Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
That's interesting, because I've always wondered about that myself. 
Especially with regard to the stereotypical "tortured genius":  I can't
even THINK when I'm depressed, so I've always been amazed to hear that
some people can actually CREATE something in that sort of condition.

Just a roundabout way of saying thanks for your thoughts on the
subject, <kurtr>.

Slipped -- ...and you too, David.  Agreed.
  

    
    I think the idea of having an "audience" is central to success as
a musician. 
    Bands don't get signed unless they can prove they have an
audience. An audience responds to the work, no matter what the art
form. If you don't have--or feel you have--an audience, everything is
the equivalent of vanity publishing. An audience keeps you honest,
makes the creative experience real.
     That being said, once you've gone past a certain level of fame,
the audience can become a massive abstraction. Although, if you're a
rock band, you do get to experience your audience five or ten or twenty
thousand people at a time.
     Leonard Cohen addresses this aptly and mysteriously in Working
Musicians.
     Most artists are both liberated and imprisoned by their audience.
They not only typecast themselves to conform to their audience's
perceived needs, but publishers, agents, a&r men, casting directors
typecast them too. But without an audience, they would be back at the
canning factory.
     As far as working when you're depressed; I think artists work
best when there's a deadline, money on the table, someone who's
watching. Sometimes, once the work gets going, the energy kicks in and
you can move to a place beyond yourself and your problems.
     Whether anyone's going to like it, or even notice it, depends on
if you have an audience.
  

    

> Most artists are both liberated and imprisoned by their audience.  They not
> only typecast themselves to conform to their audience's perceived needs,
> but publishers, agents, a&r men, casting directors typecast them too.

Yes.  Success breeds conservatism.
  

    
And on the other hand, failure breeds depression.
   I often wonder if the Beatles would have created Sgt. Pepper, if
they hadn't already been the most popular group in America at the time.
Studio costs aside, could an unsigned band have done that? And if they
had, would anyone have noticed?
   I'm trying to think of a book someone wrote about what life would
have been like for the Beatles if they'd never broken in America.
   Anyone know the title?
  

    

Hmmm... don't remember that one. I do remember the novel "Paperback
Writer" by Mark Shipper, which was a very funny bit of speculative
fiction that had the Beatles reuniting in the late 70s and bombing
bigtime, winding up opening for Peter Frampton on the has-been circuit.

>Success breeds conservatism.

It can, yes, but doesn't have to. Miles Davis's career being a prime
object lesson. I find that the artists I respect most are able to walk a
very fine line. They have a distinctive creative vision that separates
them from the rest of the pack, but are not so bound to any
preconceptions of that vision as to resist throwing their audience (and
themselves) a stylistic or thematic change-up every now and again... nor
are they so preoccupied with the overrated commodity of novelty that
they change styles gratuitously in order to "keep up" (and I think the
latter can be every bit as big a creative dead end as staying stuck in
one place).

Bruce, one of the really striking things about the book is the way it
illuminates the radically different manners in which musicians deal with
various situations and challenges in their careers.  One one hand,
you have Peter Tork, writing of the surreal life of being a Monkee --
being very much a boy in a bubble, lost among the screams of teenagers
who, he says, "didn't come to listen to music. They came to vent their
oppression," and lamenting the lack of human contact and community he
encountered; and on the other, Bruce Springsteen, who is hyper-aware of
creating that contact -- what he calls "a sense of the audience" and
remains intent upon maintaining it. Another striking contrast can be
found in the closely juxtaposed accounts of writers' block by Randy
Newman and Phil Ochs -- a contrast that is all the more telling in
hindsight, as we see the different arcs the two writers' lives took.
Randy is full of deprecation and self-doubt, yet went on to a level of
success few imagined possible; while Phil, while in what would prove to
be a fatal downward spiral, still manages to muster the optimism to
utter what may be the single most heartbreaking line in the book: "To my
dying day, I'll always think about the next possible song."

Which of the musicians' stories did you find the most affecting and
poignant, Bruce -- either in real time or in retrospect?
  

    
just to chime in on the idea of being "imprisoned" creatively by
success.
It's obvious that it happens, but I have 2 points.  One is that I have
a hard time knowing when a band is sticking to their success formula
for the sake of continuing record sales, or if that's all they know, or
all they want to do.  Coming from a rock background, I wonder if bands
like AC/DC or the Scorpions would always grind out the same type of
stuff over and over again because that's all they've got, or they were
afraid to alienate their fans.

I've also seen bands beat that rap.  Jethro Tull changed styles from
blues, to jazzy, to rock, to folk, to synth driven stuff.  They always
had a loyal fan base who seemed to roll with it.  I think the same can
be said for Rush, although not to the same extreme.  Neil Peart talks
about that in the book; how they played "Vital Signs" as there encore
for three tours, until the fans got it.  Of course, the level of
musicianship is higher (IMHO) in those bands than it is in AC/DC, et
al.  Perhaps that draws a more open-minded fan base, which allows a bit
more freedom.
  

    

> I have a hard time knowing when a band is sticking to their success formula
> for the sake of continuing record sales, or if that's all they know, or all
> they want to do.

Ah, good point!
  

    
guitar one also puts out the effin worst music magazine on the market

revolution or something like that, pure effin trash
  

    
   In many cases I was drawn to interviewing a particular musician in
the first place because I knew they had an important or poignant story.
Cindy Bullens, for instance, made a striking comeback album after her
daughter died. But it was only after I talked to her that I found out
about all the labels that folded just after releasing her albums.
   Brenda Kahn was amazingly insightful about coming to terms with
success or the lack of it and being able to understand just what
success means.
   I thought Scotty Moore had some interesting hidden feelings (or
maybe not so hidden) about his relationship with Elvis Presley.
   Re: 106--Robbie Krieger was probably unintentionally revealing when
he said that after the Doors broke up, he would be routinely cut to
shreds by other guitarists in jam sessions, because he could only play
parts that fit with the Doors. He had to learn to play guitar all over
again. This is like the high school or basketball athlete who turns
pro, but only knows one thing, how to play ball.
    Ochs, of course, was just devastating, as readers of the Larry
Sloman interview well know.
    The overall feeling I get from all of these musicians is how much
music continues to define their lives, regardless of success or a
particular hot streak. It's always there to draw on, like Phil Everly
says, even if the audience is one person.      
  

    
(Sorry to be away from the discussion for a few days, but I was caught
in the undertow of promoting a show.  We had the show last night. Less
than a dozen empty seats in the house. Band walked away from a great
performance with a fat wad of cash in their pockets. What more could
you ask for?)


Speaking of audiences - Bruce, what audience did you have in mind for
this book?  Other working musicians? Fans? How did that influence your
preparations for the book?
  

    

>Re: 106--Robbie Krieger was probably unintentionally revealing when
>he said that after the Doors broke up, he would be routinely cut to
>shreds by other guitarists in jam sessions, because he could only play
>parts that fit with the Doors.

Ouch! I found it pretty excruciating to see the reunited Doors (or
whatever they wind up calling themselves to evade John Densmore's
litigious wrath) on the Tonight Show a few weeks ago, for numerous
reasons -- Ian Astbury doing a lounge-act-level Jim Morrison
impersonation, with all the vitality of a wax figure, was bad enough,
but the most dispiriting part was the equal degree of lifelessness in
the musical contributions of founding members Krieger and Manzarek, who
both sounded as though they had not learned a single new lick since
1967. Only Stewart Copeland seemed determined to infuse the music with
some new energy, but he was unable to do it alone (and vanished from
this dubious endeavor very shortly after that embarassing televised
fiasco).
  

    
  I guess there is a double edge sword kind of quality to knowing too
much about your audience. I used to think I wanted to have a clear
picture of everyone who ever bought one of my books, maybe I'd take
them all on a cruise and entertain them with my anecdotes. But it's
just as possible that finding out who any of these people are could
make me stop writing completely in a second. Some things are better off
unknown.
   That being said, I usually have an image when I'm writing of
exactly who I'm writing for. It's someone I could have great
conversations with that I couldn't have with anybody else. He gets all
my inside jokes, understands my references, and always make me laugh.
Strangely enough this person looks and talks a lot like me. 
  

    

THe more successful you get, the farther you get from the community that you
originally connected with, and the more people are likely to be tuned in to
yoour mmusic for reasons other than its intrinsic brilliance.
  

    
>the more people are likely to be tuned in to
>yoour mmusic for reasons other than its intrinsic brilliance.

What do you mean by that David?
  

    
    My feeling is he means they're just jumping on a bandwagon,
sampling you as the latest flavor of the week. As soon as your next
single goes in the tank, they'll move to someone else.
   One of the people who refused to be in the book, Vito Bratta, of
the band White Lion, once described the catch-22 dilemma. In order to
stay on a label, you need a hit, but once you get a few hits all your
old fans desert you, claiming you've sold out. When you stop getting
hits those fans desert you too. 
    Also, since the hits are usually different from what you're really
about as a band, the rest of your album cuts won't appeal to the
people who like you only because of your singles. 
    Last I heard, Vito was out of the business, and none too pleased
about it.
  

    
That's too bad.  He's a very good guitarist.
  

    

I was thinking more about the fan end than the musician end: an act becomes
popular, and people start going to their shows because other people are going
to the shows.  It becomes The Thing To Do.

The canonical example of this is the Grateful Dead.  The _scene_ became the
attraction, even as the quality of the music coming off the stage declined.
  

    
I realize that the Dead are a culture unto themselves.  Perhaps more
so than any other entertainment organization of any type.  But I never
"got it."  I went to a show once, back around 1989, and enjoyed the
atmosphere to a certain degree, but it seemed almost hypocritical to
me.  These fans were spouting individuality of expression, but they
were all dressed and acting the same, listening to the same music.  
I like some Dead music, and respect their musicianship, but I just
never saw what the big deal was.  The impression that I get is, neither
did they.
  

    

Heh.  I can tell you from direct observation that your last sentence is
valid.

But it happens all over the popular culture.  Lots of the acts that are
marketed to kkids and teenagers are alla bout image and not music...
  

    
thanks for the pseudonym.

I recall Journey claiming that they had to play the music they did - it 
was the audience's fault for buying the records. 

If the quote was in context and accurate, it just seems ass-backwards.

I didn't follow White Lion or the other 80s metal / hard rock bands bands, 
but I remember hearing singles by some of the bands at the time, and I can 
imagine where they were caught in a real catch-22, especially if they 
wanted to be on the radio.  The stuff that got them on the radio was more 
pop than the stuff that built up their core audience.  The path that was 
presented to them for breaking out of the small club dates and into 
arenas  was radio airplay, I'd bet.

On the other hand, I recall reading various places that Metallica made it 
to the arena levels without airplay.

Some of the hard rock or metal bands, like KISS, seemed really to be pop 
bands with a different image.  Even bands like Motley Crue had tunes that 
followed the modern pop approach of big sing-along choruses.

I guess one problem a lot of groups have is that a lot of their initial 
followers like them in part because they are not perceived as popular or 
part of the mainstream.  A band like Black Flag would have had an 
interesting problem if they had somehow become mainstream.   
  

    
I followed the metal scene pretty closely.  I never considered bands
like Crue to be metal, even though that's how they were marketed. Bands
like Anthrax and Metallica were more true that label, IMHO.

Metallica did do it without airplay, or very little anyway.  They got
some time on WSOU, Seton Hall's station out of NJ, but not much else in
the NYC area.  Maybe that's why, although their music has changed due
to a natural progression, they still do what made them so popular. 
They took the hard road, made it anyway, and kept their integrity.
  

    
One of the big points in Working Musicians is something like "You'd
better love what you're doing, because making it is so difficult that
loving the music is the only thing that can truly sustain you."
    I wonder what happens to the love of music when a band or an
artist is out there 300 days a year playing the same set. In many cases
they have no control over their schedule, just like in the early days.
The idea of making it is so huge that people will do just about
anything, especially at the beginning of their career.
   So ironically, in some ways, the non-famous (and probably non
making a living) working musician may be a lot closer to the music than
the superstars.
  

    
I think that's a very good point.  I wish I could remember what
composer said: "A composer is not someone who writes music, but rather
someone who can't NOT write music"

I think if you are playing because you love it, that's what is going
to matter most.  I think a lot of people who "make it" seem to lose
sight of that.  I know there are a tremendous amount of
responsibilities on these folks.  They become an industry unto
themselves, and a lot of people count on their success.  It's not an
easy problem to solve.  If staying "on top" is what's most important,
than I don't believe music is really your first love, but rather
success.
  

    
sorry for the spelling and grammatical errors in that post
  

    
I wouldn't worry about grammatical errors, especially with Gans'
typos. 
   But it reminds me of what James Solberg said in the book about when
he went to work for a motorcycle company: "I ruined a perfectly good
hobby by trying to turn it into a career."
   Take most people who have jobs in the music business, the last
thing they want to do when they have free time is listen to music. But
it was their desire to listen to music all day that got them into the
business in the first place.