"Making It" In The Music Industry

If you read this blog you probably know by now that "making it" is completely relative, and that sometimes I feel like I've "made it" while other times I feel like I've made a big mistake. However, most of the time I fully understand that my situation as a musician is a lot better than most, and according to most I've "made it," in every sense of the "it." Because of the relativity of "making it" these days, just assume that every time I say "make it" I'm picturing the term with quotations around it even when it doesn't have them.


Because of the belief that I have made it I am frequently asked about how to do it. I field many different questions but most of them really mean: What sort of secret hook up did you have? What trick did you pull to get a leg up on all the other local bands? Who do you know who could get me signed?


The truth is we were just like everyone else, chasing down leads to inevitable dead ends, getting our hopes up over silly things like getting our demo in the hands of popular musicians and producers, putting our faith in things that were a shot in the dark at best. Nevertheless, it is the opinion of many struggling musicians that we have "arrived," so I'll attempt to share our story from the business perspective with the hope of enlightening those aspiring musicians who read this, as well as to dispel a few industry myths.


Here is the condensed version of how we formed: It was February of 2003. Justin and Skip played in bands in high school and had moved closer to Seattle to go to school. They'd been writing songs together for a few months, and when they met Alan at school they asked him play bass on the songs they were writing. They looked for a singer, and tried out over twenty different guys (some hilarious stories about a few of these tryouts) until I answered the ad in the Stranger (Seattle's weekly free liberal-artsy newspaper). I listened to their songs and thought they were really good. I played some of mine for them, and they seemed to like them. We recorded their songs on a tape player outside the band room door, and I went home and wrote the lyrics and melodies to three of them. I came back and sung to the songs live and the rest is history. A lot of history.


I remember there was a certain feeling back then like we were good, better than other bands. Turns out we weren't nearly as good as we thought we were, but I think that feeling is important. If you don't love your music, it'll be hard to get other people to love it. We were also fully committed. We had all realized this was what we wanted to do, and we were completely committed to seeing it through. We dropped out of school and got restaurant jobs so we could practice every day. We spent the summer of 2003 playing anywhere we could, we brought demos to coffee shops, entered battle of the bands contests, networked with other local bands. We never once got paid to play a show (unless we won a contest), and most of the time it cost us to play. We were jerked around by promoters and ignored by the more popular bands. We were just like everyone else.


Talent and Dedication - I think unsuccessful bands usually lack one of those things. Talent makes your songs good, but dedication makes your songs heard. Dedication is probably more important than talent, because talent can be learned through the process of dedication, and as we all know some very untalented bands can also become quite successful. This is probably due to the fact that their dedication surpassed that of other bands, or it could be because of something that you should never count on: luck. The best bands work hard, they don't rely on luck and neither should you.


In our early stages as a band we thought we were pretty good, but we knew we were completely committed. I remember having conversations with my band mates about having no back up plan, about how we were all going to do this thing 100%. Was it smart? Probably not, but it got us this far. We haven't lost a member yet and we've been able to pay our bills for five years, travel, meet people, and impact lives in a surreal way. I wouldn't change it for the world, but it didn't just fall in our lap. We worked for it, struggled for it, and we still do.


Sure you have to have talent, but you can't just have talent alone. Songs are everything. A producer friend told me years ago that "for every thousand songs you write only one will get you paid." It only takes one to build a career, so keep writing. Don't hold on to old songs, always write new ones, improve on the old ones. Not every song will be great, but it could be a stepping stone to something great. Without great songs your chances of "Making It" are slim to none.


I recorded our first demo's in the band room by myself. They turned out pretty bad, so when we finally felt like we'd come into our own as a band we decided to shell out $2000 for a seven song EP. We did this EP with a guy named Casey Bates, who I originally met at audio school in Seattle (he took school much more seriously than I). He had been recording local bands for a few months and his production quality sounded like it was worth the money, so we recorded our 6 best songs and one instrumental with him in about a week. (We recently released the song "Weapon of Choice" from the EP on the Vagabonds Deluxe Edition.)


A good recording is key, and it's easier than ever these days with the advancing capabilities of computers. Label people will always tell you that they can hear through poor production, that they're listening to the song, but they're either lying or delusional. Most of them are song-deaf and you have to slap them in the face with a close-to-finished product before they'll get excited. They want a product that they can take credit for. Do I sound bitter? I hope not, because in my years I've found this to be a simple truth. Good producers can see diamonds in the rough, but A&R's (label representatives) can only see diamonds. Get a good producer, and if your songs are good, the A&R's will spot them. Do not promote yourself with crappy sounding production unless you're like The White Stripes and it somehow strangely fits your genre.


Here is the condensed version of how we got signed: In late 2004 we paid for one of those ads on Purevolume.com back when it was like $150 or something. We were featured on the front page for a week, and our shiny new songs started getting more plays than ever through our Purevolume.com profile. There are tons of sites like Purevolume.com now, and even better ways to get add space and promote yourself. Because of the feature, we were contacted by a guy who worked for EMI-CMG (which is the umbrella label for Tooth and Nail), and he flew out to a show and took us out to eat. He wanted to sign us to a developmental deal, something small at first, where they front a little cash to do a record and then see if they want to sign a real record deal if it does well. It wasn't something we were too excited about at the time, but we were encouraged to know that a label rep found us and thought we were good enough to invest in. 


We decided to hold off until we could find representation, which didn't take long because our management sort of found us. We had a buddy in Portland who started a clothing company. He decided to sponsor us as well as some other bands. He loved our EP so much that he sent it to the manager of one of his other bands and the manager contacted us. That manager loved the EP and him and another manager flew up from LA to watch us play. After some debate we decided to let these guys represent us. They were able to get us showcases for Interscope, Epic, and other major labels. None of these showcases added up to anything for us (Side note - we played the worst show in our history as a band at one of these showcases. I'll have to go into detail about that at some point). Eventually through the contact at EMI-CMG our management got a Tooth and Nail A&R to come out to a show in Seattle. He loved the show and over the next few months we played more showcases for Tooth and Nail, negotiated a contract and signed it in June of 2005.


Getting signed is only the beginning (but it's not the only beginning, there are plenty of ways to DIY and do fine nowadays). Once signed, you have a pass to play on the national level, but it's not like you've suddenly arrived. The real work has only just begun, and the cycle of writing, recording, and touring can go on for as long as you are mildly successful (which in our case has been over five years). If you're songs are good enough, and you're dedicated enough, someone somewhere is going to discover you and want to invest in you. If you're talented and dedicated enough people will purchase your music, come to your shows and support what you do. It takes time and dedication to make it happen, but it can happen. Remember things like "luck" and "chance" are fairy tales at best, it's the "blood," "sweat" and "tears" that you should bank on.


When you look at our story you'll find that all the good things happened when people listened to our songs and loved them. That's a pretty simple test. When people hear your music do they flip out? Is it that good? "Pretty good" wont cut it in this industry, music has to move people in some way (even if it's just to dance) in order for it to spread. Not everyone will flip out, but it's always a good sign when the people who listen to music for a living enjoy listening to yours.


Not Quitting - I think that might be the most important thing. So many good bands and talented musicians hang it up before they really give it their all. Opportunities come with time, and you have to give yourself time in order to be presented with them. If you really want to make a career out of music, "not quitting" is probably the best thing you can do.

Tour Log #7: Going Home

Tonight marks the first tour stop on our trek back to Seattle. Finally. We've had only about a week off since March and it'll be good to spend some days home this summer. It's odd to think that in 2006 we played close to 200 shows, and slowly but steadily we've played less and less each year. I think this is in part because we no longer have to tour JUST to tour, but I think its also in part because we're a bit more weary of it nowadays. Tour is only necessary in smaller doses, and it also happens to be more exciting for us as such. We've established our base, and we will take our opportunities as they present themselves. No need to force it. No need to beat the streets for scraps. No need to risk a potential burnout. We're going home for the summer to recharge and sustain ourselves with fly-dates, festivals and fairs. I'm looking forward to the weekend trips, the week days at home, cooking, writing, and hopefully producing. All this is nine days and 1800 miles away, but so much closer than it was a month ago.


I tell Kristie I'm "on my way." I tell her that all the time, actually, regardless of where we are in the tour, but it's usually only figurative. Now it is literal. I am literally getting closer, and that feels good.


I can say that I've felt blessed by this tour. With bands dropping off a tour like they have it's hard to expect decent results. We've been pleasantly surprised by the turnouts, and by the energy of the crowds. We can tell that our music does matter, and that with each record we form a deeper relationship with our fans. It's inspired us, and lately (I can speak for all of us) we've felt blessed. However much we fail ourselves and lose track of our vision, we can always count on our fans reminding us. Through your stories, sincere thanks, and just plain old showing up we are reminded why we take this show on the road every year. Why it is still worthwhile. If you've showed up this year, thank you for appreciating our art enough to support it! We do not take you for granted.


For those of you who are tired of this insipid journaling, I'll get back to essay-blogging soon enough.  


-Matt

Tour Log #6: Vocal Rest

I'm sitting in the van (also sometimes referred to as the Green Beatle or the DonJon) in Jermyn, PA right outside of Scranton, waiting to play our 7th show in a string of 12 in a row today. I've been employing the "vocal rest" technique daily and counting down the shows until we take that coveted day off. Vocal rest is when I don't use my voice all day until I warm up pre-show. These days it's all I can do to get through a set without blowing it completely. It's been good for me though, this not talking business, because usually I talk far too much. It allows me to observe  and process as opposed to my usual immerse and react. One day we'll have in-ear monitors which will help preserve my voice, or maybe we wont, but I can at least hope for the best!


Ah, I just caught wind that the catering is in, and me being a committed Freegan cannot pass this opportunity up.


Please pray my voice will hold out until the day off! We don't want to have to cancel any shows, or worse, sound like complete garbage.


Love,
Matt

Tour Log #5: Jesters

I'll be honest with you. Sometimes I wonder if this is really worth it. When will this stop? This beating the streets like they owe us something. To what end?

I do not need pity, encouraging words, sympathy or even empathy. I only need to vent. I've never been one to polish myself up or adopt and portray the illusional lifestyle of the rock star or the scene star, or whoever people want me to be. I'm just me. I'm well aware of where I am, and I believe the truth in the quote by Gary Hamel that says, "The longer you're down in the trenches the easier it is to mistake the edge of your rut for the horizon." Perhaps that is where I am now, the trenches, and for the life of me I can't see passed the rut.

Does any one night make a difference when the next we do it all over again? We live without consequence and leave with only one regret; that we didn't have more. More of our fair share? More of what we're owed? Maybe some reassurance that this is the right path? We are owed nothing. We are the jesters of this country. Cheap entertainment for the outcasts, by the outcasts. 

Fitting, but to what end?

Is this a pipe dream? A projection of ego? Will it all come crashing down, taking casualties with it, proving itself a mistake? Sometimes I feel it slipping...

Two years ago I tapped something I was feeling into my phone, it never made it into a song but occasionally the feeling returns to me:

I can't hold this world together anymore

It's tearing at the seams

The pressure's building soon it will explode

And nothing will remain but me

Like chopper blades the things I can't control

Have cut me down and left me here to bleed

The pressure's building soon I will explode

And chase away the people close to me

It's not the deepest or most original piece of poetry I've written, I know that, but it's honest. I suppose it reflects anger for how brutal the things out of our control can be to us... self destructive anger. Why? Because as much as struggling for years has built my character I will always at my core hate it. Even when I rejoice in my struggles, those few moments of unwavering joy and peace are fleeting. I always return to the constant, the thing that never changes (see blog post: The Struggle). I want to ignore it, to run from it, because I don't like it.

I always return to the reality that I'm broke at twenty-seven, with no current future outside of writing songs that on a great night two hundred people will show up to listen to live, paying us enough money for gas and a hotel and a few hundred bucks at the end of a six week tour. We take that money and we try to save it, but bills and debt pile up and we're forced back out on the road. I've damaged my voice so many times that the slightest thing will cause me to lose it. Without in-ear monitors I have no chance of saving it, especially at the tiny venues with the terrible sound systems and the incompetent sound people, but we can't afford an in-ear monitoring system. We can't afford a tour manager to take care of the things we currently struggle to take care of. We can't afford a sound person to make sure we can hear ourselves so we don't lose our voices or sound terrible live. We can't afford any luxury that would make us perform better, feel better, sound better, or stay healthier. We can't afford anything good in the trenches.

I wouldn't wish this life on anyone. It's groundhog day every day, with seemingly no headway made in any practical way. Sometimes when I'm on stage I feel like an aerobics instructor at best, dancing and sweating to the beat and trying desperately to encourage the audience to do the same. When I feel that way I start to resent our music. I start to hate it. We're just one band in a sea of bands, and we're running out of the naivete required to plug away like this for years to come. 

Again I don't want pity, or any sympathetic response you may feel inclined to type. I especially don't need people to tell me that I'm lucky, and that I should feel blessed and that they would kill to be in my shoes. The truth is, most people wouldn't last one tour before their first mental breakdown. I've seen it. Most people are far more domesticated than they realize. Me? I'm built for this constant moving, I'm not a nester at all, and my struggle has been made obvious to you via this blog.

The only people that I've been able to relate to outside of touring are military people. They too leave their loved ones for months on end, putting themselves in harms way for a certain set of ideals in an attempt to be a part of something bigger than themselves. In the end, most military people justify it because of the paycheck. The ideals fade, the sense of duty becomes clouded and they get jaded too. But the paycheck keeps coming, so they keep re-signing with the hope of early retirement and financial freedom. 

I suppose money is a piss-poor motive on the grand scheme of things, but it sure would be a nice thing to fall back on!

RANT: DONE

P.S - Please know that I do not feel this way all the time, and that most of the time I feel incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to be the voice of change in the lives of our listeners. I just felt like it was high time I wrote this feeling down so I can keep it contained in clear view.

Artists Aren't Politicians

Part of the appeal of music is the idea that somebody can supernaturally speak to your soul. We idolize our favorite musicians, pining after their every creation as if they have the ability to communicate on a higher level than others in their field. I think as a culture, as a race, we love fantasy. We love magic and fairy tales, and music has the ability to fall into any or all those categories. It strikes the similar mystical chord within us. We don't want to believe that these people (these favored musicians of ours) are on the same playing field as the rest of us. We want to believe they're playing a whole different game, on a whole different plane, and that we're just catching a glimpse of what they've seen. They're somehow more cognizant, more aware, more in tune with the metaphysical. They are like prophets and we scramble to hear their words, to be moved by their musings and melodies, to receive the message we otherwise could not have heard. The message of most importance. 


We treat them like prophets, these favored musicians, but just like the prophets of old we stone them when they say the things we don't want to hear. Our fickle culture which tends to move quickly from one emotional extreme to the next seems to lack the loyalty and wisdom to hear something unexpected, critical or challenging. In a world where instant gratification is god, digging for food is too burdensome for most and can even incite contempt in a few. Not only do we write these prophets off when they deviate from our expectations, we can quickly write off and discard what was once deemed by us as profound. 


I wonder why this is? I do it all the time. The music I envied ten years ago is music I'm sometimes embarrassed to admit I listened to. Perhaps it's because we attach ourselves so tightly to Status, whose standards are set by Culture, which is driven in a big way by Trend through Media. The music I liked is no longer trendy. Of course, there are some things that appealed to me in my younger state that no longer speak to me as an adult simply because they lack the maturity and depth I now crave, but most of the time I've grown out of things primarily because they became cliche, overdone, and out of fashion. I need growth, progression and challenge to stay interested.


Some people are the opposite. They like what they liked when they were in their younger, more hormonal state. Music meant more back then, when the hair on your arms and neck would stand up and a feeling of euphoria would wash over you at the hint of a decent melody. Nostalgia takes over, and they attach it to the music. If the music was the same now as it was back then, maybe it would have the same effect, but alas, it's out of style and there are only figments of it left in it's modern counterparts.


I think the truth lies somewhere in between. I agree that when I was younger I was much more impressionable, and that music had a way of moving me to a degree that it rarely does these days. I also think that good music in the mainstream is harder to find. I mean good, emotional, meaningful music. Trend drives so much of what we hear, and often times the music is creative but the lyrics are too shallow or too obscure for us to relate on that deeper level. It's cool sounding, we're supposed to like it, but it doesn't really move us at our core. Musicians are playing the Trend game all too often to appeal to the masses, or even the niches. 


The fact is musicians aren't politicians. Art should not be dictated by Media or Trend. Art should be free from contamination. Art needs integrity to be true art. The second an artist starts listening to his critics is the second he loses perspective, gives in, and starts becoming less effective. But it's a two-way street. We as listeners shouldn't stone our prophets. We should not assume they will create what we want them to create in the exact way that we expect. We should not assume that they listen to our comments and criticisms, because if we assume that then we also have to assume that they are fake artists. If they do what they do to please us then they are nothing more than politicians. Support those who create art you identify with and they will continue to create. Turn on them for creating something unexpected and they may be forced into silence without to resources to publish what they create.


Not everyone will understand every piece of art that an artist creates, but if the artist is good, someone will identify with all of them. The reason we loved our favored artists and musicians is because they didn't sound like everyone else, they trail-blazed with something that contained more substance than their counterparts. We should not chastise them for taking paths we do not understand. We should not stone our prophets, we should hear them out. I hated Brand New's Deja Entendu the first three times I heard it. Now it's in my top ten of all time. I didn't expect it, but it doesn't mean it's not completely genius. How many painters were ridiculed in their lifetimes, only to be discovered as prolific, creative masters after their deaths? The answer is too many to count. 


For you artists out there, aspiring or veteran, I implore you to be independently creative regardless of what people think. Do not place your validity in the opinions of the layman. Even if 9/10 misunderstand you, remember these words: 

It doesn’t matter how many people don’t get it. What matters is how many people do.

Tour Log #4: Songs In My Head

I couldn't sleep last night. Songs were in my head. Usually when songs are in my head it's because something really dramatic has happened, bad or good. I tend to deal with tragedy or comedy or irony by putting them into songs. 

I woke up on a bench in the van at three in the morning. We'd arrived at the hotel, Skip said, and  I had to check in. I knew I had been completely asleep because my eyes were dry and my voice was gone. After arguing with the kind folks at Hotwire and Super 8, we were told that if we wanted to upgrade our two rooms with king-sized beds to two rooms with two queens each we would have to pay $67. Per room. Because we're being frugal, Dutty had to sleep on couch pillows on the floor, and because Robbie was already asleep in the van the other four of us got to split the two available king-sized beds. It was already 3:30am, and we had to be showered and ready to leave by 10am to make the Lafayette show in time. 

Still, I lay awake, lyrics and melodies become rhythms, which become albums, which become shows and tours. My mind wanders. Occasionally I grab my iPhone and thumb lyrics into it. I can't rest. These lyrics are folk. They are story telling, and I like a good story. Songs that carry me through scenes and perspectives give me a sense of comfort. I think when you can capture a moment you can capture history, and when a song becomes a part of history it becomes timeless. Like John Lennon's Happy Christmas (War is Over), or Bloody Sunday by U2, or any number of Dylan songs. There are countless hit songs, timeless ones, that depict specific events. I generally like these.

There are a few reasons for these songs in my head, I think. Last week my granny (mom's mom) died. She was a pretty frequent visitor in my childhood, and although I hadn't seen her in over ten years death is always a rude awakening, an awful reminder that we all are mortal and soon will pass. I've had a handful of folks close to me die, and a song is usually always born in their memory. In this case there is nothing specific in any of these songs to indicate that they are about Granny. I didn't really know her throughout my adult life, and I can hardly say we were close when I was a child (I think I took to Grampa more). Nonetheless, tragedy has always seemed to inspire me. I create, I think it's how I tend to mourn. 

The second reason for my sleepless, song-ridden night is that last nights show in Plano gave all of our spirits a lift. We've been on this tour a few weeks, and the last week was especially tough. The shows were poorly promoted, small and disorganized. Our performances suffered as we struggled to find our rhythm and shake the rust off. We even had to cancel one show because a promoter went completely AWOL, so when we got to Plano we were all secretly praying, "Oh please God, let this show not completely suck." We needed redemption, and we got it. It was by far the hottest, most energetic show of the tour as over 250 bodies packed into The Door's cozy room and moved with us to the music. I remember looking around on stage at the other guys, on the verge of suffocating from lack of air and heat exhaustion, and thinking, "Man, this is why we do this. This is so fun." 

We all needed that shot in the arm. As musicians, we are innately insecure. A string of four bad shows can bring the even biggest band to its knees. We start asking, "Do people even care? Are we as good as we thought we were? As we once were?" We even go as far as to ask, "Have we reached our apex? Is this the twilight of our career? Should we all go home and get "real" jobs?" 

When 250+ people show up and shout your lyrics so loud you can't hear your monitor, all those questions disappear.

Tour Log #3: The Grind

A few shows ago we spent the night in the van as we took turns driving the eleven hours from Phoenix to Artesia, NM. One way or another, everything you do on tour will eventually lead to a sore back. Sleeping in the van when its moving is no exception. Head-banging, playing guitar, and sitting for a liberal amount of time are other causes for the "sore-back" affliction. If we decide to hire a tour manager again, my vote is for a massage therapist tour manager who also does front of house sound and lights. All this to say that the daily Grind has set in, and we're back on the move like it's the only thing we know.

I feel like we're living with a bit of a scarcity mindset. Since our lights and scrims were stolen we've stripped our live show down to bare bones, and I think sometimes it might look and feel a little weaker than usual. Maybe we're tired of playing old songs, maybe the crowds seem less enthused, not sure. Maybe I'm less enthused. One thing I do know is we haven't yet hit our stride with our live show this year. When you have to pick 10 songs from a list of 45 released it becomes hard to iron out transitions, picking where the new songs will go and which songs they will replace. In the last six shows we've chipped away, swapped, added and done away with songs in attempt to assemble our most current and fluid set list, so hopefully it's all uphill from here. We're cautiously optimistic that Texas will be our redemption, even in the aftermath of SXSW and the over-saturation of insinscenester garbage it brings. We like Texas, so we hope to put on a few good shows for them.