The Spotify issue

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There was recently a lot of discussion around Spotify and how little they pay for streaming royalties. And while I do agree that Spotify and other streaming services should be paying more then they currently are, I also thing the argument here is flawed. At the end of the day, I don’t think Spotify is the issue, I think we are.

A thought experiment. This is meant to be illustrative so the numbers have no relationship with reality, I’m just making a point.

Let’s say there’s a band that releases a song on a platform (any platform, doesn’t need to be Spotify) and that song gets a million streams. Here are the payouts for a million streams broken out by platform (I just googled the rates). This doesn’t take into account fees and cuts and all the other stuff that would come out of this, just a basic number of streams X rate.

  • Tidal ($0.013 per stream): $13K
  • Spotify ($0.003 per stream): $3K
  • Amazon ($0.004 per stream): $4K
  • YouTube ($0.008 per stream): $8K

Now here’s the thought experiment. Lets say of the people that are listening to that track the average is four streams per person. That means 1M streams is about 250K people. Let’s say half of those people really enjoy that track, that’s 125K people. If the people that really enjoy that track went out and paid a dollar to buy that track, that’s $125K. Now the artists are not going to get that full $125K, there are fees and cuts associated with selling the track through different platforms, but every professional musician I’ve ever heard talk about this stuff has stated that buying your music from them is the best way to support them.

The issue here is that we expect art to be funded within a capitalistic framework, but that has literally never happened. Capitalism only sees value in relation to the market, i.e. only in relation to monetizable product. Capitalism does not see art, it sees products that can be bought and sold. Replacing your music collection with a streaming service is convenient, but it reduces the value of the music to the above rates because those are the rates that the market has set. If you believe that the music is worth more then that yelling at the market is not going to change anything because you have no direct control over the market forces. Even if you can collectively shame platforms into paying more, that pressure campaign must be a constant long term thing, because the minute you stop pressuring the platforms they’ll revert back to the rates that the market sets.

There is some good news here though. There is a simple way to fix this problem. Give artists money. That’s it. Don’t expect that corporations will fund art (and we’ve moved beyond music here to include all art in the broadest sense possible) you need to do it directly. Check to see if artists have a Patreon or if they use some other platform for fundraising. If you’re not sure, ask them. I’ve never seen an artist get annoyed at someone offering to give them money. A lot of them will be very touched and appreciative that you were willing to put in the effort to figuring out the best way to support them.

And this funding doesn’t need to be some huge gesture either. If all you can afford is to throw an artist a couple bucks now and then, then that’s valid. We do not individually support artists, we do it collectively. You do what you can in that moment. And as your moment changes, may be you can give more or less. You do what you can though and the person next to you does what they can and so and so forth and collectively we accomplish the things that capitalism can not comprehend.

So, to reiterate, I fully support movements to get the platforms to increase the amount of money that they are paying artists. At the end of the day though, artists should not be beholden to corporate overlords to tell them what they’re art is worth. We should be doing what we can, big and small, to support the people who are creating the art that touches our lives and gives it all meaning. We owe them that.

The Mechanic’s Guide

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In many ways, stories are more important then truth. The stories that we tell ourselves, whether they are “true” or not, shape the world we live in and control when and where we will see opportunities or obstacles. Here’s a story that I was told when I was around 18. A lot of this story ended up being true, though bits and pieces were exaggerated either by the person who told me the story or in how I’ve remembered it.

The story concerns the above two women, Jenny Toomey and Kristin Thomson. Jenny and Kristin had a band called Tsunami out of DC in the 90s. They also ran a record label called Simple Machines Records. One of the more famous releases on Simple Machines wasn’t music though, it was a pamphlet called the Mechanics Guide.

The story as I was told/remember was that after being in Tsunami and a couple of other bands and running Simple Machines for a little while, Jenny and Kristin got together with some of their friends and decided to put everything they had learned down on paper so they could share it with other people. How to book a show, how to book a tour, how to record your band, how to turn that recording into an actual release, how to start a label, how to promote a label, etc. And the instructions were pretty low level. Not just ‘send your record to a record pressing plant’, but ‘here’s the plant that we use and what they charge us, and here’s another plant that our friends use and their rates’.

The idea was that it was everything you needed to know to start taking part in your culture in whatever way that meant for you. If you were the kind of person to form a band, here’s what you need to know. If you were the kind of person who’d rather form a label or a zine or book shows, here’s what you need to know. It was rooted in the idea that the reason most people were passive in their culture was because they didn’t know how to be anything else. So, teach them how to be active in the culture and some of them will go and do that.

I’ve been thinking about this story a lot recently and what it means. Not just in its promotion of DIY culture, but in what it says about helping the people that came after you. At the end of the day Tsunami were a great band and Simple Machines was a great label, but neither of them was revolutionary. People had done these things before and they’d do them afterwards. The revolution came in Jenny and Kristin’s decision to help the people who came after them. To make it a little easier and to share the knowledge they’d learn. An act that I still see as the punkest thing anyone has ever done.

Like I said, when I finally got around to looking into this story I found that a good chunk of it was actually true, though may be exaggerated. If you’re curious about the official story, you can find that here on the Simple Machines website.

Epilogue

Jenny and Kristin closed up Simple Machines in the late 90s after Kristin moved to Philly and they got got burned out on the business side of running a label. As an encore though they joined forces with several friends and founded the Future Of Music Coalition which helped independent musicians make sense of the new digital landscape and lobbied governments to ensure that independent musicians had a seat at the table as the new rules were being drawn up.

Jenny currently works at the Ford Foundation.

Kristin currently works at the Media Democracy Fund.

Creating truth from nothing

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I was recently reading the book Queercore: How To Punk A Revolution, an oral history of the Queercore punk scene, and I came across an interesting story.

One of the pivotal moments in the creation of queercore was the zine JDs, created by G.B. Jones and Bruce LaBruce. The zine documented a thriving gay punk scene happening in Toronto at a time when punk was still fairly homophobic and many gay punks struggled to find a way to reconcile their identification as both punk and gay. JDs presented a scene where these two things were able to exist side by side with no apparent contradiction. And, most importantly, here was a place where punks could be openly gay and feel accepted.

There was one issue though, it didn’t exist. The Toronto gay punk scene was in fact a handful of friends who all hung out at the same bar and a couple of whom had formed a band that occasionally played said bar. No one outside Toronto knew this though and so everyone just took them at their word and they went off and founded their own gay punk scenes all over the US and Canada because they thought that bridge had already been crossed and it was a natural normal thing.

In the book Kathleen Hanna sites JDs as a big inspiration in how she talked about riot grrl in the early days. Back when she still talked to the press about it, she would tell them that riot grrl was a national movement with groups all over the country. In truth, it was a couple dozen folks at the time, mostly in DC and Olympia, WA. Again though, people didn’t know that and so they thought they were walking down well trodden trails when in fact they were blazing brand new ones.

When I was thinking about this, it occurred to me that this wasn’t the first time I’d come across this tactic. R.U. Sirius, the original editor in chief at the infamous cyber punk magazine Mondo 2000, admitted, years after the magazine folded, that they regularly invented stories for the magazine if they couldn’t find actual people that were living the story that they wanted to tell. Again, the expectation was that people would read the article and be inspired to do their own thing, because they thought someone else had already done it.

The whole thing gives new meaning to “be the change you want to see in the world”.

Acknowledging ugly truths

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I’ve seen a couple of videos on TikTok that put forward the idea that punk is inherently inclusive and that if something is sexist, misogynistic, homophobic, etc. then it can’t be punk. While I applaud actively trying to make punk inclusive for everyone, and I may be taking to video creators too literally in their comments, I’m very uncomfortable with this sentiment.

The reality is that a lot of punk’s early history is sexist and misogynistic and homophobic and transphobic and all the rest. A quick read through oral histories like Please Kill Me and We’ve Got the Neutron Bomb makes that clear. And we’re not even getting into hardcore here. To present punk as something that was always inclusive is to just ignore the history of punk. It also makes telling the story of punk difficult.

How do you explain Kathleen Hanna’s call of “girls to the front!” or the concept of girls only shows, with out acknowledging the misogynistic environment that riot grrl pushed back against?

How do you explain the importance of zines like J.D.’s and Homocore or bands like Pansy Division and Team Dresch without acknowledging the homophobia in the scene?

And beyond the concepts, there’s the simple matter of giving people their due credit. Riot Grrl and Queercore were two of the most important movements in the history of punk. Not because they gave us great bands, but because they rebelled against the rebellion. They called out the hypocrisy and bullshit of punk and they demanded that it be what it was supposed to be. That took a lot of guts and a lot of courage and it deserves to be recognized. And that recognition can not be properly given unless we’re willing to talk about how and where punk has failed.

In the end the power of punk comes from it’s honesty. This is an art form that is at it’s best when it is being brutally honest about the best and worst things about humanity. If we’re going to move this art form forward and pay proper tribute to the people who came before us, then we need to be brutally honest with ourselves about how we got here. We need to celebrate the things we got right, but we also need to acknowledge the things we got wrong. And we need to honor the people who showed us we were wrong.

Seek You by Kristen Radtke

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The following quote is from Seek You by Kristen Radtke.

Decades before the internet’s invention, producers of early television coined the term “the coconut effect,” referring to any sound or special effect divorced from reality but whose presence was required since viewers had come to expect it.

Think here of the dried, empty coconuts that were clapped together in a sound booth to create the clicking of a horse’s hooves, even when the animal was walking on dirt or grass, or the sharp, excessive metallic sound of a tv sword being drawn from its sheath.

And, of course, the laugh track, which grew to annoy viewers; yet when it was removed, they complained that their viewing pleasure was diminished by its absence.

What mid-century television viewers might have liked, and perhaps what social media users respond to now, is exaggeration: a not-entirely representational, slightly enhanced version of the lives they recognize. This concept can be applied to animal behavior, too.

Baby seagulls ask their mothers for feed by tapping their beaks against a red stripe that runs down the center of hers. When scientists present yellow popsicle sticks to the nest, painted with a red stripe, the birds peck at it just as they would their mothers.

But when they’re offered sticks painted with three stripes, the baby birds run over each other, frantic to ge closer to the stick, pecking maniacally. They ignore the single stripe, and even their real mothers, in favor of the hyperbolic impersonation.

Outcries over the ways in which the digital age distorts relationships to reality may be warranted, but perhaps this distortion has become so possible because we animals have preferred it all along.

If we no longer feel tethered to the communities our species was molded into needing, the act of posting a selfie or a carefully edited portrait of our banal domestic lives could just be a muted form of personal rescue.

Is display a form of dilution or is the broadcast part of what makes it real?

Ian MacKaye – Creative Time Summit DC Keynote (2016)

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…sometimes when we play shows I always try to remind the audience that we are the band, they are the audience, we are collectively making a show. If the audience was not there we would be practicing. The energy that happens between a band and audience is the thing that can elevate the moment and make it into something that is… transportive I guess or whatever the word is.

[Talking about Dischord Records]: ‘…December will be 36 years. This is a label that has been around… I just want to point out a few things. Never used a single contract. I don’t have a lawyer, never had a lawyer. We pay royalties every six months still to this day. I have four employees, who have health care. I just want to say those things out loud because people say ‘It’s to idealistic’ it’s not to fucking idealistic if you just do the work that’s in front of you and most of all if you don’t look beyond the work to the profit because that is the distraction. It’s the money that always gets in the way.

I do know one thing. Artists are translators, that I’m pretty sure about. They see something; they have to explain it. And the way they explain it, if they’re visual artists they make a picture, ‘this is what I see’. And if they’re writers and they’re thinking, ‘this is what I think’. And if they’re musicians, ‘this is what I hear’. And if they’re dancers, ‘this is how we dance’. They’re translating.

Facial hair as metaphor

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I’m about a year into growing my beard out now.

The first time I tried to grow my beard was in the fall of ’94. I was 19 years old and had a bit of a problem. I felt like a weird, strange person who preferred the company of other weird and strange people, but I looked fairly normal. In my undiagnosed autistic mind, I needed some kind of social signifier that would let other weird people know that I was in fact one of them and not one of the boring normal people appearances be damned. This was the source of my discontent with life and if I could just come up with a way to let my people know who I was, I would find where I fit in and be happy.

The problem was finding that signifier. My hair is thick so any attempt to grow it out quickly becomes a haystack of annoyance. I’ve never really had the courage to pull off dying my hair, especially not back then. Nor did I have the confidence of pulling off outrageous clothes and those tended to be uncomfortable anyways so that was out. What I could do though was grow my beard.

Back in ’94 beards weren’t a thing in most of the country yet. In my experience they were limited to mountain folk, bikers, and hippies. And since I was in the process of turning into a bit of a hippie it seemed like a perfect solution to my problem.

My first beard did not look particularly good and so didn’t last particularly long. I did keep growing them over the years though and it started to come in proper and looking better. Eventually I decided that I just didn’t like the way I looked without a beard and so a couple of years ago I decided that I wasn’t going to shave it off anymore going forward. I did keep it trim and neat so it would look proper and appropriate. I admit to some jealousy when I saw someone who’d let it grow. I didn’t live in a world where I could do that though and something is better then nothing.

At the beginning of 2022 I was turning into a bit of a hermit. Sobriety had left me sorting through a lot of things and with the cold weather and the still lingering pandemic I just kind of stopped leaving my house except to get groceries. I stopped getting my hair cut and stopped trimming my beard. By April the hair needed to be cut, but I’d grown accustomed to the beard being long. It had turned into a physical representation of my unmasking journey. And when I did figure out I was autistic in the summer it just seemed even more appropriate.

At this point I let my barber clean up my sideburns when I get my hair cut, but otherwise it just grows. And while it grows, I try to figure out how to make this all work.

Queercore and Assimilation

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Queercore: How to Punk A Revolution is an oral history about the Queercore punk scene and it’s creation. Below are a series of quotes about the assimilation of the gay rights movement into the mainstream that I thought were interesting.

The goal of gay liberation was to expand what is possible for a human being, to open up the society and make all different ways of living, and all different ways of being sexual and being in a relationship and being in a community, accessible and possible for all people. Eventually this movement, as the country and the world became more reactionary, was replaced by a gay rights movement. And that’s an entirely different idea. It’s not about social transformation; it’s about gay people fitting into already-existing social concepts of what is acceptable. So what we have now is that instead of gay people, or queer people, changing the world, the world has changed us. Now we become acceptable to the degree that we resemble the dominant culture.
When Barack Obama says that we should respect gay people because we should respect love, what he’s talking about is gay marriage and gay family structure, which is what love means to him. He is not talking about sexual liberation at all, and he’s not talking about even the basics of antidiscrimination laws. He’s talking about us fitting exactly into his concept of how a citizen should behave. Herbert Marcuse called that repressive tolerance-when you’re tolerated, which keeps you in a position of subservience and inferiority at the will and whim of the dominant group. And this is being touted, hours after Obama’s speech, as this revolutionary concept that shows that gay people have arrived. But actually it shows that we’re in terrible trouble. Because on our own, in the places where we are different from dominant culture, there’s no acceptance at all.

Sarah Schulman (writer)

Tom Jennings had a giant banner up in his house at 666 Illinois in San Francisco that said No Assimilation Ever. Now… TV shows like Will & Grace and Glee are all about, Look how cute we are. We’re gay-don’t you love us? We’re so cute. If God hates fags, why are we so cute? Which is one way-and it’s a very important way-to bring visibility and awareness about queers, to be like, Look, we’re charming. We’re cute. We’re just like you. Look how adorable we are and how sexy.
But we were like, Yeah, we’re queer; you hate us, right? Yeah, we’re that. We’re that thing you hate. And people… I guess it’s the same reason you pay money to go on a rollercoaster, because it’s scary-we pay to be scared. And people wanted that. Sometimes you want Will & Grace, sometimes you want Tribe 8. Like we always say, there’s room for Melissa Etheridge and there’s room for Tribe 8, but you need both. You come at the problem from all directions, y’know; from the mellifluous sounds of Melissa Etheridge, singing about climbing through some babe’s window, to us being like, Suck my dick, motherfucker! You need both.

Lynn Breedlove (member of Tribe 8)

I always talk about the luxury of normality. The first time I experienced the luxury of normality was in the late ’90s, when I went to a Radical Faerie gathering. I was not well known to the Radical Faeries-I hadn’t starred on Broadway, hadn’t been nominated for a Tony, hadn’t played Carnegie Hall, this was before all of that. So I went to a Faerie sanctuary, it was my first night there, and I put on this gold lamé dress to go to dinner. And as I was walking through the camp, there were all these people dressed in amazing, outlandish, gorgeous ways, and nobody batted an eye when I walked past. I was used to being stared at, my whole life-either the object of misogynistic comments or homophobic comments, sometimes twice in ten minutes, by different people who perceived me in different ways. No one batted an eye, and I was so shocked, because I had never been invisible before. I burst into tears-it was such a profound thing, to understand what it’s like for most people to just walk down the street and not cause a stir.
So I understand the desire to assimilate. I understand the desire to be a man who lives with your husband and your children in a suburban neighborhood. It’s a comfortable, safe lifestyle, and I wouldn’t begrudge anyone a comfortable, safe lifestyle. I mean, I would like to have a comfortable, safe lifestyle myself; and maybe someday I will be more invisible. I think as I get older and I read more as a sort of well-off, middle-aged white woman, I am more invisible, which I like. But that doesn’t change people’s reactions to finding out my truth, and for me, my truth is the most important thing.
And that has nothing to do with assimilation or queer politics; it’s a demand that I put on myself to be honest, and to grow, and to be able to change, and to not be stuck in an idea that someone else has of me-whether it’s my parents, or a current lover, or what I think a future lover might want from me, or my public, as an artist. So I think the idea of being assimilationist is vilified unfairly. But I also don’t think that demanding a space to be yourself should be considered a threat to anybody. I call it, like, expanding the circle of normality.

Justin Vivian Bond (actor/singer)

Nothing irks me more than seeing-like, my Wikipedia page says American songwriter. I was never an American songwriter! I want to be known as the Jewish lesbian folk singer. I want to say the word Jewish; I want to say the word lesbian; I want to be known as a dyke the minute I walk out the door, every single day. Because I feel like being myself is the most political thing I can do.

Phranc (Jewish lesbian folk singer)

From a different chapter, but worth mentioning.

By its very nature, queercore is a herd of cats. People who call themselves queer tend to be aggressively individualistic, y’know? I don’t want to be male or female. Why do I have to fit in your paradigm? I want to be who I am, and that might be some of both or neither or something else at any given moment. My gender, my body, my expression is mine to define. But that’s the thing; for all the differences, there is that unifying idea, that unifying unmet need. None of us can be that or do that alone, because it leaves us too isolated, which leaves too many of us vulnerable-which leaves too many of us dead at the hands of haters. So we come together. Not just despite but because of our differences, because together we can do things that we can’t do alone.

Deke Nihilson (co-creator of Homocore zine)

Here we go again

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I honestly don’t remember how many times I’ve created a new blog with the intention of publishing some kind of writing. Twenty fiveish years ago I made some kind of name for myself and found a community writing about music, and I can’t extinguish the hope that I can replicate it again. Of course, now isn’t back then, and a single blog in the ocean of content isn’t a mailing list with a built in audience of like minded people, but that little quiet voice keeps talking and sometimes, for my own sanity, I need to give into it.

Plus, writing has always been the way I make sense of things and as I’m learning about being autistic don’t I keep seeing the advice to lean into these kind of things? So we’re doing this again, even reusing an old url this time. I guess picking up things I’d previous discarded is becoming a bit of a trend in this whole unmasking process.

Anyways, we’ll see where this experiment goes. I obviously would love to see this turn into something and for me to find some sort of new community, but past performance would indicate otherwise. So I need to try to do this for me, a mark that I make that may never be seen by anyone else, but I know it’s there and that needs to be enough. Otherwise past performance tells us this will get tossed off in frustration when no one reads and what’s the point of pushing that boulder again?