Why Douche is the Most Appropriate Phonetic in Fiduciary Matters; the world thinks it’s ok to ask artists to work for free…. and occasionally I kind of agree.

I really can’t tell you the name of the company involved in this, but this is pretty shocking. So let’s begin…

Some time ago, my band were invited to play at a corporate event. We’d just finished a run of festival appearances, were getting a small amount of airplay on commercial radio and receiving weekly press enquiries. We were keen to keep the ball rolling, and happy to play as many shows as possible, we accepted.

The event was for a big corporation who have branches all over the country. They were planning on opening a new branch and requested only a 30 minute set – “just a little something to get the customers pumped up”. At this juncture, our store contact pointed out that they couldn’t actually pay us, but in exchange for our time, they would feature the band on the homepage of their website and on the accompanying press release about the store opening. The fatal words “It’ll be great exposure for you guys” were uttered, and with that, the transaction was considered valid.

 A week before the gig, we were informed that a performance area had been set up in the parking lot with a stage and what we were told was a “full band setup, just bring your instruments and your own guitar and bass amps”. We continued to check the company’s website for our not-so-free advertising, but nothing appeared. It’s pretty poor etiquette to announce an event before the host does, so nothing about the gig went out on our social networks either. To make matters worse, nobody from the store would respond to our enquiries about the sound system setup, so we had no idea if the venue would be able to cater for our technical specifications.

48 hours before the gig and we’d had enough. The issue was passed over to band management, who sent a rather curt email requesting the corporation hold up their end of the deal or we’d be forced to pull the plug. Problem was – there wasn’t even a plug to pull!

The response was astounding. It was put to us that as the band, we were expected to provide our own sound system and should have sorted this by now. If we were unable to provide this at this late stage, perhaps only our singer and guitarist should perform. When we tried to explain that this wasn’t possible, our booking contact just didn’t understand that a microphone actually needs to be plugged into something to get sound out of it. Shouting her way through our songs over the noise of a busy store would not be an option and we just didn’t have a street-busker style setup we could use.

So, as we were:

• 1.       Unwilling/unable to shell out a few hundred bucks for PA system hire.
• 2.       Unwilling/unable to shell out a few hundred bucks for a van to transport the PA system.
• 3.       Unwilling/unable to spend hours setting up and dismantling a PA system for a 30 minute            gig.
• 4.       Not given our advertising; no sign of any press release with our logo, images, web links on        it, no offer of reimbursement for the expense this would incur.
• 5.       Getting nothing 

We had to pull out.

It was shocking to us that a big corporation like this couldn’t flick us a few hundred bucks for our time, or even sort out the necessary setup we’d need to play some music in their store. What made it even worse was that they were a specialist audio visual entertainment company! Shocking or what?

It’s pretty frustrating that 90% of the world seems to think it’s ok to ask artists to work for free. All those years spent learning your craft and coming up with something fresh and original are suddenly worthless and at times it seems implied that anybody pulled in off the street could do it too – so just get on with it and consider yourself lucky it’s you up there.  But sometimes, I occasionally see where they have a point.

The biggest show I ever played, I played for free.

Actually, at a rough estimate, I played this show for -$800 and it was worth every cent it cost me to get organised for it. A long hot summer some time ago, the group I was with were offered to play on one of the side stages of a pretty significant music festival. Somehow, the stars aligned and we managed to land this gig alongside some big name acts. As a relatively unheard of band, we were told straight up we wouldn’t be paid for this show as we needed it more than they needed us. It would have been just as easy for the festival organisers to have had that side stage sitting empty for the 45 minute slot we were offered and they would have lost no income from taking that option. Instead, they offered us a chance and we had no other choice than to jump on that thing like Van Halen instructed.

When I look back on this, if you care enough about something, have thrown thousands of dollars into it over the years, gotten yourself into and out of debt over it multiple times – what’s another $800 to pay for your lucky break? 

How Syphilis Saved Me; Something for the Musical Science Geeks

There have been so many times in life when I've hit a brick wall and questioned what on earth I thought I was doing? I first thought of spending my life on music at the age of twelve; ten years of studying, writing, gigging and recording later and nothing had happened. Thousands spent on lessons, instruments, studio fees and nothing had happened. Hundreds of hours spent with multiple bands, travelling to and from dirty little pubs and seedy little venues to play to absent crowds. Nothing to show for any of it.

It was on an occasion like this, back when I was nineteen, that I can honestly say Syphilis saved my life and still does to this day.

It was a freezing cold, dark and miserable morning when I woke up at 5:00am to head into the city for an audition. I was nearing the end of my university course and not knowing what to do next, I hoped to enter a conservatoire and study for a few more years. Looking back, it was such an aimless and wasteful plan and to be truly honest, not really the direction I wanted to go in life. Classical music is a wonderful thing, but it's a harsh and rigid discipline. Something that never would have been compatible with me and a world I feared was far too concerned with prestige and class rather than the creativity and freedom I was chasing.

Like a lamb to the slaughter I emerged from the train station a few hours later and joined the taxi queue. I'd only been waiting a couple of minutes when a guy about my age joined the slow moving line, holding a black box the exact same shape and size as my own. Our eyes met for a moment as the awkward realisation we were here for the same purpose dawned on us both. Matching instrument cases in tow, we began a stilted dialogue and decided to share a taxi to the conservatoire audition hall.

The fifteen minutes in the back of that taxi were hellish. He spoke as if he had a mouth full of silver and I don't mean the train track braces I'd recently had removed from my own. He told me his dad played the same instrument we did and held a seat in a pretty high profile orchestra. He told me that he'd been to the auditions last year and had been rejected; this was his last chance before his father made him go and join the air force. I had nothing impressive to say so I sat in silence, taking it all in. My teacher was not my father, nor had he done anything of note with his own musical career; he was a player in an amateur ensemble from a sleepy little country town who had stepped in to give me a little guidance and was the best I could afford.

At this point, he asked if he could take a look inside my case. I thought it would be rude to say no so opened it up and passed it over. It was like I had offered a tray of meat to a vegetarian. He immediately clocked the manufacturer; nothing impressive or of substantial quality, but again the best I could afford. Then like a shark on a feeding frenzy he went searching all over for the serial number.

Finding it, he went on to tell me that his serial started with a string of zeros and ended with the number eight. He'd gone to great lengths to ensure that his was the eighth instrument ever created in that line and was devastated to find his ex-girlfriend had managed to get hold of number six.

At this point my brain went numb. I had no idea that a serial number held so much significance and being deadly serious, I had looked at mine once when asked for the number by an insurance company so I could register the instrument under my mum's contents insurance. I had mistaken it for nothing more than a barcode style assortment of random numbers, used purely for the purposes of tracking an object in the case of a theft.

As he handed my case back to me, I slyly took a look at the engraving on the metal tubing. It didn't end with a low number; it didn't even start with a zero. Slightly stung, I zipped the case closed and like a man with a small penis, I tried to reassure myself that it was what I could do with it that counted above anything else.

Now we get onto the Syphilis....

Needless to say, my audition was a disaster. They turned their noses up at my instrument, very curtly told me they'd never heard of my teacher before and made me feel like I'd turned up to World War 3 with a BB gun and no reinforcements.

I was bewildered, confused and feeling very lost. It was at this point in my life I began to associate with Diego Rivera's painting "Man at a Crossroads".

Visually it's pretty stunning. It's chaotic, confusing and overwhelming, but it holds a thinly veiled dig at high society that's helped me throughout the years. If you look at the central scene, you see a figure who appears at the heart of the crossroads; somehow connected to everything yet involved in nothing. He looks just as lost and powerless as I've felt at times, yet still seems to be driving the entire image.

My favourite part of this whole painting is the tiny Syphilis cell that appears floating above the heads of a group of socialites; the type who would probably care more for serial numbers and prestigious brand-name music tutors, than for raw talent or artistic integrity.

Here's my beloved Syphilis cell circled in red.

It's message is pretty clear. You might be rich and have every luxury in the world, think you're above life's scandals and hardships and intend on using your connections and wealth to cruise through life, but underneath it all you're just as susceptible as the rest of us.

And susceptible he was. Daddy's good name and bottomless pockets didn't save him from the firing squad and he was dismissed along with me. 

I don't remember his name and I'm not even sure I correctly remember what he looked like but I haven't forgotten him in the years since that day. We shared a taxi back to the train station where he suggested I catch a later train and we go for a drink so I "had time to process what had just happened". 

I realised it must have cut him deeper than it did me. While I was disappointed, I would be returning to an empty room in my halls of residence to binge on some junk food and finish my course work; he would be returning to his family home to explain to his father that he had missed the mark again.  

I never forgot how I felt on that day. The audition was over before it had started and even though I was in no way ready to be accepted onto the course, I was dismissed for all the wrong reasons. The musical world can be a little like that. I've heard stories of amazingly talented artists being shot down for all kinds of silly reasons, but sometimes it helps to remember that the person doing the shooting down isn't above it all themselves.

Storm in a Soup Bowl; An Interview with Lonely Soup Day

A few weeks ago I decided to work from home for the day. If that first sentence made you imagine a day on the sofa in fat pants with a laptop roughly within reaching distance, you’re right. And if I'm being really honest, Facebook got rinsed that day. Some of my friends are in a different time zone, so we spent the afternoon chatting about a new music video that popped up online. To be fair, we were discussing it for all the wrong reasons.

October 10^th marked the release of the debut single from Lonely Soup Day; a Western Australian based pop-folk fusion duo. The song was accompanied by a music video shot in the USA and based on a pretty far out concept.  Sadly, it was brought to my attention for the online-trashing it received. Rarely have I seen such a strong adverse reaction to a new release from a newly emerging independent artist. With only one hundred and forty one likes on Facebook and no gigs under their belt, it seemed that Lonely Soup Day had grabbed the spotlight and channelled the wrath of the entire internet for the day.

I was horrified and a bit put out by the reaction. Being brutally truthful, the video was not to my personal tastes and I didn't understand it, but I thought the song had real potential. There were a few things I wasn't keen on in the mixing side of the track, but the essence of the song grabbed me and the melody was catchy! I ended up playing it on repeat a few times while I “worked”. 

Luckily for me, Lonely Soup Day agreed to an interview and were open to discussing the online blow up completely candidly. They've got some great words of advice so here’s what went down….

What’s Lonely Soup Day all about in a nutshell?

Chris: I’d love to get a song in the background of Grey’s Anatomy. Or any TV show. But seriously, we’re doing this for the love of it. We get pleasure out of creating the music, and then just send it out into the world and hope it’s found by people who like our sound. Nothing more than that.

Molly: Oh, we want to make it to the big time, definitely! Actually, just releasing a song that my Mum says she likes as much as anything by Melanie Safka would do. Or getting it on the background of Grey’s Anatomy, whichever comes first. 

How did you both get into music?

Chris: I’ve been improvising tunes since I was a kid, on the piano, but it was never really song-writing. I kept playing, but I needed a collaborator. Once I met Molly we became songwriters.

Molly: I have no musical talent myself so, happily, Chris was enthusiastic about me collaborating with him. I have been nagging people since I was about 5 or 6 years old to be in a band with me. I can’t play instruments, I can’t read music so I had no hope of doing it independently. I performed live with my dad’s guitar at a hippy commune when I was about 5 (to rave reviews), wrote my first full length song by the time I was 9 and wrote a duet with my best friend when we were about 10.

What inspired you to write your own original music and go through all the effort of making a music video?

Molly: Everybody loves music. I think, if given the opportunity, anybody would write their own music and put it out there. It’s a lot of work, even when everyone thinks you’re shit, but it’s rewarding…

Chris: I used to work in film, and music videos were my main job for a while, so it seemed obvious we should shoot our own. We’re both Twin Peaks fans, and we thought we could tell a story in the spirit of Twin Peaks that matched the song. I think we failed.

I've been directing professionally for nearly fifteen years, and this turned out to be my last project. I was so disappointed with the end result that I quit directing. I've gone back to being a writer.

You recently unveiled your new music video for your debut track “Line of Sight”. Can you tell us a little bit about how you made it?

Chris: We shot the outdoors scenes North Bend and Snoqualmie (USA) using the original locations from the Twin Peaks pilot and the movie Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. We also shot indoor scenes in Vancouver, with an extra indoor shoot in Australia in September.

In Vancouver we shot some of the creamed corn footage, and in Australia we shot the indoor scene in the ‘room above a convenience store’. That’s the dark room with the weird goings-on. Some of the actors are professionals from Perth, who are extremely talented, and a few were family. We only had three hours to shoot, which was seven hours faster than it took David Lynch to shoot the same scene, so I'm told.

I found the use of soup in your music video a little confronting. At first glance, I thought it was vomit! Then I remembered the band name and realised it must be soup. Is it soup and does soup have some kind of special significance for you guys?

Chris: That was just for Twin Peaks fans. It’s creamed corn, which has magical properties in the world of the TV show. It was vile stuff, but it looks good on camera.

Molly: Soup… it’s significant in that we live like students and consume a lot of soup and two-minute noodles. I guess we could easily have been called Lonely Noodle Day or Lonely Cheese Toasty Day. The stuff in the video is Garmonbozia: it’s pain and suffering. It’s represented by creamed corn, which caused me pain and suffering. Well, mild discomfort in my mouth and hands. It is confronting, you’re quite right. I squirm every time I watch that moment in the video. But then I laugh, oh, how I laugh.

"It was my face and voice that was representing the band and I could have taken it really personally but music and art are such subjective things. Ultimately, we still came out ahead." 

- Molly

 

The video seemed to cause a lot of controversy after you aired it, in particular it drew some nasty comments on YouTube. Do you have any comment on why this may have happened?

Chris: There were some vile comments on the Welcome To Twin Peaks Facebook page which have now been deleted. I love Twin Peaks, but a cult following can be protective of their cult. If they don’t think your creation fits in with their cult, they reject it. I spoke to a psychiatrist about the level of hatred we’d received, and he said that whenever there is a cult, it offers comfort to the followers, and the last thing they want is an unsettling change. So we upset people and they hated on us. It was a mistake to make that video. If you don’t know Twin Peaks, it’s a confusing mess, and if you do, you hate it for betraying your dream. I saw somebody on a forum the other day saying that the new series of Twin Peaks must not have any new characters in it, or it would destroy the spirit of the show. That’s the mentality we were up against.

In truth, I hope it’s forgotten about, and that we’ll not always be associated with Twin Peaks. We might even get somebody to make a really dull alternative video for Line of Sight, something with cats in it. People love that.

Molly: It got flack because it exists and we put it online and it’s easy to hate on something online. It would have been truly saddening if we’d been trying to sell it as a single twenty years ago and got no sales but we wouldn't have a dozen strangers casually tearing us apart publicly. I don’t really mind, though. It was my face and voice that was representing the band and I could have taken it really personally but music and art are such subjective things. Ultimately, we still came out ahead. Our voice was heard and seen by dozens of people and will exist indefinitely and was used for the edification of our souls and art. Their voice was small, spiteful and thoughtless and limited to our memories and a Facebook page and it’s certainly not as catchy as any music I've ever heard. I don’t want the video to be forgotten about, though. I hope it’s one of those things that gets more appreciation as time goes by, maybe after we’re both dead.

According to the director of Twin Peaks, David Lynch, a major theme of the work is incest and the feelings of the victim. Can you explain how the video is of significance to the song or how the two are related?

Chris: To me the series was about breaking down the barrier between two worlds – it’s an occult parable, if you will. Twin Peaks says that love makes you vulnerable, and that evil has easy access to you when you’re in that state. There’s also a lot about animal desires and wearing masks. We thought that fit in with our song, but we were probably wrong.

In the wake of the negativity, a number of comments showing the reaction to the bashing of your hard work started to pop up online. In particular, it said somewhere that you “thought you had overestimated your talent”. Now that things have settled down a bit, do you still feel this way?

Chris: That statement was made about my film-making. I've been a writer for 25 years and usually receive high praise. My film work has received almost no praise, so I don’t think I'm meant to be a director. I was ready to quit, and the response to this video sealed the deal.  I've no idea whether I'm any good at music, but we’ll see when the album’s finished.

Molly: If people can’t respond to a song they don’t like appropriately, I'm not surprised hate crimes are so ubiquitous. On the other hand, I don’t claim they’re wrong about our song or music video but if they knew I was standing behind them, listening to their conversation they wouldn't talk like that. I know this because I was on the set of a massively unpopular rock band’s music video as an extra and people whispered stuff among themselves but as soon as the band was seen they shut the hell up. Because it’s not polite to talk rubbish within hearing of the subject, right? So why write stuff that you know the subject is going to read. That’s nasty. That makes you a nasty pasty!

"I was on the set of a massively unpopular rock band’s music video as an extra and people whispered stuff among themselves but as soon as the band was seen they shut the hell up."

- Molly 

Can you explain how you feel about your first release after the release date?

Chris: I regret making a music video for the fans of Twin Peaks, because they hated it. I don’t regret releasing the song when we did. Some people like the song. Music will always find its audience, eventually, even if that audience is small. One of the bands I love the most, Lowlife, were never famous, but they have a small following. That would suit me, a following, however small. We may end up with 20 fans or a few more and it really doesn't matter.

Molly: I stand by the music video and the song. I wish more people enjoyed it because that is gratifying but I'm not dependent on other people’s approval for my self-worth. I had fun making it and I still consider our release affectionately.

When creating and releasing your music and videos in the future, will you do anything differently?

Chris: I’ll never direct again and I'm so bored of music videos (having made a bundle) that I don’t really care what they look like any more. In the future, I’ll never read a review of our music, either, or a single Facebook comment, because I don’t think you can learn from reviews. Criticism hurts and praise is misleading. Haters hate as a hobby, and fans often remain quiet. So I’ll never know whether anybody likes what we’re doing unless it sells well.

Molly: Chris warned me that it could get lambasted and I was like, I'm not reading any comments or any reviews and I don’t want you to tell me any that you read. In fact, you shouldn't read them because then you’ll tell me anyway. So he read them and told me them, anyway. Next time I'm going to turn off our internet service. I also wouldn't release it through a fan site for something else.

For more information on Lonely Soup Day, check them out using the links below. 

(And yes, the controversial music video can be found via YouTube! I’d like to hear your thoughts if anyone has any!)

https://www.facebook.com/lonelysoupday

http://www.lonelysoupday.com/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HW9HcIEIM0k

  

A Rough Day at the Studio; Doubt was the friend who came round afterwards, brought the wine and ordered the pizza.

I recently had a really strange experience in the recording studio while putting the finishing touches to my band's EP.

I usually love studio work! It's the time when a song comes to life and you finally get to hear the track the way you imagined it in your head all those months ago. It can be really productive - if you get the right producer. If you're at the stage where you're considering investing your hard earned cash in laying down some tracks professionally, here's a warning for you. Find the right producer!

Sadly, a chance encounter was the only persuasion my band needed to be led into the studio of the producer we're currently using. Needless to say, this is a terrible selection process and he's not the right fit for us at all. Due to the dynamics of my current group, (one incredibly strong personality who gets to call the shots, but doesn't really know what's what) the decision was made to book in with the studio before discussing anything with the band. I really doubted that he was the right guy for us. Looking at the extensive list of past clients, it made for an impressive but mismatched read; none were in the same genre as us, or even anything close. This was mistake number one.

Mistake number two? Don't expect the producer to do anything more than the job of a producer, and certainly don't allow them to either; it's a can of worms you'll never be able to close.

The big problem here was that our producer was invited into the fold of the band, acted as a sixth band member for a while before graduating into the position of band manager. Crazy, eh? Looking back on it, I can see how this situation came about.

This band's career has been like an exploding confetti canon; we each had different skills and levels of experience making a pretty colourful mix, but when we got together it just exploded. Within the first year we wrote over thirty songs, appeared at some pretty big music festivals and experienced a winning streak when we were on commercial radio at least once a week. It was incredible, but commercial success is no substitute for experience.

Half the band have no experience working in studios and so, walked into it completely submissively. The process turned on it's head and instead of the band holding the reigns and walking away with a product true to it's original concept, we've ended up with the producer's interpretation of our work - it's a million miles away from what we wanted and coming from somebody who doesn't work with artists of our genre, what should we have expected?

It all started when he came to one of our gigs, listened to us play and then spent  the rest of the night being asked to comment on what he thought we should change. It all just snowballed from there; one minute he was making a suggestion on how to improve someone's drum pattern (totally acceptable and really helpful), the next he was sitting us all down to mentor us on interpersonal relationships (not really qualified, or even anywhere near appropriate!) and charged us for the time!

The most stark moment for me was when I turned up after a busy day at work to find my guitarist in the booth with the producer having a full on music lesson with him! By the time I arrived, they'd been in there for two hours while the guitarist played and the producer critiqued his right hand technique and the way his wrist moved while he played. Looking at the itemised bill, we could have paid for him to have almost eight hours of lessons with an actual guitar teacher for the same cost! He just didn't realise that this is NOT a routine part of studio work and that these issues really needed to be hammered out before we got to this stage.

I left the studio that day feeling exhausted. I called out for pizza and curled up on the sofa with my doubts spinning round my mind; I doubted he was the right producer for us, I doubted we were ready to even be in the studio just yet and I really doubted we'd come away with a product we were happy with. For fear of being labelled negative, stubborn, oppositionally defiant or a stick in the mud, I kept quiet, ate my pizza and watched reruns of Ink Master until it was time for bed.

Fortunately for me, I know when to pick my battles and keeping quiet was the perfect way to give the situation enough rope to hang itself.

The track was eventually finished and so was the itemised bill - it came in at a devastating three and a half times the original estimate. We had to delay any future recordings until we'd all recovered from the expense. Although it was a set back, it really gave us some time to contemplate the decisions we'd made and think about how to avoid this happening in future.

The good: next time we go into the studio we'll have straightened out the fine details and be really prepared, know what to expect and be able to keep the cost down closer to the original estimate. Every strange experience is a learning experience and I can certainly say that's true in this instance.

The bad: it's given half the band a twisted first experience of studio work. I still hear talk in the rehearsal studio of "running an idea past the producer" or asking the producer if it's ok for us to change this, that and the next thing. It'll take some effort to clear up the misconception that he's somehow in charge of us and get him back behind the sound desk, but I'm confident we'll get there.