Thought-provoking question from Lorelei Loveridge at Performing Songwriters. What DOES the future of the music business look like, these days? And what is our place in it?

One view (by an industry professional) suggests the “amateurization†of music production, thanks to cheap and available technology, has cheapened music to the point of valuelessness; no one will make money off music because it’s all free and anybody can do it. There was a science-fiction story about that—not specifically music, but all kinds of craftsmanship: excessive free time and technology would allow everybody to be a “hobbyist†at everything. If you wanted something, you’d just buy a kit and do it yourself. (And the only people making money would be the folks making the kits.)

That’s a very possible (though not pleasant) scenario. As a congenitally hopeful person, I’d like to view it differently—and see opportunities, no matter how dim and small they are. The industry-professional outlook assumes the future will be like the present, only extended—and the future don’t work that way. Second, every problem contains within itself the seeds of its own solution—I think Isaac Asimov said that. There are always opportunities.

Cheap and ubiquitous technology is not a problem. That stuff is cyclical. I got to be in on the last wave of it, back in the 1970s; the Dodson Drifters built a recording studio (any working band with a few thousand spare dollars could), and we produced ourselves and others—but we were famous, and our records got played on the radio, because we were good, not because we had the technology. True today. The technology is even better and cheaper—I have a studio myself, out in the garage, and it was cheap to do—but most of the stuff coming out of those ubiquitous home studios is worse than the stuff the big record companies put out.

The problem (and remember, that’s an opportunity) is one of ACCESS. What Joni Mitchell called “the Star-Maker Machinery†is pretty well locked up by a few entities pursuing the old AT&T Vertical Integration Business Plan. It works—but only so long as nobody new is allowed in. (And as we’ve seen with AT&T, quality suffers after a while.) Said entities are on or headed for the financial skids, and will either have to co-opt new talent to survive—or not survive. Either way, I do not care. They’re ignorable, and I happily ignore them.

What does one do instead? I’d go back to medieval times. Envision ourselves as troubadors: we travel around performing our own and other troubadors’ stuff, and we get paid for it. We get to sell “merchâ€â€”from T-shirts to CDs—and make a little extra money. (Madonna said this was going to happen, by the way.) We strive for bigger and bigger audiences. We can do this because there is a market out there for live performance that the big record companies aren’t supplying (and may not be able to). We use that cheap and ubiquitous technology to expand our audiences any way that works.

Innovation is the key to success; remember, it’s not in the record companies’ vocabulary any more than it was in AT&T’s. (And keep in mind innovation has a lot of dead ends—just because something’s new doesn’t mean it’s going to work. We try everything we can; we watch carefully what other people are doing, and when we see something that works, we imitate it if we can. This is all stuff the medieval troubadors did.)

And the material? I mostly ignore the Big Boys’ material—most of it isn’t very good any more anyway; there’s plenty of good independent music out there that’s way better, and people like it, and want to hear more of it. Wherewith, a War Story. A couple years ago, I performed at a retirement home for a lady’s 98^th birthday (paid gig, by the way); she wanted to hear Cole Porter ‘cause she was a fan. I told ‘em, “I can’t play any Cole Porter—but I know some Skip Johnson tunes.†(I didn’t tell them that Skip was a contemporary of mine, and a friend to boot—and that I’d musicated some of Skip’s lyrics.) The Skip Johnson tunes I played were quite in keeping with Cole Porter’s style, and she (and her friends) loved it.

What one cannot do is do nothing. That only perpetuates the present (and its problems). Like the old song says (not one of mine—sorry), “Why are you sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play…â€

Joe