get to.
And my heart sank when Tom weighed in from Chicago that their flight from Denver to Sun Valley was canceled because of the wind. He rebooked through Boise, which required a three hour drive, and I felt almost guilty taking my two hour and change direct flight from sunny Los Angeles.
Only it was gonna be snowing when we landed. It does not stop snowing in Sun Valley this year, global warming is making it a hotbed of precipitation. And that means we might get diverted. But Alaska/Horizon just instituted new technology they said was gonna raise the landing rate from 60% to 95%. Of course, that turned out not to be true. The effective rate is now 80%. Would we get diverted? To Twin Falls or Boise too?
That was the question on my mind as we were flying over the Santa Monica Mountains.
Now the plane is a turboprop. And it was only half full. And I had all the newspapers, I was thinking about what I was gonna do when we landed and then...
I became intrigued by the landscape. All the solar panels out in the desert. I just don't believe the world we live in. One wherein money trumps environment. The story in the "Times" was how fuel standards were going to be rolled back. So the car companies can sell more SUVs and trucks. Can we dictate that no one can buy an SUV unless they need four wheel drive, and no one can buy a truck unless they haul stuff? How did automobiles become fashion items to the detriment of us all?
But to restrict choice would be un-American, that's what they tell me.
But soon we won't own any cars at all. A day I'm looking forward to, as I waited at a stop sign this morning for a woman to roll through the intersection in her RX330. Yes, she was texting.
And then the pilot came over the intercom.
Now I've got my Bose headphones on, I just got them fixed via this place on the internet, and believe me, the engines make a noise and you need them and I pull the cans off and the pilot says...
There's a caution light on.
Now that does not make me anxious, he's not freaked out, so I won't be either.
But rather than fly on to Sun Valley we've got to go back to LAX so they can look at it.
Sounds reasonable to me, I can handle the delay.
But then the plane started to bounce. And everybody onboard became best friends. You see, people got scared.
But no one as scared as the flight attendant, on the phone, gesturing wildly.
And then I started to think, was my number up?
Now I'm too old to die young. I've had a good run. And I'm less concerned about it all ending than the way it's gonna go down. The pilot is making bizarre maneuvers, where he twists the plane a bit and then does not. And we don't seem to be heading back to LAX. Are we going to Ontario? Will we land in the Valley? Will we land on the street? Will we glide down or go nose first?
And I can see the propeller turning, which I could not earlier, so I'm getting a bit freaked out. And I don't recognize any of the landscape and I can no longer read and I'm starting to white knuckle it.
The other flight attendant tells me this has never happened to her before.
That's not encouraging.
I was once on a flight out of Denver, to Aspen, once again, and it was bumping around like a pogoing punk. After fifteen minutes the pilot came on and said "As you can see, we're having a problem."
YES, I CAN SEE!
The cabin pressure system wasn't working, we couldn't fly at altitude and we were going back to DIA.
Which we did, they fixed it, and we were on our way.
And another time, to Denver, from Burbank, there was a fuel leak, and we sat on the tarmac as they called San Francisco and argued about wrench size and stunningly they fixed it so we made it to Denver, although we missed our connection.
So I was thinking this would be no big deal.
But maybe it would be. That's the thing about life, it throws you curveballs, issues surprises. Kinda like my college buddy's wife, everything was going smoothly and now she's got cancer. You think you're immune, but you're not.
And now we're vaguely headed in the right direction, but we're far south of L.A. Are we gonna have to fly over the ocean to land? Do I have a better chance of surviving if we put down in the Pacific? But it's winter and the water's cold and there are no life jackets.
And we're way too high. I can see the plane landing on the next runway over, it's much lower than us.
And this runway, no one ever uses it. Are we gonna land on the golf course?
Then the plane dropped like it was hot and we were on the tarmac and I turned on my phone and started texting away with a sigh of relief you rarely have unless your life is in danger.
But then it got really weird. We were speeding through the airport, as if someone onboard was gonna have a baby or something. Why such urgency if we were already on the ground?
And finally we were at a gate and the personnel huddled and told us to get off the plane.
Now what?
And, of course, we passengers are now all buddies. We're telling war tales, revealing our observations. Turns out everybody was scared, primarily because of the flight attendant's behavior.
Then they have us get the carry-on bags, you know, the stuff you normally take on the plane which they make you check on a flight like this because the overhead bins are so small.
And then I can see the luggage coming off the plane.
And nobody knows nothing.
But then I see the pilot, I go up to talk to him. He's off, so this can't be a good sign.
And I'm worried about the crew timing out, this has happened to me, they've got the plane, it's got the gas, but the pilots have too many hours on the clock.
But this gentleman told me they'd just begun, they had plenty of time, nothing but time as Fountains of Wayne would say.
So then I went deeper. What exactly happened?
Well, the caution light was for the engine...
Now can this plane fly on one prop? I didn't even want to ask. Especially after he grimaced and told me this had never happened to him before.
But the pilot thought it was the computer that ran the engine as opposed to the engine itself but whatever the truth was I was glad I was on the ground.
As for going back up, would I get back on that plane?
Yes, I would. But that plane ain't going nowhere.
And neither is anybody else.
There was no spare plane. Everybody was flummoxed.
They're charging their phones, lighting up the internet.
And it made me glad I've got a new one, an iPhone 7 Plus to be exact, because the truth is after about eighteen months, maybe a bit less, the batteries start to die. And if you've got AppleCare, an overpriced warranty that "Consumer Reports" tells you to forgo, they'll give you a new device. And you should buy AppleCare, because the truth is your iPhone is your most treasured device, the one you use most, you want the peace of mind. And I start to Google and look for flights...
And there are none.
None that get you there in less than twenty four hours.
And, what's worse, there's no direct on Tuesday.
And everybody's freaking out and the help ain't much help, because after all they were not up in the plane, they did not experience what we did, and they're in their hometown, Los Angeles.
And they won't say the flight is canceled and then it is and I call to cancel my pickup in Sun Valley and get ahold of my travel agent, an archaic concept, I know.
But you want one for just such a situation.
I rang in, he searched for flights today, and found none, like me, and then rebooked me tomorrow just like that, while everybody was still in line. Worth the price, wouldn't you say?
I would.
So I turned tail and went to baggage claim and grabbed a taxi. I prefer Uber, but I was schlepping so much gear.
And the van's seats were broken and the experience was horrible and I don't know how the taxi industry survives.
Then again, the driver on the way in said he couldn't make it on Uber, he only made sixty bucks on New Year's Eve.
And I'm thinking about how much this is costing me, to go nowhere, the trips back and forth to my house.
And what I'm missing in Idaho. Everybody else, with their travails, arrived.
And tomorrow I'll be flying all day. First to Seattle, then east from there on a tiny plane once again.
But at least I'm alive.
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That cured me. I'm now a relatively calm flier. Especially since I learned turbulence is irrelevant, not indicative of any flaw at all, only air pockets. I've come to enjoy the ups and downs, to a degree anyway.
But then there was that flight out of Aspen about a decade back. There was a 5:15 cutoff, after that we'd be stranded. It was blowin' and a-snowin' and the pilot had us on standby, waiting for it to die down, and about 5:10, just before American had to pay for hotel rooms for the entire cabin, the pilot came over the intercom and said "We're gonna go for it."
Never a less encouraging word has been heard.
Now there are worse airports than Aspen. I think of Telluride, that one in Nepal, but Aspen is surrounded by mountains and that private plane crashed back when and they gun the engines and we leave the runway and we're bouncing up and down and gaining little altitude and I'm starting to get scared and I figure the best way to assuage my anxiety is to speak to my brother, in this case, Mark Kates, sitting next to me, I asked him if he was scared, and he told me he most definitely was and he preferred I didn't talk about it.
Obviously I lived through the experience.
But I wasn't so sure today.
You see I was flying to Sun Valley. There, I said it, let my inbox fill up with wankers denigrating my lifestyle. I've become inhibited. Not only do I worry about the political police, but the financial ones too. Everybody wants to drag you down into the hole they're in, as if living on the bottom with pockets turned inside out makes you a better person. As a result, those who do and have remove themselves from the discussion. If you're boasting about how much money you've got, you probably haven't got that much, kinda like our President.
Anyway, it was my idea. Sun Valley historically gets less snow than other western ski areas, but it's got the best mountain, one with no flat spots, it's the same steepness from the first foot to the last. And in the case of Limelight, on the Warm Springs side, that's close to thirty degrees. As in steep, if you're not a skier.
Marc wanted to go to Whistler. Which I've sworn off of. Because the altitude's too low, barely over 2,000 feet. In March, it rains at the bottom, it's soaking wet, even in January the weather can be less than winter.
As for Sun Valley, it's less high than the Colorado resorts, 5,945' instead of Vail's 8,150'. But despite that, they're having the year of years, the best February since record-keeping began. 294" and counting this season, whereas Vail hasn't even hit 200".
But Vail is easier to get to.
And my heart sank when Tom weighed in from Chicago that their flight from Denver to Sun Valley was canceled because of the wind. He rebooked through Boise, which required a three hour drive, and I felt almost guilty taking my two hour and change direct flight from sunny Los Angeles.
Only it was gonna be snowing when we landed. It does not stop snowing in Sun Valley this year, global warming is making it a hotbed of precipitation. And that means we might get diverted. But Alaska/Horizon just instituted new technology they said was gonna raise the landing rate from 60% to 95%. Of course, that turned out not to be true. The effective rate is now 80%. Would we get diverted? To Twin Falls or Boise too?
That was the question on my mind as we were flying over the Santa Monica Mountains.
Now the plane is a turboprop. And it was only half full. And I had all the newspapers, I was thinking about what I was gonna do when we landed and then...
I became intrigued by the landscape. All the solar panels out in the desert. I just don't believe the world we live in. One wherein money trumps environment. The story in the "Times" was how fuel standards were going to be rolled back. So the car companies can sell more SUVs and trucks. Can we dictate that no one can buy an SUV unless they need four wheel drive, and no one can buy a truck unless they haul stuff? How did automobiles become fashion items to the detriment of us all?
But to restrict choice would be un-American, that's what they tell me.
But soon we won't own any cars at all. A day I'm looking forward to, as I waited at a stop sign this morning for a woman to roll through the intersection in her RX330. Yes, she was texting.
And then the pilot came over the intercom.
Now I've got my Bose headphones on, I just got them fixed via this place on the internet, and believe me, the engines make a noise and you need them and I pull the cans off and the pilot says...
There's a caution light on.
Now that does not make me anxious, he's not freaked out, so I won't be either.
But rather than fly on to Sun Valley we've got to go back to LAX so they can look at it.
Sounds reasonable to me, I can handle the delay.
But then the plane started to bounce. And everybody onboard became best friends. You see, people got scared.
But no one as scared as the flight attendant, on the phone, gesturing wildly.
And then I started to think, was my number up?
Now I'm too old to die young. I've had a good run. And I'm less concerned about it all ending than the way it's gonna go down. The pilot is making bizarre maneuvers, where he twists the plane a bit and then does not. And we don't seem to be heading back to LAX. Are we going to Ontario? Will we land in the Valley? Will we land on the street? Will we glide down or go nose first?
And I can see the propeller turning, which I could not earlier, so I'm getting a bit freaked out. And I don't recognize any of the landscape and I can no longer read and I'm starting to white knuckle it.
The other flight attendant tells me this has never happened to her before.
That's not encouraging.
I was once on a flight out of Denver, to Aspen, once again, and it was bumping around like a pogoing punk. After fifteen minutes the pilot came on and said "As you can see, we're having a problem."
YES, I CAN SEE!
The cabin pressure system wasn't working, we couldn't fly at altitude and we were going back to DIA.
Which we did, they fixed it, and we were on our way.
And another time, to Denver, from Burbank, there was a fuel leak, and we sat on the tarmac as they called San Francisco and argued about wrench size and stunningly they fixed it so we made it to Denver, although we missed our connection.
So I was thinking this would be no big deal.
But maybe it would be. That's the thing about life, it throws you curveballs, issues surprises. Kinda like my college buddy's wife, everything was going smoothly and now she's got cancer. You think you're immune, but you're not.
And now we're vaguely headed in the right direction, but we're far south of L.A. Are we gonna have to fly over the ocean to land? Do I have a better chance of surviving if we put down in the Pacific? But it's winter and the water's cold and there are no life jackets.
And we're way too high. I can see the plane landing on the next runway over, it's much lower than us.
And this runway, no one ever uses it. Are we gonna land on the golf course?
Then the plane dropped like it was hot and we were on the tarmac and I turned on my phone and started texting away with a sigh of relief you rarely have unless your life is in danger.
But then it got really weird. We were speeding through the airport, as if someone onboard was gonna have a baby or something. Why such urgency if we were already on the ground?
And finally we were at a gate and the personnel huddled and told us to get off the plane.
Now what?
And, of course, we passengers are now all buddies. We're telling war tales, revealing our observations. Turns out everybody was scared, primarily because of the flight attendant's behavior.
Then they have us get the carry-on bags, you know, the stuff you normally take on the plane which they make you check on a flight like this because the overhead bins are so small.
And then I can see the luggage coming off the plane.
And nobody knows nothing.
But then I see the pilot, I go up to talk to him. He's off, so this can't be a good sign.
And I'm worried about the crew timing out, this has happened to me, they've got the plane, it's got the gas, but the pilots have too many hours on the clock.
But this gentleman told me they'd just begun, they had plenty of time, nothing but time as Fountains of Wayne would say.
So then I went deeper. What exactly happened?
Well, the caution light was for the engine...
Now can this plane fly on one prop? I didn't even want to ask. Especially after he grimaced and told me this had never happened to him before.
But the pilot thought it was the computer that ran the engine as opposed to the engine itself but whatever the truth was I was glad I was on the ground.
As for going back up, would I get back on that plane?
Yes, I would. But that plane ain't going nowhere.
And neither is anybody else.
There was no spare plane. Everybody was flummoxed.
They're charging their phones, lighting up the internet.
And it made me glad I've got a new one, an iPhone 7 Plus to be exact, because the truth is after about eighteen months, maybe a bit less, the batteries start to die. And if you've got AppleCare, an overpriced warranty that "Consumer Reports" tells you to forgo, they'll give you a new device. And you should buy AppleCare, because the truth is your iPhone is your most treasured device, the one you use most, you want the peace of mind. And I start to Google and look for flights...
And there are none.
None that get you there in less than twenty four hours.
And, what's worse, there's no direct on Tuesday.
And everybody's freaking out and the help ain't much help, because after all they were not up in the plane, they did not experience what we did, and they're in their hometown, Los Angeles.
And they won't say the flight is canceled and then it is and I call to cancel my pickup in Sun Valley and get ahold of my travel agent, an archaic concept, I know.
But you want one for just such a situation.
I rang in, he searched for flights today, and found none, like me, and then rebooked me tomorrow just like that, while everybody was still in line. Worth the price, wouldn't you say?
I would.
So I turned tail and went to baggage claim and grabbed a taxi. I prefer Uber, but I was schlepping so much gear.
And the van's seats were broken and the experience was horrible and I don't know how the taxi industry survives.
Then again, the driver on the way in said he couldn't make it on Uber, he only made sixty bucks on New Year's Eve.
And I'm thinking about how much this is costing me, to go nowhere, the trips back and forth to my house.
And what I'm missing in Idaho. Everybody else, with their travails, arrived.
And tomorrow I'll be flying all day. First to Seattle, then east from there on a tiny plane once again.
But at least I'm alive.
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Sunday 5 March 2017
Where Songs Come From
"'It was an emergency,' he wrote,' and when dealing with emergent behavior there is nothing to do but respond. I was in the moment. And it was not the fire I imagined or dreamed of. It was the fire I got.'"
This should not have been good. I never read the "T" magazine, the "New York Times" style supplement, because it's all fluff and no substance, all pictures and no meaning. But I was intrigued by the cover, with a pic of Beck and the title "The Art of Sound."
Remember when Beck meant Jeff? Ironically, it's the English guitarist who is iconic, who will be remembered, he was getting his victory lap and then he fired his new manager Harvey Goldsmith and returned to that state he's been inhabiting for most of the past few decades, hiding in plain sight but not acknowledged. It'd be like Mozart was standing in our midst and everybody shrugged.
And the piece on Beck had my eyes glazing over. I loved "Loser," went to see him at some bowling alley where he emerged in a "Star Wars" helmet and refused to play it, but he gets way too much press for someone with so little impact. If this is pushing the envelope, we need a bigger envelope.
And there's an interview with Kendrick Lamar, but I haven't gotten there yet, because my eyes are bugging out about what Tom Waits had to say.
You have to know, back in the seventies, Mr. Waits was not an icon, just another struggling singer/songwriter looking for an audience. He was on a major label and got a push, all acts did back then, but he was just part of the firmament, he did not live on the mountaintop as he does today. That's what longevity will give you. Not only inspiration and a muse, not only the audience catching up with you, but a spot where you feel comfortable in your art like an old pair of moccasins and you can stretch without worrying and your competitors have given up and gotten real jobs.
Now I met Tom once, when he was still living at the Tropicana, when he said he kept his tools in his fridge, remember when artists had a sense of humor, that's one reason Van Halen succeeded, David Lee Roth's cheekiness, and I'd be lying if I said Tom was real friendly, but this was just another drunken after hours conversation at the Troubadour, when he was recognized by the people there and not too many more and now Tom's a legend.
So, if we go back to the quote above, it turns out Tom was trying to avoid the draft by becoming a fireman. We were all confronted with that possibility, having our ass shot off, our lives interrupted, maybe ended, and all our choices were not proud ones, but we had to escape the horror. And Tom tells a story of a chicken farm in flames and that's the emergency he's referring to above, putting out the fire, dousing the flying chickens with water. And there you have inspiration right there.
That's what art is all about. Being inspired, catching lightning in a bottle, in reaction to some stimulus.
That's why today's popular music is so rotten. It's written in the laboratory in search of dollars as opposed to being composed out in the meadow in search of truth. When you get twenty people together in the studio, build a track over time, you get something that may work on the hit parade, but it rarely touches your soul.
And writing songs is not about creating a hit.
"If you want to catch songs you gotta start thinking like one, and making yourself an interesting place for them to land like birds or insects. Once you get two or three tunes together, wherever three or more are gathered, then others come. It's like a line for a hot dog place, you know? And when there's four people lined up on the sidewalk, some people will stop and get in line just 'cause there's a line."
It's about getting in the right space and catching a fire. Putting yourself in a mood, sitting at the piano as Waits does, taking a shower, and seeing what comes. And when it does come, letting the roll continue.
Any artist will tell you that. You've got to get the pump primed. And once it is, you'll be stunned what comes out. Oftentimes the second is better than the first, even the third. And you're so deep into it you're not really sure, it's a trance. And even if nothing commercial results you've been on a satisfying trip, you've got a smile on your face.
Art has been denigrated in our society. We pay fealty to false gods, but nurturing the creative process is dead. Not only is there no music in schools, we're inundated with charts and awards, as if either reflected quality. Arts are not sports. There is no clear winner or loser. It's about creating something that touches people. And unlike sports, arts when done right are not evanescent. Artworks sit in the agora waiting to be discovered years, sometimes decades down the road. They're time bombs just waiting to go off. And oftentimes they're hiding in plain sight before they become hits. Waiting for the public and the gatekeepers to feel comfortable pushing the button, waiting for word to spread.
So I know you don't want to be an artist. My inbox tells me that.
You want to be a businessman. You complain about Spotify and making a living not knowing that that isn't the life of an artist. An artist, as Tom Waits said above, is someone who responds to stimuli, who can't help but get it all down, not knowing the end result, but confident this is what they were put on Earth to do.
http://nyti.ms/2mf8SF5
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This should not have been good. I never read the "T" magazine, the "New York Times" style supplement, because it's all fluff and no substance, all pictures and no meaning. But I was intrigued by the cover, with a pic of Beck and the title "The Art of Sound."
Remember when Beck meant Jeff? Ironically, it's the English guitarist who is iconic, who will be remembered, he was getting his victory lap and then he fired his new manager Harvey Goldsmith and returned to that state he's been inhabiting for most of the past few decades, hiding in plain sight but not acknowledged. It'd be like Mozart was standing in our midst and everybody shrugged.
And the piece on Beck had my eyes glazing over. I loved "Loser," went to see him at some bowling alley where he emerged in a "Star Wars" helmet and refused to play it, but he gets way too much press for someone with so little impact. If this is pushing the envelope, we need a bigger envelope.
And there's an interview with Kendrick Lamar, but I haven't gotten there yet, because my eyes are bugging out about what Tom Waits had to say.
You have to know, back in the seventies, Mr. Waits was not an icon, just another struggling singer/songwriter looking for an audience. He was on a major label and got a push, all acts did back then, but he was just part of the firmament, he did not live on the mountaintop as he does today. That's what longevity will give you. Not only inspiration and a muse, not only the audience catching up with you, but a spot where you feel comfortable in your art like an old pair of moccasins and you can stretch without worrying and your competitors have given up and gotten real jobs.
Now I met Tom once, when he was still living at the Tropicana, when he said he kept his tools in his fridge, remember when artists had a sense of humor, that's one reason Van Halen succeeded, David Lee Roth's cheekiness, and I'd be lying if I said Tom was real friendly, but this was just another drunken after hours conversation at the Troubadour, when he was recognized by the people there and not too many more and now Tom's a legend.
So, if we go back to the quote above, it turns out Tom was trying to avoid the draft by becoming a fireman. We were all confronted with that possibility, having our ass shot off, our lives interrupted, maybe ended, and all our choices were not proud ones, but we had to escape the horror. And Tom tells a story of a chicken farm in flames and that's the emergency he's referring to above, putting out the fire, dousing the flying chickens with water. And there you have inspiration right there.
That's what art is all about. Being inspired, catching lightning in a bottle, in reaction to some stimulus.
That's why today's popular music is so rotten. It's written in the laboratory in search of dollars as opposed to being composed out in the meadow in search of truth. When you get twenty people together in the studio, build a track over time, you get something that may work on the hit parade, but it rarely touches your soul.
And writing songs is not about creating a hit.
"If you want to catch songs you gotta start thinking like one, and making yourself an interesting place for them to land like birds or insects. Once you get two or three tunes together, wherever three or more are gathered, then others come. It's like a line for a hot dog place, you know? And when there's four people lined up on the sidewalk, some people will stop and get in line just 'cause there's a line."
It's about getting in the right space and catching a fire. Putting yourself in a mood, sitting at the piano as Waits does, taking a shower, and seeing what comes. And when it does come, letting the roll continue.
Any artist will tell you that. You've got to get the pump primed. And once it is, you'll be stunned what comes out. Oftentimes the second is better than the first, even the third. And you're so deep into it you're not really sure, it's a trance. And even if nothing commercial results you've been on a satisfying trip, you've got a smile on your face.
Art has been denigrated in our society. We pay fealty to false gods, but nurturing the creative process is dead. Not only is there no music in schools, we're inundated with charts and awards, as if either reflected quality. Arts are not sports. There is no clear winner or loser. It's about creating something that touches people. And unlike sports, arts when done right are not evanescent. Artworks sit in the agora waiting to be discovered years, sometimes decades down the road. They're time bombs just waiting to go off. And oftentimes they're hiding in plain sight before they become hits. Waiting for the public and the gatekeepers to feel comfortable pushing the button, waiting for word to spread.
So I know you don't want to be an artist. My inbox tells me that.
You want to be a businessman. You complain about Spotify and making a living not knowing that that isn't the life of an artist. An artist, as Tom Waits said above, is someone who responds to stimuli, who can't help but get it all down, not knowing the end result, but confident this is what they were put on Earth to do.
http://nyti.ms/2mf8SF5
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