TEGAN AND SARA

Nicholas Charles Reinhart, guitarist/songwriter extraordinaire.

Nick Reinhart has many qualities, but none greater than the quality of knowing exactly what he wants. He’s a confident dude. He’s also unusual, both as a musician and as a music-appreciator. He’s the songwriter in Tera Melos, a trio of savants from the hilly suburbs of Sacramento, CA. Though the band has toured with The Fall Of Troy, Portugal. The Man, and other young, progressive bands, and though Tera Melos cite Hella and Dillinger Escape Plan as influences, there are no established reference points for music this experimental. Many Melos songs sound like an entire history of Saturday morning cartoons squashed into six minutes of furious, largely instrumental experimental rock music.

The music works because Mr. Reinhart—and Tera Melos—grasps an faultless vision of what music should be. It should be “fun.” At times, it’s odd to hear Mr. Reinhart describe music so simply when he constructs sounds so complex. Late last summer, I sat down with Mr. Reinhart after a show in Fresno, CA. We discussed how music fits into his life, where his songs come from, and, above all else, the Canadian alternative pop duo Tegan And Sara.



BRILLIANTMP3S: How would you describe Tegan And Sara to someone who's never heard Tegan And Sara?
Nick Reinhart: They remind me of Blue Album-era Weezer mixed with Pinkerton with girls singing. I don’t have much frame of reference for other alternative rock bands. Usually Weezer is the band I’ll use to compare other bands to because Weezer is my favorite band. So I like other bands that will bring me back to Weezer. There’s something about that Tegan And Sara album [The Con] that makes me feel like I’m listening to Weezer with girls.

BRLMP3S: So you downloaded this album before it came out?
NR: I’d been looking for it. I found it. I was really stoked and I hadn’t heard anything off it yet. I was really intrigued by them and I ended up liking it right off the bat.

BRLMP3S: Were you into the last album?
NR: No. You gave me the last album when I first got my iPod. You were like check this out. I remember putting it on and Nate [Latona; Tera Melos’ bassist] going through my iPod and going, “Oh, Tegan and Sara, those are those lame girls that sing.” The intrigue started in Alternative Press magazine, in the most anticipated records of 2007, like six months ago or something. There was a picture of Tegan and Sara getting their hair done. They just look super cute in these striped tops and I was like, damn. At the time I didn’t even know they were lesbians. I was super intrigued by them. I started looking for it and looking for it and started researching them and I really liked what they were all about and I got that record. Now that’s what I’ve been listening to the most out of anything.

BRLMP3S: Do you like the songs or the production or both?
NR: The production is pretty cool. It was Chris Walla, you know him.

BRLMP3S: He might be in charge of the theme for the Olympics next year.
NR: [Laughs] Really? Random. The production is cool. It’s a really clean, produced sound, which I think they could go either way. They could have a raw sound or a really clean sound, but the songs are really, really fucking cool. Super non-contrived and really innocent sounding, these two punk rock chicks playing these pretty pop songs. You should check it out.

BRLMP3S: I want to. I think that single is really good.
NR: Yeah. “Back In Your Head.” That’s Sara. And that’s the one I have a crush on.

The first single from Tegan And Sara's newish album, The Con. It's called "Back In Your Head."

BRLMP3S: Do they both write songs? Are there Tegan songs and Sara songs?
NR: Yes. They live on opposite ends of Canada and they write songs and send them back and forth. Then they’re like, what do you think of this and homegirl will add some stuff and blah, blah, blah. Actually, I don’t know if they even do that. But either way, they both do their own songs. There are Tegan and Sara songs. Once you digest the full record and watch the Youtube videos you can start to tell who is who and tell the characteristics of each writer. It’s interesting.

BRLMP3S: So what other albums have you been jamming to recently?
NR: The second most played is The Pixies Trompe le Monde and Bossanova. I’ll listen to those two records at least once every day.

BRLMP3S: What about those records got you addicted?
NR: I’ve had Bossanova since ninth grade. A friend burned it for me but I never gave it a chance to fully digest it. And for some reason I was like oh I want to check out the song “Velouria.” So I popped it on and just let the whole record play probably like two months ago and I was completely blown away. So I researched them a little more then downloaded the next record, which was Trompe le Monde, which is the most current Pixies release. On those two records, the production is so fucking cool and the songwriting rules. I realized everything about that band was what we try to make our band be, I guess, if that makes any sense.

BRLMP3S: It doesn’t. You’ll have to keep talking.
NR: Ok. Those guys, the Pixies, are not good musicians. They’re actually really jangly musicians and you can tell that from all the live recordings, I have a bunch of those too. But they’re super, super awesome melodic songwriters. They do this weird shit that is so pretty and melodic sounding, but it makes you scratch your head and rewind it to find out what it was. I just think the vocals on those particular two records are some of the best vocals that I’ve heard in a band before. That’s not why I wanted to add vocals to this band, but this was right after the fact we’d done our new record and decided to start adding vocals. I hear those two records and I was like, fuck, this is exactly how I want the vocals to come off. Because with Frank Black, it’s not so much in what he has to say, but it’s the way he presents the vocals and the way he uses his voice as an instrument. He’ll make up words and these weird phrases and shit. It’s more about how they compliment the music instead of like, oh, listen to what I’m saying. That was really awesome to me. Those are two 100% perfect records. Also, coincidentally, everyone that asks me about the Pixies is like: ‘do you like Surfer Rosa and the older stuff?’ I don’t like the old stuff at all. I think the songs are lame, well, most of them are. And I don’t like the production on the other records. And I guess on Bossanova and Trompe le Monde was when Frank Black took over and told Kim Deal, ‘I don’t want you to sing on these records, I want you to take a back seat.’

BRLMP3S: Do you listen to instrumental music regularly?
NR: No. The only instrumental band I listen to would be Hella. Well, and Squarepusher and Aphex Twin, but I wouldn’t really consider that instrumental music.

BRLMP3S: Do you have a lot of kids coming up and asking you what you listen to?
NR: Yeah.

BRLMP3S: Your band creates strange expectations, as it might pertain to the answer of that question.
NR: Yes.

BRLMP3S: But you’re honest with kids?
NR: I would say: ‘I don’t listen to instrumental music; I don’t listen to any of the bands you just listed off.’ I’m wearing a Fear Before The March Of Flames shirt but I’ve never heard this band before. [Laughs]

BRLMP3S: It’s a nice shirt. The stripes are so subtle.
NR: It’s American Apparel dude. Someone gave it to me.

BRLMP3S: American Apparel makes shirts like that? I’ve never seen that before.
NR: But if a kid asked me, yeah, of course I’d be straight with him. I’d be like, dude, you should go download the new Tegan And Sara record to go find out what I think is totally killing it right now as far as what I’m currently listening to.

BRLMP3S: See, it’s not like you can’t hear that stuff in your band, but I’m sure that most people don’t hear that.
NR: Yeah, you’d have to really, really dissect the melodic content of the songs. Obviously Tegan And Sara aren’t doing weird, fucked-up noise passages. The Pixies kind of did. That’s why I’m so drawn to those two bands right now. The way they use melody parallels the way I try and get that across. But it’s weird. I’m not going to lie. I know that it’s weird to say that those are my two favorite bands right now.

BRLMP3S: Why do you think your songs have so many passages? For me, I can hear these little moments of bands like Pixies, Weezer, and whatnot. But it goes by so quick. It takes spending a lot of time with your music to find that. Why does so much happen?
NR: Well, if you would have asked me that two or three years ago, the answer would have been, because we like to keep ourselves occupied and we get bored really easily. If we were just going to play this section of the song over for four times and transition to the next part, that would get boring to us. Especially when we were a strictly instrumental band. Now, however, that’s more of how I’ve trained myself to write. When I’m at home in my bedroom, it won’t be like, play this chord progression four times then move onto this next section. It’s like, I’ll play this riff once and then pretty much just keep adding to it to make this really, really long riff that has all these different changes in it. A riff ends up becoming an entire song. That’s why it takes so long for us to bust out new songs. The writing process is exhausting.

BRLMP3S: Are the reference points for that style of writing really musical? What else influences your writing? I’ve always felt your stuff is really cinematic. Your music made so much more sense after watching segments your movie.
NR: There’s not a cut and dry answer as to what inspires it to come out that way. It’s never been like we really, really like this band so lets write music like this. It’s never been like that. It’s just evolved to what it is. Granted, the first time I heard Dillinger Escape Plan or the first time I heard Hella I wasn’t playing fucked-up noisy whatever you want to call it music. So those two bands definitely changed the way I heard things and perceived music. But now there’s nothing that influences it to be that way other than 'let’s have fun with this and challenge ourselves with our songwriting.' Playing traditional song structures isn’t very challenging. Granted, I like that stuff a lot and at some point I do want to record solo songs, just shitty acoustic pop songs. I’m really into that, but not in the context of this band.

Snakeville Trailer I


The trailer for Snakeville, which Mr. Reinhart co-wrote and performed in.

BRLMP3S: Do you feel like a full time musician?
NR: Oh yeah. I always knew I wanted to be a full time musician, but at the beginning of this year was when it really hit me that I’m not going to be able to do anything besides this. That includes getting a real job and making money, or having a girlfriend, or doing other fun artistic projects. Which I do. I do cram more stuff in, like the music stuff, but it is 100% a full time thing at this point.

BRLMP3S: That must feel awesome.
NR: It’s cool. Right now it’s a bit stressful. It’s getting to the point where it’s like, hopefully we’ll be touring a lot next year. We can’t work normal jobs, because no one wants to hire someone who’s going to bounce out in three-and-a-half weeks and leave for a month. We’ll come home and practice and that’s a lot of fun and it’s really exciting doing new things.

BRLMP3S: But you need these tours to pay the bills for the rest of the year.
NR: Right. And right now we’re in a weird transition where we’re not touring enough to make money to pay bills at home. But if we can just stay afloat for the next six months we’ll hopefully get to that point where we can each take home a few hundred dollars towards each tour to put towards expenses. It’s cool but it’s scary at the same time.

BRLMP3S: What was the last job you worked?
NR: The last work I did was just last weekend. I did some landscaping for a friend of the family. I shoveled bark at their house. That’s the kind of odd jobs that I do. Or if my step dad’s plumbing company needs me for a job I’ll do that for three or four days. As far as “real” jobs go, I don’t remember the last job I had. I think it was probably Halloween last year. I worked at Party City. That was a long time ago now. I don’t think I’ve had a real job since then.

BRLMP3S: How would you say you’ve changed between wanting and not wanting management?
NR: A year ago the thought would have never crossed my mind about our band needing someone to help us out in that department. But now, this lady that’s helping us, she’s not like a manager-manager. She really is just functioning as a fourth member of this band, where she just does all the shit we wouldn’t know how to do. Like emailing this booking agent, or calling up her homeboy who manages so-and-so. It’s so much easier that way than us just sending off an email to whoever saying, ‘hey we’re this no-name band from California. Do you want to do some shows together?’ I think we’re at the point now where we’ll benefit from having someone like that, whereas a year ago we did not need someone to help us book shows or get us press. But it’s really fucking cool and it’s working out. It’s exciting having someone so stoked on your band and doing everything they can to help us out.

BRLMP3S: What do you call Tera Melos? What kind of music?
NR: I don’t know. Whenever someone asks me that, it’s like, ‘What do you call it?’

BRLMP3S: What if they haven’t heard it?
NR: Ok. Today I hear a knock on my door. I never answer my fucking door. I look through the peephole and it’s this crazy mailman that I always see walking through my neighborhood. You can tell he’s a nutty dude because he’s got this really long hair that’s slicked back and he wears these super thick glasses. So I’m like, fuck it dude, this guy’s funny. I’ll answer the door. He’s just delivering a package. So he gives me my package and he’s friendly and he sees this guitar hanging up in my house. He’s like, ‘oh, I see a guitar in there, do you play music?’ I was like, yeah, as a matter of fact I play in this weird, experimental band. ‘Oh cool right on, right on.’ I was like, I guess I’d compare it to King Crimson or Yes, kinda like fucked-up, non-traditional music. The dude flipped out. He’s like, ‘dude, Yes and early Genesis and King Crimson. Those are my favorite bands and I have this record and this record.’ He’s really stoked. I guess for people in their 30’s or 40’s I’d just say we’re a progressive rock band in the vein of King Crimson or Yes, because that would make sense to them. But to a kid, for example, I’ve probably been asked that so many times and I can’t think of what my answer would be. I’d just say it’s weird music and it’s probably something you’d never hear on the radio. Maybe it’s something you’ve never heard before and you’ll have to just check it out. I couldn’t explain it. It’s fast drums that probably don’t make sense. It’s loud guitar. It’s lots of weird sounds. I guess that would be the way I’d describe it if I absolutely had to.

BRLMP3S: What was in the package from the mailman?
NR: My roommate ordered two film books about directing from Amazon.

BRLMP3S: There’s really nothing conventional about you guys. Even the bands you tour with and the tours you do. It’s not that conventional. It’s not that conventional to throw an instrumental band on these huge sold out tours.
NR: That was really weird. I would agree with that. The huge band picking up the no-name band that no one has ever heard of.

BRLMP3S: You dream about that shit.
NR: Right. That was surreal, for sure.

BRLMP3S: Can you even pick out a high point of that first national Fall Of Troy tour?
NR: I remember we played the SOMA in San Diego. There are two rooms and I think we played the smaller one, which was 800 capacity. The show was, like, over sold out. We opened that show. I remember at one point, during one of the quiet parts in “40 Rods To The Hogs Head” the entire room was completely silent. It was so rad that every single fucking person in that room was listening to us and not talking or on their cell phones. We had everyone’s attention. It made me feel like that scene in Instrument, when they’re playing at that school on that school stage. It’s really clear. There’s that shot of Brendan [Canty] with that bell. I just remember it gets really, really quiet during Fugazi’s set. I remember actually being conscious during “40 Rods”, just thinking: this reminds me of that Fugazi set. That was probably the highest point during that tour for me and that was only the third show.

Actually, I have one other high point. Philadelphia at the First Unitarian Church. We were on the exact opposite end of the country however many thousands of miles away. We were late to the show and we had to load in really, really quick and it was fucking freezing outside and we had to load down these weird stairs. But we walked out and kids went nuts, because everyone apparently had been waiting for us to come to Philadelphia. It was in the basement of this church and there were 500 kids there that just went crazy and understood what we were doing and why we were doing it.

BRLMP3S: Why are you doing it?
NR: Doing what?

BRLMP3S: Doing ‘it’?
NR: It’s not something I can explain. It’s more of an intrinsic thing. I guess you can just tell when someone else gets that feeling about our music. They’re just like, dude, I fucking get this. I couldn’t put it into words and I can’t explain why I get it, but there’s just something about this music that totally makes sense. Even though none of it makes sense. I can definitely tell when people are experiencing it.

BRILLIANT MP3's by TEGAN AND SARA
(Click to download)

“Floorplan” (from The Con)
“The Con” (from The Con)
BONUS TERA MELOS MP3: "40 Rods To The Hogs Head" (from Drugs To The Dear Youth)

Mr. Reinhart is very right: The Con is an incredible album. Also, Youtubing Tegan And Sara is a rewarding experience, indeed. Perhaps my favorite discovery of the year has been the bands "Video Chapters." These chapters are making-of clips for every song on The Con, featuring in-studio footage with producer Chris Walla, drummer Jason McGerr (Death Cab For Cutie), bassists Matt Sharp (The Rentals) and Hunter Bergan (AFI), and guest guitarist Kaki King. These clips are charming, raw, and leave you feeling like these songs and people are real. Totally refreshing. I'll post as many as I can find.

For "Back In Your Head".


For "The Con".


For "Nineteen".


For "Burn Your Life Down".


For "Soil, Soil".


For "Floorplan". Kaki King, you are too cute.


For "I Was Married".


For "Are You Ten Years Ago".

TEGAN AND SARA's WEBSITE.
TEGAN AND SARA on MYSPACE.
TEGAN AND SARA on WIKIPEDIA.
TERA MELOS on MYSPACE.

SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO

I believe.

My friend Chris Mcneill made a fine point last Friday. We were at the Mezzanine, a warehouse-style performance space just south of Market Street. The English duo Simian Mobile Disco finished a tremendous set and a cadre of DJ’s were rounding off the night playing all forms of dance music. Old-fashioned techno melted into dance-pop remixes, and plenty of faceless, outsider electronica kept the floor shaking and the sweat pouring.

Mr. Mcneill suggested a certain buried denial: “How bad do these guys want to play a New Order song?”

The Mezzanine looks like a set piece from the film 24 Hour Party People, the movie that tracked the rise and slide of Factory Records, the Manchester-based label that gave meaning to proto-rave dance bands like Happy Mondays, New Order and more. The interior of Mezzanine is dark and angular (like Joy Division!). Pipes and ducts and vents and seven disco balls cover the ceiling. The walls are black. There's speakers and woofers everywhere. The real stage is the dance floor—not the awkward little triangle in the back of the club. Our mottled, culture-soaked, post-Day-Glo generation congregate and pulse.

24 Hour Party People trailer.

We’re overexposed and loving it. The Mezzanine is a new nest; both the club and its audience didn’t exist five years ago. Mr. Mcneill’s point is that they did exist 30 years ago, back in the late 1970’s in England when Tony Wilson built a magnifying glass so the world could zoom in on what was going on. There were synthesizers and drum machines, robotic vocals and noise swells. The experience of the music was half the performance and half the audiences reaction—the the party itself. The performers and DJ's touring through the Mezzanine often owe much to these forefathers.

The audience at the Mezzanine.

Inevitably, this music creates decadence and hedonism. On a busy night at the Mezzanine there are five bars. Though the Simian show was full, “only” three bars were open, not including a fourth in the V.I.P. The floor was packed and sticky. The crowd seemed knowledgeable, singing along and reacting to Simian’s James Ford and James Anthony Shaw. The group’s album, Attack Decay Sustain Release, is one of my favorites this year. The songs take Justice’s metallic simplicity and make it more elemental, mixing tempo's and genres and hooks and riffs. There’s more sass, for one, but also a bit more referencing. If Justice is like the summer vacation of the electro-pop surge, Simian is summer school. If Justice is Def Leppard, then Simian is Billy Idol. Point being: there’s a lot going on in Simian songs. I'm a fan.

The duo brought a great light show with the great tunes. The mixing boards, computers, samplers, and other sound machines were built into a Starship Enterprise-like lighting bay. Mr. Ford and Mr. Shaw jogged around the equipment bank, facing the audience every so often to create waves of thunderous narcissism—I mean applause. Large black torches, which looked like strange, abandoned runes during the opening DJ sets, lit and swiveled, creating thousands of dramatic camera phone photos.

Simian Mobile Disco in San Francisco. Dramatic camera phone photo by me.

Still. Mr. Mcneill makes a point. The music never stops at Mezzanine: it pauses briefly while Simian warms up it’s lights and gets 500 people to clap and scream, then it pauses an hour later as Simian waves goodbye and the DJ’s come back out quick as they can to spin records they hope Mr. Shaw and Mr. Ford approve of. It shouldn't be a requirement, but it would be nice to hear a New Order song in there, to hear the performers and the venue all grooving together in the name of posterity.

"It's The Beat" video.


"Hustler" video.


New Order live in 1984.



BRILLIANT MP3's by SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO
(Click to download)

“I Believe” (from Attack Decay Sustain Release)
“Love” (from Attack Decay Sustain Release)

SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO's WEBSITE.
SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO on MYSPACE.
SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO on WIKIPEDIA.

RETURN TO FOREVER

You crazy for this one, Rick.

Anyone interested in music should read the New York Times Magazine’s cover story on Rick Rubin. The story is a few weeks old now (published September 2). It’s an important piece, not only as a look into the life of Mr. Rubin, but as a survey of where the industry (and the art) stands. It’s like a buoy telling how close—or far—the music business is from where it came from and where it’s going.

My take is that the business is lost and drifting further from familiarity. I thought to write that the industry is “further from safety,” but I realized this: I’m indifferent to what happens to the current infrastructure. If it’s lost forever, oh well. Something better will come ashore. This is awkward to say since the current structure is the bread and butter for a number of my friends. My angle is more philosophical. It’s time for an overhaul.

Sony (the parent company) offered Mr. Rubin anything he’d like in exchange for running Columbia Records. Steve Barnett, the lone caretaker of Columbia before agreeing to let Mr. Rubin in the fold, wanted Mr. Rubin to “change the culture” of the label. The writer, Lynn Hirschberg, believes that Mr. Rubin was hired to do much more than this. The first question the story asks is: “Can Rick Rubin save the record business?”

Even with the inclusion of Mr. Rubin, a character of strong principles and exciting output, change remains elusive, even faceless. It’s obvious why the label barons look to a changing-of-the-guard as an essential first step to getting their profit margins back in order. The machine is slowing down; let’s get some new parts. But what if the machine isn’t slowing down? What if it’s just obsolete?

Ms. Hirschberg doesn’t take a side, though she encourages Mr. Rubin to. He hasn’t figured it out yet, at least not in the “ah-ha!” way he expects of himself. Mr. Rubin’s ideas bend from long overdue (he made Columbia agree to never use another plastic jewel case ever again) to “controversial” (Mr. Barnett disagrees that a subscription service will save the industry) to totally humane (“the most important thing we have to do now is get the art right”). He has no office but lots of assistants who scout bands and bring him protein shakes.

Mr. Rubin speaks beautifully on the nature of music. “So many of the decisions at these companies have not been about the music,” he says. “They sign artists for the wrong reasons—because they think somebody else wants them or if they need to have a record out by a certain date. That old way of doing things is obsolete, but luckily, fear is making the record companies less arrogant. They’re more open to ideas. So, what’s important now is to find music that’s timeless. I still believe that if an artist gains the belief of the listener, then anything is possible.” He couldn’t be more right or sound more genuine. Mr. Rubin is most logical when he describes the purpose of music.

Which makes Mr. Rubin a noble choice—for both president of Columbia and potential savior of the major label way of doing things. Better Mr. Rubin gets to puzzle over the issues of rampant downloading and the fall of radio and MTV than, say, a team of financial advisors who own a few copies of The Eagles Greatest Hits between them. As a producer, Mr. Rubin acts like the luckiest fan in the world, shutting his eyes and giving advice to Neil Diamond, Weezer, Metallica, the late Johnny Cash, as well as Mars Volta, Red Hot Chili Peppers, System Of A Down, and more. It’s uncertain how his artistic adoration will fare as the head chef of a giant label. “In the past, I’ve tried to protect the artists from the label,” he says. “Now my job would also be to protect the label from itself.” On taking the job, Mr. Rubin says he “thought it would be an interesting challenge.”

No one in Mr. Rubin’s position could feel surefooted, but as time elapses and the Times story arcs along, it’s evident that his confidence takes a hit. “It’s a big ship to turn around,” he vents. “Columbia is stuck in the dark ages. I have great confidence that we will have the best records company in the industry, but the reality is, in today’s world, we might have the best dinosaur.” Really, he’s speaking for all labels. That Mr. Rubin has been installed at Columbia is immaterial. It’s like volunteering to be a target in a shooting gallery that is already full of targets.

I’m being gloomy, which isn’t fair to music. As of right now, music—the art, the culture force—is amazing. It’s accessible and diverse. For the cost of my time and hard drive space, I’m able to digest dozens of albums a week. In the late nineties, when I was in high school, I worked three jobs at once. With the money I saved I’d go to Berkeley and spend $150 a month on albums. I still buy some music from Amazon, iTunes and from local bands. I signed up to eMusic for a couple months, but cancelled my subscription to see if I would miss it. Primarily, I download everything I can find from blogs and the website Albumbase.com. From Keyshia Cole to Pinback to King Crimson to the three-disc Tortoise retrospective, it’s all there. For free.

Why would I not enlarge my collection with downloading? I love hearing new music. In two months I downloaded 20 gigabytes of music, at least. That’s over 4,000 songs. In high school, when new albums were $10-$15, I couldn’t have afforded music in this volume with six or seven jobs. Even with the newer iTunes model I’d have $4,000 of new debt. I need music pretty bad. I also need room, board, and more clothes than I’m comfortable explaining. I can’t download fresh fennel or limited edition Geoff McFetridge tee shirts.

This psuedo-criminal accessibility is a mixed bag. There are lots of losers, mainly the labels, but also the producers and engineers and lawyers and agents. The whole industry hedged bets on the current system. Sadly (in some cases), the whole business deserves the wake up call it’s getting as album sales disintegrate and Apple—seemingly overnight—vacuums up monies that Sony (and the other majors) earned for decades. Mr. Rubin has a solution, though Mr. Barnett (the Columbia co-president) doesn’t believe in it. Mr. Rubin wants to let fans access every song his major label owns (and all the live, bootleg, and demo versions of those properties) for a fixed monthly subscription price. In the article, he tosses off $20/month as a fair price.

It’s not a fair price. No one wants to just own Columbia’s catalog, especially if they will lose access to the songs if they end their subscription. Even if all the majors bonded together (which is—let’s be real—an impossibility) and allow all mankind to spend $20/month to access those catalogs, what additional monies would be necessary to hear independent music? How would this include the millions (or billions) of music lovers without internet?

I really dove into this story.

David Geffen appears in the Times article with the sort of don’t-you-know-who-I-am confidence that only David Geffen could get away with: “The subscription model is the only way to save the music business. If music is easily available at a price of five or six dollars a month, then nobody will steal it.” Honestly, there are so many if’s and but’s orbiting the subscription model that I cannot comprehend why legends like Mr. Rubin and Mr. Geffen are willing to consider it. But Mr. Geffen—perhaps he does this subliminally—champions a subscription model that’s 75% cheaper than Mr. Rubin’s. This is an important distinction that got me thinking about a more important question: what if music was cheaper? What if music was really, really cheap?

I think price is the music industry’s biggest problem. Current music prices are the result of a now-Byzantine conduit of middlemen distributors that seemed essential 15 or 20 years ago. Albums that cost less than a dollar to print and package would be marked up and sold to distributors so the major labels made their profit margin before the consumer even knew an album was coming to the brick-and-mortar store. At which point the consumer would be paying $10 over what the label charged to cover the distribution and retail markups. The label would have already paid (or in most cases, not paid) its artists. The consumer—the “fan”—would ultimately be supporting the distributors and the store.

The growing digital market is already renegotiating price, though not drastically. ITunes says a song is worth a dollar and, with other online retailers following it’s comet tail, has set a new price standard (that the major label’s loathe). I don’t think a song is worth a dollar. I say that as an artist and a consumer. I think iTunes derived that price from the old-market system, where the consumer paid middlemen huge markups for 90 cents worth of plastic packaging and a disc. Without accounting for the one-time costs of writing and recording the music, iTunes’ cost of making a digital copy of the song available for sale is, essentially, nothing. The iTunes mark up is a modest—and modern—take on the major label’s system of exacerbated pricing.

A new price model needs to accomplish two goals: it needs to be more artist-friendly and more consumer-friendly. This is a huge challenge, since sharing music is the most artist-friendly thing ever. More people have my band's music than I could ever measure, just because Mr. Whomever can copy an entire hard drive of music in under an hour, or send an album in an instant message, or send a favorite song in an email. Artists benefit when the art of making music is more accessible than ever: more people go to shows, more venues exist to accommodate those people, and more merchandize exists to sell to the new audiences. There is, in general, more demand for music. A new pricing system, if drastic enough, would benefit an artist by better-measuring fan base. If albums cost a dollar (which isn’t necessarily what I’m proposing), then 50 Cent and Kanye West wouldn’t be selling 400,000-900,000 units in the first week. They’d be selling millions of albums a day. That many people care about music. People just can’t afford to keep up with every artist at the current price, or they know they can get the album for free from a friend or online.

I witnessed a corollary situation not two weeks ago, in fact it was the day the article came out. My friend Nave came to visit me in San Francisco. We started trolling Haight Street and turned into Recycled Records, an all-vinyl, music geek bug-light. Mr. Nave collects vinyl for the right reason: it let’s him find out about older music for cheap. He’s built a formidable progressive rock collection. He dove right into the Return To Forever section of the store and found a record he was missing called Hymn Of The Seventh Galaxy. The clerk, the mustachioed talisman he was, observed Mr. Nave’s find and interrupted: “if you like that, you’ll definitely dig this.” He produced a Weather Report record called Mysterious Traveler. The clerk—Moses was his name—offered to “throw in” the Weather Report record for free if Mr. Nave bought the Return To Forever record. The whole transaction set him back four dollars.

Paying four dollars for two hours of music doesn’t seem unreasonable to me. It’s obviously sensible for archaic jazz-rock obscurities like Weather Report and Return To Forever. A major label like Columbia could digitally archive it’s back catalogue by the end of the week and sell the songs for ten cents on the dollar (or less). Imagine being able to download ten albums—ten hours of music—for ten bucks. I imagine a price shift this dramatic being equalized by the sudden augmentation of the market: eight year-olds could start collections of music and still have allowance money left over for candy and toys; die-hards could back up vinyl or CDs in a matter of hours; people downloading for free might be inclined to actually buy the music they can’t easily find online; and average, everyday listeners could worry less about their wallets and more about hearing more music. What’s more important than that?

The Times’ article mentions that Mr. Rubin created a “word of mouth department” at Columbia. He’s trying to study and harness the phenomenon of sharing. It’s not that complicated: the more music people have to share, the more music is shared. (And the more music shared, the greater the audience for current and future artists.) If I can hop online and buy 15 hours of Weather Report music for less than the cost of a single hour of Weather Report music at, say, Virgin Megastore, then I’m going have (at least) 15 times the music to discuss and share. And I’ll have money left over to obsess over (and invest in) the entire spectrum of collaborators, side projects, and influences.

From an economic perspective, a price cut makes the most sense for non-current releases, because a label like Columbia is sitting on generations of music that no one is hearing. It’s not expensive to distribute music digitally, so more music should be available. (The label would cover its digitizing and promotional costs in a day, surely.) This idea of an across-the-board price cut is not motivated by economics or popularity or availability. It’s motivated by morality. It’s based on the idea that the consumer should pay for the music—the created art—not the costs of distribution or the label’s expensive Hollywood headquarters. Consumers love music and they should pay for what they love. If that lessens the role of the label (or eliminates it), then so be it. As long as there’s a structure in place that allows the maximum number of artists to reach the maximum audience, then music will continue to grow. The more growth, the more room for monetization.

Whether or not the labels are in place to capitalize on the larger audiences is unclear. As I said, the price cut needs to benefit the artists and consumers. For musicians, embracing a price cut would take considerable modesty, a decent leap of faith, and (more) hard work. What if an artist wrote a great song and set up a Paypal account and sold a million tracks for 10 or 20 cents each? Then the artist could pay a publicist and manager flat rates to make sure everyone who’s anyone knows how successful the 10 cent song is. The artist can print some physical albums and merchandise cheaply as possible, making sure the physical items are economic and collectible, then commission a distributor a flat rate to service existing stores. The artist can pay an agent a percentage to book a tour and use the touring money to pay Mr. Rubin a flat rate to record the next record. Mr. Geffen might get left out, but he already has a billion dollars. He’ll be ok.

I don’t think that the Mr. Rubin interviewed for this story is ready to make the drastic decisions that the industry needs to stop the sales dive. I think the solution is more drastic than Mr. Rubin, Mr. Geffen, or Mr. Barnett discuss in this piece. I do think that Mr. Rubin has the right motives. If an artist gains the belief of the listener, then anything is possible.

I agree.

Rick Rubin on Johnny Cash.


Complicated music from Return To Forever.




BRILLIANT MP3's by RETURN TO FOREVER
(Click to download)

“Hymn Of The Seventh Galaxy” (from Hymn Of The Seventh Galaxy)
“Captain Marvel” (from Light As A Feather)

RETURN TO FOREVER on WIKIPEDIA.
RETURN TO FOREVER on MYSPACE.
RETURN TO FOREVER on LAST.FM.
RETURN TO FOREVER on YOUTUBE.

JUSTICE

Photo by Cesar Sebastien.

I set aside Sunday night to watch the MTV Video Awards. My one word review: unprofessional. Metric tons of Viacom money were tossed at this event, yet the result showcased little visual quality response. Many parts of the show involved uncomplicated, unnecessary disasters. At one point, Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz hyped into a microphone that wasn't on for nearly a minute; Britney Spears nearly fell over, like five times; Paris Hilton looked like Barbara Walters; the singer of Gym Class Heroes seemed to be receiving alcohol poisoning instead of his Best New Artist award; the extra special guest announced by Mary J. Blige was Dr. Dre, who wasn’t here to perform—he was only there to announce Video Of The Year. (Also, Dr. Dre now has neck muscles that America can’t relate to.) No R. Kelly? Appalling. Tommy Lee was slapped by Kid Rock and they didn't even show it! Through some cruel, post-Darwinian evolutionary miracle I was still entertained at the disaster of it all, beginning with the unmentioned ubiquity of Justice.

Justice is two guys from Paris (not the heir): Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay. They are on Ed Banger Records, a label owned by Busy P, a.k.a. Pedro Winter, a.k.a. Daft Punk’s manager. (If you don't know Daft Punk's story by now, label yourself and get to the Wiki Page.) If someone would finally develop a chart system that measures new media awareness and number of shared downloads, Justice’s debut (released early this summer) would have been number one. All the hype crested (sort of) last night at the VMA's. Justice was everywhere without being there at all.

The album (the title is the sign of a cross) is awesome. Justice songs are meaty. Huge drum sounds war with frequency-damning synthesizers. There’s no verses, just occasional, brain-branding hooks. The music sounds like a child playing an old racing arcade game from the '80's in a thunderdome. It’s not that complicated to see why Viacom, or MTV, or the major labels that distribute Justice around the world see reasons to invest.

Justice has exploded into a developing moment in pop convergence, where going to the club to hear a DJ spin music stopped involving only hip-hop, or only pop, or only techno. Instead, college kids became obsessed with LCD Soundsystem, a band that’s cheaper to hear at a disco than see at, say, The Fillmore. Meanwhile, hip-hop’s biggest producers (Pharrell and Timbaland) turned their best ideas towards pop stars (like Justin Timberlake), and these ideas were disco-based. Then there’s the convergence: the top tier in the underground (pre-popular popular music) gets to remix the pop songs so bloggers can chat up Justice and Justin at the same time at the same party. It might be tough to explain the industry right now, but everyone wants a piece of the next big thing.

This was probably the intent of the VMA’s, where Justice appeared in a bunch of bizarre moments throughout the broadcast: the song "Waters Of Nazareth" appeared at the end of at least six Rhapsody commercials, and following Ms. Spears’ wobbly performance (as an overdubbed outro into a commercial break featuring a Rhapsody commercial); also the Justice song "D.A.N.C.E." was covered by DJ Mark Ronson and some rapper coming out of a commercial break, and the video for "D.A.N.C.E." received a high profile courtesy nomination for Best Video Of The Year (losing to Rihanna). That's what pop culture is all about: context. It's about how one popular thing spreads out across the spectrum of popular things, getting bigger and more significant as it goes.

The nominated video for "D.A.N.C.E."

In these ways, Justice became part of the evening’s wallpaper, the background score to all mishandled transitions in and out of performances and commercials. Transition is not something I’ve seen MTV understand. More than ever, the station has true-believed in test marketing over hiring people with trust-able aesthetics. MTV does what its parent company says, which might be alright if the results weren’t so temporary: what’s more accessible right now than three minute videos of attractive people that can sing? The Hills. Sad, perhaps, but also obvious. Kids find music from each other; they find drama in the barely-real lives of skinny white nimwits. Justin Timberlake (who Justice remixed—check out the Brilliant MP3 below) kept winning awards and avoided actually thanking anyone in favor of asking MTV to “play more videos.”

MTV(iacom) should listen to—or at least interpret—Mr. Timberlake. Instead of more shows that make Southern California look ethnically cleansed (There's a new show called Newport Harbor? Seriously?). I'm not complaining. I don't watch MTV. I watch Youtube. The thing is, I would watch MTV if it was more like Youtube. Youtube was one of the many ways I found out about Justice. Look what happened to them.

Kanye West interrupts Justice's video production teams acceptance speech at the MTV Europe Awards.

Justice's first international super hit: a remix of a Simian song. This is the video that won the award Mr. West interrupts above.


Mr. West doesn't really apologize for anything.

BRILLIANT MP3's
(Click to download)

“The Party,” from the album Cross by Justice will make your night hotter.
“Waters Of Nazareth,” from the album Cross by Justice defines the sound of this band.
“D.A.N.C.E.,” from the album Cross by Justice is the feel-great-breakout-of-the-summer.
“Lovestoned (Justice Remix),” by Justin Timberlake. I don't know how I feel about it.

JUSTICE on WIKIPEDIA.
JUSTICE on MYSPACE.
JUSTICE on LAST.FM.
JUSTICE on YOUTUBE.
JUSTICE on HYPEMACHINE.
One of JUSTICE'S LABELS.

MARNIE STERN

Ewok Lake, just south of the building where the sound for many of the greatest films ever was mixed and, in some cases, created.





San Francisco is a magnificent land. I’ve been here about six days, which turns out to be enough time to learn a lot about possibility. On a level that I don’t expect anyone to relate too, I feel that this so-called “big city” is a fully functioning wilderness. On a level that I expect everyone to relate to: I feel like an explorer.

Pre-August 1, I was coming down to SF too often to justify living 80 miles northeast. In May and June I started looking for a place to live. I found a great place north-of-the-Panhandle, near things like west-Golden Gate Park, Alamo Square Park (from Full House), Amoeba Records, etc. Here’s a google map of my new crib. Here's the Full House intro:

Sometimes we all wish we were Saget.

Coming to SF, I think that subconsciously I had a very specific goal: to never think, “this reminds me of my life in Sacramento.” That sentiment isn’t meant to burn Sacramento; it’s meant to motivate me. My last month in Sacramento was a thing of beauty, a coherent dream of staying occupied in fun ways. I lit screaming towers of cheap fireworks. I did the second Saturday Art Walk, weaving past skaters in the street, freestyling on the sidewalk, picking up free wine everywhere, and running into so many friends and strangers they became the same thing. I bought a new shirt with glasses on it. I went to a party with a bounce house and snow cones and face painting and popcorn. I ate at Zocalo and Paesano’s and Spataro, all of which I’ve been meaning to try forever. I ate at the Riverside Clubhouse, which rules. I finished the instrumentation for four new BRL songs. I did a lot of dancing. I threw a going-away dinner party and jello-party for myself. Those were delicious. I made a lot of new friends, I feel. In what is became a teary, work-stopping convocation of my time working for the State of California, the agency stopped for 30 minutes in my honor. It was beautiful. Then I quit my job.

And then I moved. I haven’t had a chance to look back, which is good, which is the point. Not wanting to have Sacramento-like experiences is a long-term thing, of course, and my six days of judgment might become irrelevant. I doubt that, though. These six days have been busy.

My first night in town involved heavy lifting and celebratory drinking. I’m not going to post some photo’s about my apartment when I get a camera and finish setting everything up. Jordan Bass, our friendship lasting half our lives, helped me move in. Mr. Bass and I cabbed to the Mission to a strange bar called The Uptown. I continued to drink scotch in a celebratory fashion while playing Simpson’s pinball.

At 11 pm I headed to Lazlow to meet Dave Smallen. Mr. Smallen’s friend Kite is a bartender, so a handshake and a smile earned me a night of free drinks. Mr. Kite dresses like Jack Sparrow and seemed to drink a shot of Fernet for every drink he poured Mr. Smallen. Around midnight Mr. Smallen turns away from a conversation he was having with Mr. Kite and another regular to ask me if I still had a car. Yeah, I said. Can you drive us to the Skywalker Ranch tomorrow so we can get a private tour, he asks. Yeah, I said.

On Thursday I woke up at 8 am. My new shower only stays warm for five minutes, which is the Cosmos’ way of telling me that I’ve spent enough time showering for a few lifetimes. I agree, Cosmos. Chill out.

I walked to the end of Haight Street, that famous bastion of Hippy-dom. It might be even more exciting without thousands of tourists and panhandlers. It’s nearly quiet, a chrysalis of the urban bazaar it becomes. I wrote in a Myspace bulletin: It's like watching history wake up.

I spent my morning at a place called Coffee To The People paying bills and applying to jobs. At 11:30 am Mr. Smallen called. We’re off to the Ranch.

At noon on my first day as a San Franciscan, I was rolling over the Golden Gate Bridge, clear sky above, the Pacific to the left, The Bay to my right, my home in the rearview and the future in front of me. I can’t remember if i said anything. It wasn’t a feeling that could have been justified in a dozen good songs.

Just before 1 pm we pulled up to 5858 Lucas Valley Road in Marin. George Lucas owns a valley. Mr. Kite introduces us to Brandon, a freelance sound engineer on assignment at Skywalker. He’s doing sound for an “indie” film (that MGM bought at Tribeca or something and is releasing on Valentine’s Day in 2,400 theaters). Mr. Brandon works on sound mixes of effects and dialogue and music for films like Borat and Requiem For A Dream. He gave us a tour of the engineering facilities, which were fucking awesome. After 2 pm we walked to the onsite cafe for lunch. To get to the cafe, you walk past Ewok Lake (no joke), the pool, the indoor basketball courts, and a bunch of deer and lizards. I had a bleu-cheese burger. And a plum grown on the Ranch. Best ten cents I’ve ever spent.

After lunch the tour continued to the "offices," which are in this enormous mansion on the property. In the hallways between the office-rooms, there was real memorabilia from some of Mr. Lucas’ lesser-known films like Indiana Jones and Star Wars. I got locked up looking at the actual Holy Grail from the Last Crusade, as well as the hat, the whip, and a very real lightsaber. There are real Norman Rockwell’s adorning the walls.

We thanked Mr. Brandon profusely. He’s a top-notch character. We gushed our way back over the Golden Gate, that same feeling of petrifying amazement momentarily distracting me from driving safely. I dropped of my compatriots and parked in the Mission. I walk into Mr. Bass’s office. His salutation comes in the form of a Budweiser, tossed from across the room. We leave around 7 pm to see an art show at 111 Minna, which is packed with at least 600 young-ish art appreciators. The show is in honor of the seven-and-a-half year anniversary of the website Fecal Face. I immediately run into, Jay Howell, one of my most favorite people ever. Mr. Howell is about to DJ. He has art in the show. Life is too good.

Jay Howell's really good art.

I ditched Mr. Bass and head to Bottom Of The Hill. I find Mr. Smallen reconnecting with our mutual old friend Heather Locklear. She lives in SF now. Our friend Anton Patzner is back for a week from his Bright Eye’s commitment. He performs with his band Judgment Day, the ingredients for which include violin, cello, drums, and metal. Mr. Smallen, Ms. Lockear and myself go to three more bars before I collapse into my bed. I saw the Holy Grail and Jay Howell and instrumental metal band. Was that a good day or a great life?

The Grail.

Only in SF could a Thursday that awesome be followed with a Friday of equal substance. I walked through the bustling Castro, getting lost every chance I got. Eventually, Mr. Bass takes me to a Mayan restaurant where they don’t have a liquor license yet so they “have” to give us free margaritas. Darn. We ate an entire snapper with our hands and teeth. What if our hands had teeth?

Then we went to two gallery openings in the Mission, picked up our friends Doug Rutsch and Chris Mcneill, then went back to Bottom Of The Hill, this time for the Crime In Choir, Sholi, and Marnie Stern show. That show is packed with familiar friends from college and Sacramento-life. What a night. Crime In Choir are off on this early-Floyd tip that totally works; Sholi are sounding great, though they played too long. Ms. Stern performed with Zach Hill (Hella) and Robbie Moncrief (The Advantage). She released one of my favorite recent albums and blew me away. We walked back to the Mission.

On Saturday Mr. Bass and his girl, Ms. Angela Petrella took me adventuring across town. We walked for five hours, stopping in boutiques, buying shirts and shoes and eating melon candies. Turns out when it comes to puffy jackets with furry hoods, I’m a triple-XL. Huh. Eventually we got dinner at the House Of Nanking, where food is ordered for you and it’s the best-tasting Chinese cuisine you’ve ever put through your culinary-analysis system. Then we drank hot-chocolate-and-brandy’s across the street. Then we regrouped, saw Egyptian Lover at Mezzanine and danced until 3:30 am at Mighty, where Juan Maclean was DJing.

I finally got to work on Sunday, before getting Indian pizza (even better than Nanking) and watching karaoke at Mint with the crew. I did more work on Monday, ate amazing Thai with Mr. Bass and Mr. Smallen, then went to Lipo Lounge in Chinatown to see our friend’s noise-rock band TITS, who sound like all the speakers are broken in the same way. Great DJ’s after the show.

Somehow, I still exist. I’m neither tired nor daunted. I’ve learned that the reaction known to mankind as “surprise” is just a waste of time, a way of getting older while accomplishing less. I’m staying lean by fitting more in. From here on out I’m in a constant state of eruption. I want to leave mineral baths and healthy soil in my wake, as it were.

I need a bed frame.

Video for the tuneful tune, "Every Single Line Means Something." Ms. Stern is about 86% this hot in real life.


Ms. Marnie Stern live.


The shred gods smileth.

BRILLIANT MP3's
(Click to download)

“Patterns On The Diamond Ceiling,” from the album In Advance Of The Broken Arm by Marnie Stern.
“Grapefruit,” from the album In Advance Of The Broken Arm by Marnie Stern.
“Absorb The Lipgloss (Lil Mama vs Marnie Stern),” from the mixtape The Hood Internet. Get this HERE.

MARNIE STERN on WIKIPEDIA.
MARNIE STERN on MYSPACE.
MARNIE STERN on LAST.FM.
MARNIE STERN on YOUTUBE.
MARNIE STERN on HYPEMACHINE.
MARNIE STERN on ELBO.WS.
MARNIE STERN'S LABEL.