Always On This Line by Sarah Blasko

AKA THIS SONG AND WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Oh, it might be unkind of me to make you feel bad,
It might be a shame of me to treat you like that,
When there’s everything you’ve worked for in your life,
On this line…

You think?

The middle-eight of ‘Always On This Line’ by Sarah Blasko is one of the most bittersweet moments in Australian music. It’s pretentious, manipulative, awful but also knowing, sly and gut-wrenching. After a whole song of ‘Maybe you could have made something of yourself’ (never myself), Blazzy cops to this brief moment of doubt. But…it’s never felt very generous to me. It feels like fine print. Compounded by the cute filmclip, the only difference between this and – as John Gardner would say – ‘staring into a volcano filled with baby skulls,’ is her awkward dancing and the impeccable chorus hook. There’s a lot of life in that dancing and chorus. I don’t know how she does it.

Then again this was released in 2006, just after Blasko turned 30, so maybe she needed a little pick me up, a bit of reassurance that a career in the Australian music industry was a better play than the routine rigours of office work and commuting. That’s a mistake. If I know anything about music, I know that it’s every bit as monstrously repetitive as office work. Trust me, your morning commute is nothing compared to touring. Selling your heart and soul to a crowd of people with the same 20 songs every night is no binary opposite of the board room or the lunch room or the copy room either. Maybe she is singing this to herself, as a type of play-acting, as represented in the clip.

I suppose what drags on me about this is that ‘Always On This Line’ is structurally wonderful. It has hooks and melodies that could have been wrapped around something so much better. This could have been about finding someone on that line, or finding the answer travelling along it, or it could have been about all the little ways that everyone finds to step over the line everyday. Instead every time it plays I feel paralysed and blank, sort of stunned that such a good song could be so shallow.

I hate it and love it dearly all at the same time.

Inside In Utero And Outside Production

AKA IN UTERO IS STILL INTERESTING TO ME

This video is a fascinating glimpse into what could have been and what might be coming. Until the original Steve Albini / Nirvana mixes are mastered properly, to suit the whole album listening experience and released (hopefully/unfortunately as part of an In Utero reissue) it’s a hard one to call. And maybe there’s no real point.

As much as I love Albini’s production, Litt’s remixes are slight by the standard of the time. Recall, this is an era of music where Andy Wallace would reassemble tracked recordings almost as much as he mixed them; sometimes to good effect (Sonic Youth’s Dirty is a treasure trove of hidden hooks and overdubs and Roots by Sepultura is brutally effective) and sometimes to a lesser extent (Nirvana’s Nevermind sounds like shrill cotton candy in parts and bad 80s in others):

Sonic Youth’s Dirty (Full Album):

Roots by Sepultura (Full Album):

Nevermind (Full Album): 

So a bit of compression and effect tweaking on Litt’s part is hardly the big deal music history makes it out to be. These are not overly significant sonic changes, it’s the clashing ideologies and the sniff of a juicy story that charged all this.

Yet there really is an undeniable sense of something else in the Albini mixes. Again, I’m not sure if this is the idea itself that’s so enchanting: I consider the album one of the peaks of the whole early 90s alt-rock/grunge moment but it could have been even more of a coup had an album that sounded like The Jesus Lizard been delivered to the listening public with the full weight of commercial industry.

But, all in all, it was a raging success for me. Trainspotters may enjoy the trivia 20 years later but how many of us were introduced to Steve Albini and noise-rock and Amrep and analogue via this album and this exact story? I was. This split things open for me. I was a huge teenage Nirvana fan. When the media told me I’d hate In Utero (too rough and wild), and then I didn’t hate it one bit…that made me even more curious.

Nevermind was an album anyone could enjoy.

Some of In Utero was something a few people could agree on, namely those singles.

But I was one of those people that heard the noise and thrash of that album and it signalled something to me. I went out and found all the other people who agreed. And it was endless. There were hundreds of records laying in wait behind In Utero and that catalogue is what the band really sold me, even if the message was slightly compromised along the way.

Amanda Palmer, Music Criticism and Sour Grapes

AKA HAD A BIT OF A MOMENT ON TWITTER YESTERDAY AFTERNOON 

Amanda Palmer is a much better salesperson than her critics, with better backing, better connections, bigger stage aka History 101.—
Ian Rogers (@ikrogers) March 11, 2013

At this point, we pretty desperately need the impossible: a music critic who could corral 1.2 mil in funding and a cabal of media elites.—
Ian Rogers (@ikrogers) March 11, 2013

Instead we have 1.2 million critics and the consensus opinion that none of us are much worth reading, let alone booking for TED.—
Ian Rogers (@ikrogers) March 11, 2013

But while Amanda Palmer has been couch-surfing her way to celebrity, we – the 1.2 million music writers – have really achieved a great deal:—
Ian Rogers (@ikrogers) March 11, 2013

Turning the Internet into a taste panopticon. We showed 'em.—
Ian Rogers (@ikrogers) March 11, 2013

If you haven’t seen the Amanda Palmer TED speech I’m talking about, it’s here.

—

Sometimes Twitter really is the best medium for getting an idea across. So I’m not going to elaborate much on it here.

What I would add – now, after the fact / rage-blackout – is that I don’t necessarily dislike Amanda Palmer. Sure, there’s parts of what she does I find ethically questionable and parts I find unfortunate (I’m not a fan of her music) but the level of communication at work here can’t really be disputed. She speaks to her audience and to the TED audience better than most music critics speak to people who like music. Ask a friend. Use Google. Think about it. End of debate.

She’s visible, she has a message she’s selling and she’s willing to go for the weapons-grade schmaltz as required. She’s more narcissistic than most critics at the moment, more self-confident (at least in a public capacity, where it counts). And she has backing and resources, both reputational and capital, and at this point, Amanda Palmer is – without question – the most celebrated music commentator in the world.

She is.

Seriously, which single other person on the planet is even in the same game as her?

Who out there is critiquing her or offering an opposing viewpoint with even half as much clout?

Who is even coming up? Who is rising through the ranks of the media to rival this sort of influence to say anything else about music?

A collection of anonymous Pitchfork writers?

A member of the old guard on new media? Or old media?

Nope.

There’s a point where I think we all just have to exhale and thank god she’s not telling everyone to sign endorsement deals and vote Republican.

Everything else just feels like sour grapes at this particular moment in history.

Prestige and Professionalisation at the Margins of the Journalistic Field: The Case of Music Writers

AKA SOME MORE INTERESTING RESEARCH WRITING FROM MY DESK JOB

A recent publication by Routledge caught my eye the other day as I scanned the shelves in the library. Inside, I was surprised to find a chapter on music writing in Australia. Put together by two other Melbourne academics: one of the book’s co-editors Ramon Lobato and occasional Mess & Noise contributor (and PhD candidate) Lawson Fletcher. Much like my entry on Clinton Walker’s piece in the Quarterly Essay, and for much the same reasons, I thought I might ‘pick the eyes’ out of this piece and post them up here.

The chapter mainly concerns itself with the state of music writing (i.e. criticism, reportage and opinion) in Australia. Drawing on interviews conducted with Australian music writers about their work. The chapter asks, ‘Why does music writing operate and read as it does in places like Australia?‘ and, ‘What do these people get out of this?’ Good questions that really benefit here by way of academia’s cautious, level-headed approach to reporting research findings.

So, a bit light on razzle-dazzle but pitch-perfect in places, I liked it and will no doubt be suggesting it to my students.

Here’s my notes:

—

On music writing as a living:

In smaller markets like Australia (the site of our study), securing an ongoing salaried position is near-impossible, even for the most talented writers.

On the balance of men and women writing about music in Australia:

Some brief comments on the demographic characteristics of writers are also in order. Most of the writers we interviewed are in their 20s and early 30s, with a tertiary degree of some sort, frequently in the humanities or social sciences (though few believe this contributes to their abilities or success as a writer). Music writing in Australia is a male-dominated activity: we estimate that at least three-quarters of practicing music writers in Australia are men, an observation which corresponds broadly with studies of the music writer workforce in other nations. The reasons for this are disputed by the writers we spoke to, but it seems likely that the imbalance is exacerbated by informal friend-to-friend commissioning practices, which reproduce a male-dominated writing culture, and the gendered spatiality of rock culture, which revolves around the pub environment. Though we did not observe deliberate policies of exclusion on the part of editors, the very high levels of social and cultural capital needed to do well in this field appear to be the result of informal networks, friendships and associations, the structure of which may exacerbate demographic imbalances that are already present in the rock and indie subcultures from which most writers emerge.

On blogging:

…if becomes difficult to equate blogs with amateur media in any meaningful sense, as the blogosphere is increasingly the site for entrepreneurial, careerist activity among writers.

Herein, music writing online becomes a means to step-into paid writing. The entrepreneurial, careerist flair they’re charting here is about a career in writing/journalism or music industry, period, in which music writing is only a means to an end. That said, while serving that apprenticeship (or conducting a blog as a hobby), the authors noted a few other side uses:

There is also the option of using one’s blog or column as a platform for other music-related pursuits which generate income, slender as it may be. One writer we interviewed runs club nights under the brand of his blog and another has established a small-scale record label. Others have made forays into public relations, writing bios and promotional material for record labels. Writing becomes one of a range of ways of engaging with a scene, and potentially making some money on the side.

This is a pretty interesting point, maybe a touch over-sold as a positive here. The idea that blogging is this pure and free writing pursuit located a million miles away from the world of incorporated music entertainment publications has always been a bit off. As noted here, there are other loyalties at work: to the small cash windfalls attached to side-work writing for industry, to the larger windfalls that can be attached to club events and to all the uses of cultural capital intertwined in why people blog in the first place. In short, judge what you read in these contexts and look for the bigger picture.

This is a fairly dense paragraph but it’s sophisticated point I think:

Critiques of creative labour sometimes assume a scenario of systematic exploitation by ‘big media’, in which labour is extracted from fans and non-professionals as a way for media companies to save on professionally produced content. The music media in Australia do not fit comfortably into this narrative. Unlike in the UK, where magazines such as NME are part of consolidated publishing businesses, most of the online and print-based music media in Australia is the province of undercapitalised small-to-medium sized businesses, many of which are not particularly profitable. This is not to say that the prevailing commissioning practices are ethical, or that publishers could not afford to increase their pay rates if they so desired. But the ‘free labour, big profits’ narrative is not an accurate representation of how the music media work in Australia.

Further to which:

The writers we spoke to are under no illusions about the nature of the industry. All have their own ways of balancing paid employment with other kinds of personally fulfilling creative work. Many of the unpaid writers do not see their practice as an income-generating activity – and some like it that way. Others have an informal moral code which shapes their professional practice (one writer mentioned that she only does unpaid writing for small non-profit websites, but never for commercial publishers). Hence we must be alert to the agency of cultural workers such as these, even in a context of extreme precarity.

And:

…music writers have a kind of split personality, suspended half way between art and public relations, cultural production and critique, the music industry and the content business.

—

The takeaway point for musicians is pretty simple: this is who is writing about you. These are not people living in opulence, writing about your struggle to be heard in the world. These people are a bunch of scrappy enthusiasts, writing about music for many of the same reasons you play it: it’s fun, it’s cool and it pays a little bit of cash back, not enough to live on, but enough to justify pressing on to the next gig. And as for ‘critics’, yes these people can be critical of what you do – that’s their job – but they make those criticisms from many of the same compromised and difficult positions in which you yourself try and sell your work. In short, we’re all in this mess together.

And make no mistake, in Australia it’s always going to get a bit messy. Always.
—

UPDATE: This blog has been a touch quiet of late. Why? Real life got pretty loud for me in January. During that month I moved from Berlin, Germany and unemployment to Melbourne, Australia and employment. I’m currently in a lecturing/research position at RMIT in their Music Industry program. Now that I’m settled, expect more frequent updates. Thanks for sticking around. If you ever need to reach me in a professional capacity here at RMIT, here I am.

On How To Build An Audience

AKA IT IS NOT ROCKET SCIENCE

Part of why we go to shows is to see other people listen to music. Strange, but true. The anecdotes I use in class to explain this:

Imagine you could go and see your favourite band perform and you’re the only person there. You could stand where-ever you liked, you could be the sole beneficiary of the band’s attention and there would be no line for the bar or washroom. Close your eyes and imagine it for a second. Would it actually be fun? 

OR:

Have you ever seen one of your favourite bands sound-check? I have, it’s horrible. In 2006 I watched Sleater-Kinney soundcheck and it was an experience akin to watching kitchen hands in my favourite restaurant. It was the exact same thing: people standing on-stage, playing a song I loved. But outside of the performance – away from an audience – it was mechanical, dry, weird, melancholy almost. 

Why?

Because the audience is a huge part of what makes a live show unique and that’s a huge part of what we look for at shows. We want to step outside of what we’re used to, that’s why we’re there. Without the audience, all we see are people doing their jobs – jobs that can probably be almost as boring and as annoying as our own.

Smaller, local shows are different. Ten people are an audience at a local shows. Thirty people are a crowd. Fifty people are a raging success. A hundred means something’s happening. It doesn’t take a lot of people, not in the whole scheme of things. There are probably more people on a train in your city right now.

So from day one, if you want to build and audience, go where your audience wants to be.

And you know where they want to be.

It’s where you yourself go, when you look for music and community and escape.

And if you’re not looking for those things, if you can’t answer these questions, then you’re not a live musician and you shouldn’t be performing in front of other people.

You need to be personally invested.

You need to be personally invested.

You need to be personally invested.

If you’re not, you’re just doing the most poorly paid work available.

So, in short: the first step to building an audience is being part of one.

 

The Problem With ‘Punk’

AKA THERE ISN’T REALLY A PROBLEM WITH PUNK BUT WHO COULD RESIST THAT TITLE?

In Sydney at the moment, there’s a residential warehouse where a group of music fans get together and hold shows. They have a mailing list they use to announce the shows but they don’t advertise or promote. The whole operation is extremely streamlined, down to the point where three people can book this event on an ongoing basis without serious interruption to their everyday lives. And it’s very popular within a small circle of gig-goers, a success. It sells out.

Not long ago, they booked an Australian Idol contestant to play. 

So these are not harsh noise house parties.

This is something else entirely.

This type of activity is not punk but it is a result of resistance and a desire for autonomy. These people very deliberately looked at the loud, calamitous Sydney live music scene around them and said, ‘No, we want something different.’

Then they went ahead and made it happen.

—

This is happening everywhere.

All over the world. Every city I’ve visited as a researcher has some sort of grass-roots performance space. Increasingly, these spaces are not solely about fast guitar-based music. There are collectives and groups documenting these sites, archiving things. Histories and futures are being laid down by people who are bored, creative and motivated.

I’m always reading the history books at work. The more I look, the more this theme keeps popping up, time and again. It’s kind of how the wider circulation of contemporary music got started:

What [Sun Studio’s owner Sam] Phillips was looking for [in Harmonica Frank’s music] was something that didn’t fit, that didn’t make sense out of or reflect American life as everyone seemed to understand it, but which made it beside the point, confused things, and affirmed something else. What? The fact that there was something else (from Greil Marcus Mystery Train, p.18)

Regular people, with regular jobs, regular desires and regular lives, have often – it seems – felt the desire to map out a little space and create something in it.

—

So the problem I have with the word punk is pretty simple: the core ideals of punk (resistance and autonomy) do not belong to punk and never have done. Resistance and autonomy belong to every one who isn’t a complete drone.

These concepts pre-date punk by decades. (Centuries probably.) In a nutshell, people have routinely told authority and dominance to go fuck itself when they thought it was out of line. They’ve always found ways to get it done. Sometimes it’s huge and noticeable. Sometimes it’s subtle and slight. This is kinda how we get our lives done. It’s ongoing.

Yet punk is notoriously guarded. It’s the first to cry fowl if it feels it’s being co-opted. Maybe it needs to remain mindful of its own co-opting.

The DIY venues existed before there was a term for them.

People acted without intermediaries before punk.

People played passionately and raucously before punk.

People rebelled with music well before punk.

The hands-on craftwork of self-made art is eternal.

And even punk’s ground zero is suspect: ’77 belongs as much to The Eagles as it does The Sex Pistols, if you read a bit wider (thank-you Tara Brabazon for pointing this out recently).

Punk was great: it opened up space. It allowed people in. We should be ever thankful that something so beautiful even happened.

But it needs us more than we need it. Be a punk if you want to be. At least you’ll have done something with your life. But don’t ever mistake it for a distinctly open-minded point of worldview. Punk has only ever been an articulation of broader ideals and values. It has many, many benefits: kinship, a dramatic yet accessible code of dress and aesthetics, some political clout, a lot of great music but…

At the core of punk are a set ideas and values that anyone can live their life by, if they choose to.

And many people do, everyday, they just don’t bother giving it a name.

 

—

 

ON AN UNRELATED NOTE: The Vine recently published quite an extensive interview I did with fellow academic Nic Carah. We mainly talk about the role of branding at Australian music festivals. I think it turned out great and serves as a pretty good primer on how the music industry and the advertising industry interact: http://www.thevine.com.au/music/interviews/music-fan-you-are-being-sold/

Why I Still Review Albums

AKA IF YOU WANT TO TAP DANCE, GET ON THE TITANIC

The music critic should not use first person pronouns.

The music critic should always describe the music accurately.

The music critic should keep it brief and entertaining and informative and fair.

The critic should arbitrate taste, be bold.

The music critic should always know they’re being indulged by his/her reader and thus should be referential, respectful.

These are the consensus opinions, no matter how contradictory.

This is the truth: there shouldn’t even be music critics any more so all those rules are wrong.

—

It was supposed to stop.

To me, it’s not enough to doubt or debate the meaning of music criticism in 2012. Questioning it is just wistful and naive; the ridiculous hypothetical that technology will reverse itself, that tides will turn, that the whole world will be sucked inside out again. It’s all garbage logic. Delusional. The music writer needs to understand that a ‘good’ critical review – that follows all the rules – is now nothing more than the Lorem Ipsum sitting between the album cover and the track/album stream in a well-tooled advertisement. In terms of its older traditional functions, music criticism is dead, dead, dead.

At present, critical music writing is seldom any better than the copy that came with the Tame Impala’s one sheet:

“Be Above It applies a cleansing pressure hose to the brain, and Endors Toi plunges you into a deep sleep of ripping guitar riff dreams. Music To Walk Home By is as it says on the tin, announcing its arrival at the front gate with the kind of ceremonious, shredding guitar riff that makes home seem like a good place to be. Keep On Lying intentionally drifts in and out as if in the middle of a wandering jam at the end of the earth, Feels Like We Only Go Backwards is as close as Tame Impala will ever come to a top down cruising anthem, albeit one from a cracked reality and soaked in a deep, solo melancholy. Elephant doesn’t hide it’s rollicking, outerspace glam strut, while Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control arguably boils the essence of Lonerism into a dense, ecstatic brew of utopian proportions.”

It’s a shitty paragraph, sure, but it works. Listen to Elephant if you like:

‘Outerspace glam strut,’ is a more than serviceable description of this.

You can trust the rest too, in my semi-professional opinion. There’s some omission but that’s just the cost of business.

Does it recall things one would never mention in a press release?

A: Yes

(The Beatles, mixer Dave Fridmann’s band, Deerhunter.)

Details. Trivia.

Of course, you don’t need any of it.

Find that leak. Draw your own conclusions.

—

So why do I still write music criticism?

(A) Money: Not much money and not enough to justify the hours I put into it but it’s a hobby. The fact that it makes any money at all is a bonus. Yet I have gotten a little accustomed to this bonus. I have a seperate account for these bonus dollars and I occasionally look at it and think: ‘I’m gonna buy myself something nice with that one day.’ Maybe life coaching?

(B) Refined Cynicism: No matter how tired, ineffectual and dull music criticism is, for a good record it’s better than nothing. We live in an accelerated culture where people’s attention is a prized commodity. That means even a bad review is better than no review. Are people influenced by my work? No, probably not. But they’re definitely reminded by my work. The albums I review are more visible. They take up visual real estate on web pages. It’s undeniable fact. You need one undeniable fact every now and then if you’re reviewing music.

(C) Freedom: When no one is reading and the pay is lousy, I’m encouraged to try things. The stone cold truth is: I’ve never been more free as a music writer. Nor as inspired to write differently. It’s virtually demanded of me. Novelty is one of the last gimmicks music criticism has left. This should be a golden age.

(D) Romance: I must be a romantic because the alternative still seems worse. I mean, my editors could automate the process and pipe the press materials directly into their websites. People like me could be paid $30 / album to copy-edit and polish. It’d be easy, fast work. I’d do it, until I found something else. And then everyone everywhere would be happy, yes?

The bands will never get a hurtful opinion.

The readers will never have their own opinions intruded on by some glorified blogger.

The industry would be streamlined.

It might even slide by completely unnoticed. The structure wouldn’t change. The face of the pages won’t change. Productivity, efficiency, cost/benefit, customer satisfaction, advertising spend, all go up as formalised music criticism dries up and dies.

The End. 

—

(Somewhere in regional Victoria, Garreth Liddiard hears the news of criticism’s passing. He smirks a little. Uni students, the lot of them.)

—

But till that day…

I’m having a nice time and there’s an invoice attached.

This Is Why I Talk About Options Instead Of Answers

I think most of the blah-blahing about MP3s versus records (or printed books vs. e-books) is a mix of honest-to-God personal preference and sheer sentimentalism. I think we all need to shut up about this, because nothing anyone writes or says is going to change any minds. Most of the drum-beating amounts to snobbery for being part of a grand tradition or arrogance for being an early adopter. Both are equally foolish things to be prideful about. Find what works for you, and be happy with it. Music is fun and nourishing. Let it be. - Frank Chimero

History Is Made At Night: The Importance of Live Venues

AKA THANK GOD FOR CLINTON WALKER 

One of the best Australian music books you could read this year was published on a small academic press and unless you’re a nerd (or an avid reader of Mess&Noise, same difference) you probably didn’t notice. This book – History is Made at Night: Live Music in Australia by Melbourne Sydney-based music writer Clinton Walker – is the sort of thing a lot of musicians should get ahold of.

Why?

Because it’s a sustained, thoughtful and entertaining argument for something most of us hold very dear: live music. It’s written in the shadow of the recent strife with Melbourne’s Tote Hotel  but for a writer of Walker’s talent, this is just a starting point. He takes that moment and succinctly unravels why and how it could ever have been  seen as acceptable to close down a beloved venue for virtually no reason.

As such, this book is all the ammunition a musician (repeatedly) need to clarify and defend what we do against a range of things: the real estate industry, bad policy, snobbish arts funding and an exploitative commercial industry. And this is the exact sort of work my discipline (popular music studies) needs to be doing in Australia.

That said, I figure you’re probably not going to find it at your local book store, much less read it.

So here’s my notes:

—

On the function of venues:

‘…I can vouch for what goes on in these rooms: a ritual of social and artistic communion and transcendence that is increasingly rare in a world of virtualization, isolation and commodification.” (3)

On vocational training:

‘You don’t learn how to write a song in school,’ (Paul) Kelly said. ‘You can’t do a TAFE course on how to play in front of an audience. These places were my universities.’ (5)

The live music industry is big:

…the value is enormous. The industry boasts nearly four thousand venues nationally which put on more than three hundred thousand gigs a year and attract forty million punters, generating more than a billion dollars’ revenue and employing fifteen thousand. (6-7)

Damn straight:

‘Popular music isn’t in search of an audience, nor is it seeking to remix its demographic; it’s already got a vast and incredibly diverse audience. It doesn’t seek grand public monuments like an Opera House either. Everybody knows it’s (almost) never received government funding, and it’s hardly about to start sticking its hand out now. All it’s really asking is that when it does find some little hole in the wall in which to perform without harming anyone, it’s not harassed in doing so. All it’s asking is that the contempt, vilification and harassment stop. Now.’ (9)

You Are Never Just A Musician

AKA I WANNA BE DIVERSIFIED

The successful pop star has her hand in a half dozen different media and a half dozen different genres. Take Chrisina, she sings, dances, co-writes. She does philanthropic work, acts in film, endorses brands. She is a public face for hire and designs jewellery. She is not equally gifted at all these things but she gets by and she moves with the times. She rides the trends.

The successful indie band has its hand in half a dozen different media and half a dozen different sub-genres. Take Sonic Youth, the big kahuna. They sing and flop around onstage. They write songs, appear in film (documentaries, Last Days), endorse guitars and coffee. They maintain music labels and fashion labels, solo careers and various curation projects. They experiment. They move with the times. From no-wave to classic rock to grunge to classical / experimental to reissuing everything.

The successful local band has its hand in a few media and usually one genre. Pick any band you know personally. They sing, they perform, they write songs, appear on Youtube, self-release their albums (or have a friend do it) and maintain their often unrelated, increasingly professional day jobs, for money. The good ones do more than that: they book shows, books tours, take photos, blog, write, record, document, broadcast, inspire and encourage. They don’t – as rule – change with the times. Instead, they break-up and reappear as a new band.

The motivations are different but the activity is comparable.

Everyone rocks a diverse deal these days.

And that’s why ‘diversify’ is such a buzzword in industry: It works.

The focused pure authentic musician who only plays music is something that dumb white guys made up. It’s a bogus history with no real foundation. Forget this history.

If you play music, the question isn’t whether to diversify.

The question is: How well are you already doing it?