An independent musician these days has to do everything. They write their own lyrics, and set them to music, and unless they’ve got a band to work with, they perform the songs on their own, too. They have to arrange their own gigs, and mostly do their own promotion. They have to either record their own stuff or find somebody to do it, and they have to either play all the instruments themselves or find somebody to do it (and in both cases, that “somebody to do it” probably has to get paid). They make their own records, and sell them themselves. And if they ever make any money at it (some do), they have to be their own business manager.

Something is seriously wrong with that picture. It’s great to be a “renaissance man” (or woman), but we’re not all good at everything; each person is good at some things and not good at others. I want to write, and I’m good at graphic design, not much else. What’s the chance I could hook up with people who are weak where I’m strong (and vice versa), and we could help each other?

It’s an application—taken a step further—of “The Collaborators” idea. The Collaborators were a bunch of writers (I was one) back in the early “aughts” who collectively recorded each others’ stuff, with ourselves as the band. The members of The Collaborators were from all over the world, but the idea would work in a smaller geographic area, too (I think—I’ve never convinced a group of musicians to try it)—a half-dozen writers, say, who put out an album with two each of their songs, performed by all of them collectively as the band.

The collective I was envisioning would incorporate more talents than just musicianship. If you’re putting out a record, somebody’s doing the producing, the recording, the mastering; somebody’s designing the label and cover, and typesetting the liner notes; somebody’s making the copies, or getting them made, and somebody’s doing the legal paperwork and arranging for the online sales.

That’s all potentially easy to arrange. I actually do know people who do all those things—including play the instruments very well; the way you’d arrange for payment, I think, would be for each to charge a nominal amount and be guaranteed a percentage of sales. The amount and the percentage are details that would have to be worked out.

But production of a CD isn’t the goal; these days, the CD is “merch”—no different from the T-shirt or button. The musician (or the collective) is in the same position as a jeweler who has designed an absolutely beautiful piece of jewelry; yes, ‘tis tres cool—but the jeweler does not make money until he SELLS that piece of jewelry. Marketing is key—marketing that results in paying gigs for at least the “artist” types who will be performing the material. Gigs that get attention for the “merch,” and provide opportunities to sell it. How does the collective arrange that? And what resources are necessary to have in the collective to pull it off?

Follow-up question: How much of the marketing resources have to be local? Used t’be, they all had to—but the Internet has connected distant people in ways that once weren’t possible. Could I have a concert in Portland (say) arranged by somebody in California (say), with the promotion coming from (say) England? It may be possible. It may be time to re-write “Getting Heard,” that 1970s how-to manual for working bands.

UPDATES: Beyond half-baked plans for taking over the music industry, I haven’t done much. Scott Garriott (in Ashland) wants an electric banjo lead on one of his songs, and I should do that before going to southern Oregon; the “Deathgrass” recording session is Saturday, after which the guitar, the truck and I will head south. Chance to play at the Wild Goose Sunday night, after the Southern Oregon Songwriters Assn. annual meeting.

Joe