Sod it.

As I've mentioned on several occasions, I've been recording an album.  Actually, that bit was quick.  It's been sitting on my computer in pieces for weeks, only wanting one evening's work to pull it all together. And I've been avoiding it's insistent nudges and subtle throat-clearings.  My reluctance to finishing it stemmed from several different concerns:

1. My squeamishness at becoming one of those people who spam friends on forums and social networks in order to monetise personal relationships for a few coppers, in a strange circle-jerk of 'I'll buy yours if you buy mine.'
2. My sense of the hypocrisy of loudly criticising the fake bonhomie and the cynicism of screwing money out of people for artistic endeavours and vanity projects, only to then come out with "Hey, pals! I'm flogging an album!" (see Point 1)
3. Having to finally get to grips with the technology required in order to actually sell things on the internet - websites, 'Buy' buttons, iTunes, making CDs, etc.
4. The reluctance to sink a relatively large amount of money (it's all relative; I'm as poor as a church mouse) into a vanity project that would sit under my bed for the rest of time, unsold and unloved.
5. A sense, rightly or wrongly, of loyalty towards the band. Being in a duo is very like being in a marriage, and a solo side-project can carry with it the sulphurous whiff of the extra-marital affair.  Although we have the musical equivalent of an open marriage, one can't help feeling a little awkward about these things. Even when the partner is totally cool with it, you worry there'll be speculation among observers, clicking of tongues, folding of arms and whispers of: "Ooh, trouble in Paradise." Announcing a side-project is akin to letting your Mother-in-law examine your internet browsing history.
6. The knowledge that I'm always a little behind what is exciting me. Half of the songs on the album are songs I've done (and subsequently deleted) half-cocked versions of on YouTube, and even if they're new songs to some people, they're old songs to me. The thing that excites me more is the song I haven't quite finished writing yet. So going back to these songs is like going round to an ex-girlfriend's house to collect the last of your belongings.  For those of you who think that deleting the YouTube versions is a low blow, rest assured I will be putting up some new versions of them, solo uke & vox live performance versions, with access to a free audio of those versions.  Same songs as what's on the album, but they won't sound as good as the proper recordings, which aren't free. 

Well, addressing these concerns one at a time:

1. I realised I was cutting my nose off to spite my face.  Nobody else gives a flying chuff,and the only loser by not putting stuff out there was me.  I recently saw someone playing and immediately went out and bought her entire back catalogue.  She didn't force me to do it, and I didn't begrudge paying for something I wanted.  
2. I still feel a little weird about flogging to mates, but actually, mates aren't the main buyers. Yes, there's some crossover, and that's sweet in its own way, but it seems mates want to help you along the way, without necessarily feeling pressured to put their hand in their pocket.  I don't want a single person to buy anything from me out of a sense of duty, friendship, etc.  If they do though, that's their lookout, and certainly not something I demand or expect.  
3. Technology is still a mystery, but I was pointed to a website that does it all very easily, as long as you're only going digital (more on this in a mo), where they don't charge until you've actually sold, and where buyers have the product as soon as they've parted with the cash - no 'donations' or 'crowdsourcing' - just a straightforward transaction.  
4. This digital method also means I've had very little initial outlay. If I wanted to create a physical CD, the outlay would increase dramatically.  If the digital version sells enough to cover the cost of producing a very soviet-style basic physical product, I'll do that.  If not, nothing lost.  First, the only costs I have to recoup are for some instruments I bought specifically to record with.  If they don't pay their way, they will be banished to eBay. If certain sales targets are reached, instruments will be allowed to stay and be used on subsequent recordings.
5. There is no trouble in Paradise. The band is functioning in tickety-boo fashion. For me, songwriting predates the band, and it's something I've always done throughout. The band is massive fun, and we intend to carry on for as long as we want to play and people want to listen.  Only a fool, however, would assume it was a career for life.  New bands jump onto what they perceive to be The Ukulele Covers Gravy Express week upon week, and, like any train, if too many people jump on board, it'll derail, and we'll all end up lying bloodied in a cutting.  Also, I don't think my body or mind would cope well with singing Ace of Spades, week in, week out, for the next 20 years.  Although the end is nowhere in sight for hopefully a good long while, it'll turn up eventually.  One must be prepared.   
6. The problem of being a little behind is exacerbated by not getting the material out there. The only solution is to release it and keep moving forward.

SO, THIS IS THE PLAN:

Release the album as a digital download. See if anyone buys it.

If they don't buy it, sell the instruments I bought specifically for the purpose of making albums. Watch TV.
If they do, keep the instruments and start working on another album; put some money aside to make a small run of a really cheap, soviet-style, 'economy-range' Physical CD.
If sales continue, laugh.

Here's a link to the album:

http://ianemmerson.bandcamp.com/album/nocturnal-emissions

I didn't even get the title in the right place

The Geek has inherited the Earth

*before I start, I'm aware of the irony of blogging this.

I think one of the the reasons I rail against those folks who prosper in the arts by starting up a little web page selling their potential and their promises is one of pure jealousy: I lack the basic technological wherewithal to perform even the simplest online tasks, never mind conjuring vast fortunes out of whispers, miasmas and HTML. 

I don't even know how to work FaceBook properly, and my feed is awash with sentimental drivel, unthinkingly regurgitated from websites that do nothing but churn out annoying memes about rainbows, positivity and all that gubbins.  I try to hide those people's posts, but they don't disappear. 

They never disappear.

I'm supposed to be a professional entertainer, and I work fairly hard at it. Entertaining, I mean. I can play a bit, sing a bit, get an audience chuckling, etc.  But I know bugger all about this internet stuff. Java is an island, a coffee; Adobe is what Mexicans skim their breakfast nooks with. A Bing Bar is ... oh, I don't know. Something about crooners and alcoholism. I can't be bothered to formulate the joke. They're weak anyway.

The point is, I don't know much about this stuff, but it's the lingua franca now, and although I can point at the beer and shout, I can't really converse.  And a large part of me doesn't want to.  Rightly or wrongly, I resent having to add web savviness to my skillset.  And 'having to' is the operative word; it's become obligatory. 

I had a website once, but I broke it.  I've spent some time looking at reinstating it or getting another one, but even an hour of research leaves me breathless with despair.  I ended up stabbing a mandolin to death with a screwdriver out of sheer frustration. 

But I'm a 'muso', and I've been writing an album; progress has been slow, and the nearer it gets to completion, the slower it goes. The wife thinks I'm frightened of finishing it in case it bombs.  That's not it: I'm frightened of finishing it, because when I do I'll have to start selling it, and all that entails. Web work.

I had an album before, and I pulled it off sale and gave it away - not because it was rubbish (though it wasn't particularly good), but because I just didn't know what to do with it.  I hated every minute of  ham-fisted attempts at internet marketing, etc.  I really don't know how these self-publicising crowdfunding, spamming nerks deal with the embarassment and shame. I genuinely don't. 

I know it seems odd saying this, bearing in mind I'm in a band that does a fair amount of it. Suffice to say the division of labour is heavily skewed in one particular direction.  If it was down to me we'd have a broken MySpace profile and very little else.  If you are aware of any aspect of the band's workings that doesn't involve standing on stage, playing music or throwing in the odd iffy bon mot, you can be rest assured I had nothing whatsoever to do with it.  Hardly fair, I know, but the plain fact is that if it wasn't organised that way, there'd be no band at all. 

My reluctance to record and sell material doesn't come from laziness or from a fear of rejection, etc. blah blah.  I honestly don't care about whether people like it, or even buy it.  I know too many people who've made CDs, etc. because people have told them they should, only for those same people to stroll off whistling nonchalantly when the thing's actually been made.  If I collected the unsold CDs from under the beds of everyone I know and bought a shitload of tile adhesive, I could turn the whole street into a mirrorball. Anyway, there's something toe-curlingly awkward about selling to your friends, an inevitability in this environment.
Not selling isn't something to fear; it's something to expect, and potentially even get a modicum of relief from.

The reluctance actually comes from a dread of reaching that point where I have to polish up a little corner of the internet, lay out my wares, activate the Paypal buttons and get iTunes on the case, tug on people's sleeves and start dealing with technology and affairs mercantile.  I hate it to the point of phobia.

So yeah, when other people can become millionaires just by spending 15 mins on the right websites, old 'Cockfingers' does get a bit jealous. And frustrated.

Financial issues aside, I've got stuff to share, but can't give everything away or I starve.  But I seem terminally averse to selling. And afraid of computers. And paralysed by options, none of which I have the basic abilities to  get through.

The old 'Patron of the Arts' would come in useful about now. Some way of divorcing the 'product' from the 'sale'. NOT like crowd-funding, which I think brings the two things closer together, where the consumer directs the production (not artistically healthy, though obviously lucrative).  More like the old-fashioned ones who just gave you a stipend and let you produce what you produced, free of interference and quotas.

Half of me wants to get over the block, make big music and sell my little heart out (Mrs E wants a house upgrade), whereas the other half of me wants to get rid of everything but a couple of ukes, forget recording and selling music, sticking to the band and doing occasional freebie little ditties on YouTube, pausing only to eat soil. 

I'm stuck.

Glorious Swan Song

It's Sunday evening and I don't have a song. Another chaotic week, but I did have a few hours on Thursday, which I spent on music.

But not on a weekly song. I decided to work on other stuff, and I ended up finishing two songs that have been buzzing around in some form or other for some time. And I'm much happier with either of them than I would have with a rushed, make-do-and-mend song. I enjoyed the process more too, feeling much more engaged in it, investing more of myself in it. No comparison.

The one thing I found useful about the song-a-week process was the necessity to set some time aside for songwriting at regular intervals. I think I'll keep that element going, but as for the rest, nothing has happened to alter the conclusions I came to last week.

I thought about quicky throwing together another song for the song-a-week, then I just thought: why? If I did that, it would just be another piece of rushed, cobbled-together crap. And I don't have 16,000 reasons to carry on regardless.

So balls to it. Expect another experimental project imminently. In the meantime, I'm going to abandon this method as fundamentally flawed and work on writing some tunes I'm actually happy with.

The Rhythm Method

All the songs I've done in this weekly giveaway have so far been fairly rushed affairs, utilising the 'B-Stock' ideas, and designed not to impact too heavily on my life or on my creative stockpile. Any idea I think is pretty decent gets shoved to one side. Only once did I have a borderline case, when I thought a chord progression was 'possibly worth keeping and warranted further work' but I used it anyway ('A Pat on the Back'). For the most part though, I've kept what I consider to be 'the good stuff' as far away from the weekly giveaways as possible.

Sometimes you land lucky and things fall out of your head practically in one piece. For the most part, however, songs I write are a result of several different musical ideas and lyrical ideas, drafted, left alone, redrafted, left alone, redrafted and honed. The hardest bit of writing stuff is deciding that it's finished. It takes quiet; it takes solitude; it takes contemplation; it takes a certain amount of inspiration; it takes time.

And time is in short supply with this project. Odd snatched hours, strict deadlines, no internal editing required. The emphasis is on quantity, not quality. It's a production-line approach. I'm aware that some of the best songs of all time were created that way, in the Brill Building or the rooms above Denmark Street, but a lot of crap came out of those buildings too; it just isn't the way I work.

Add to it the pressure of sidelining anything with any potential to actually be good, and you're left with very little to work with.

Instead of letting ideas gestate in their own precious time, they are jettisoned prematurely into a sort of 'Ideas Withdrawal method'. This method acts as its own creative contraceptive.

It was fine right at the beginning: perhaps the remnants of pre-project ideas were still swimming up the right channels. But within a very short space of time, things have become tough. Musically, the path of least resistance is the cliche, and that's something that is very difficult for an essentially lazy person like me to fight against within the constraints of the project. Lyrically, I just don't have something different and interesting to say, on demand, every week, week-after-week. You pluck ideas from the air; you can't harvest them on an industrial scale.

The only alternative to resorting to hackneyed standard formulae is to start letting the 'good stuff' through too, and I really don't want to give that away to prove a point. There just isn't enough of that to last a year anyway, never mind enough time in a week to knock it into shape. I have come to the conclusion that:

TO BE FORCED INTO BEING FAR MORE PROLIFIC THAN YOUR NATURAL CREATIVITY AND LIFESTYLE DICTATES IS NOT ARTISTICALLY HEALTHY, AND IS CREATIVELY COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.

It may initially seem to be creatively stimulating, but I can't see how it can be done on this scale without ending up running on empty and resorting to the banal and the throwaway.

Of course, I'm not saying that a little push doesn't grease the wheels occasionally, and a deadline can sharpen the senses, but this relentless pace is going to sap anyone.

And I mean anyone. Even people who have been paid $16,000 to keep that pace.

It does raise the question: if you were being paid $16,000 to do it, obviously you may spend more time on it, and you could keep the quality higher for longer. But either I don't understand international monetary value well enough, or you'd struggle to actually live on $16,000 without doing anything else. And I don't know if any amount in my wallet would actually stimulate ideas, musical or lyrical. And it's ideas that are drained. You could spend a little more time on dotting is and crossing ts, or getting the production values a little higher, but I'm unconvinced you'd have many more ideas.

Let me ask you this: who can you think of that releases five albums a year, all of which is quality original material?

I'm coming to the conclusion that this way of working can only ever produce 2nd or even 3rd rate results. I haven't written a song under it yet I've been happy to have my name attached to without the context of this blog to justify it's mediocrity. I've started to worry that people will hear the songs out of the context of the project, miss the point and think it's output I'm proud of. There's been a couple of good-ish ideas, but without the room available to develop their potential. I'm starting to worry that I've accidentally condemned myself to a year of producing rubbish, for a reason that will be lost well before the songs.

I find myself repeating the mantra: "It's all about the process, not the product," to myself as well as anyone else within earshot. But the product IS important. It's what will be left over at the end of all this, and it's the most important aspect of the project to some people.

The annoying thing is that I've got a backlog of music I want to record, but I'm stuck matching a banal project, song-for-song. The other annoying thing is that this project is only one of several projects I want to do under the 'No Packet Required' umbrella, and it's the longest commitment of time with the lowest creative return.

I know now that I could knock out a song a week with barely any effort, and without any financial outlay - so far it hasn't cost a penny - but I am starting to wonder if 52 songs I'm not proud of, and an obscure point proven really justifies deliberately spending an entire year prematurely ejaculating dubious material. For me, 'her' and her backers, there are probably more worthwhile avenues to pursue than this over-valued, wrongheaded party trick (unless it's all about the money).

I seriously doubt the validity of this project, both for me or my 'inspiration.' I'm really starting to wonder if it's worth it, or if I would be better served creating music that represents me more fully, free from time constraints and the impositions caused by the financial obligations of someone I've never met.

I don't think this works. But I can walk away whenever I like. She's stuck with it.

So. I'm on the horns of a dilemma. Do I keep on doing this for another 46 weeks, putting in less and less effort, making worse and worse songs, in order to reach conclusions I've already reached, a mere six weeks in? Or do I stop labouring the point, work on stuff I actually want to do and leave the battery-farmed, vapid rubbish to those who are contractually obliged to it?

It's obvious which one I'm leaning towards. I'll give it one more week, just in case this is a temporary blip, and if the song I produce gives me the same feeling the other six have, I'll let it go as an unworkable method for creating anything valuable. Because I can.

What'do you think of the show so far? ...

It started off as a rash decision on the back of a rant. As it's progressed, I've discovered some interesting (to me at least) things. It has made me think a lot more about the songwriting process, what it means to me and what it means to other people. I've tried to get into the head of the person who originally raised $16,000 in order to do an identical thing, and I admit I have occasionally wondered if she was feeling the same as me through the ebb and flow of the process, from the earlier enthusiasm, through the feeling of flexing creative muscles, to the realisation that coming up with something new every single week can be a pain in the arse, and wondering just how little you have to do in order to get away with it, and how much of a difference that sixteen grand has on the tidal level of enthusiasm.

Today I finally got a piece of feedback I've been impatiently waiting for. Someone finally said that the last two songs were very poor. I agree, and have been surprised not to have had a reaction to this earlier. I thought I was going mad. I was starting to think I'd have to fart in a bottle to elicit that response.

I knew last week's was poor, and I said so at the time. However, that may have come across as a 'fishing expedition' for compliments, and I took the compliments I received with a pinch of salt, just in case people were answering the fishing expedition by obliging and humouring me.

This week, I made no attempt whatsoever to make a good song. My target for this week was to create a song in the shortest possible time, with the minimum possible effort and disruption to my week, with no consideration given to any aspect of quality, creativity or precision whatsoever. The resulting song took just over half an hour and was pap.

But it was a song. It counted. No hypothetical refund required.

And when you've already got the money, there's no caveat that says the subscriber has to like the song, or even that the song has to be good.

This week's song is the worst yet, but, because it was done in half an hour on the last day of the week, I considered the week a roaring success.

Having given it some more thought, however, I'm not so sure.

It would be a roaring success if I'd set out to prove that you could just make any old rubbish and fulfil your obligation. But that wasn't what I was trying to do, otherwise I'd have spent five minutes a week thrashing out utter trash, but still complying with the rules.

It was supposed to be a balance, minimising disruption to my week, but still coming up with something of a minimum acceptable quality - multi-tracked, varied, considered, etc. By going below the minimum acceptable level (and I was probably pushing that last week - this week I dipped way below) I've broken the 'crap barrier' and been rightly called out on it.

However, it would be disingenuous of me to suggest that the fall in quality was entirely deliberate. Although I was interested in seeing just how little effort a person could get away with and still comply with the funding contract, there were other forces at play.

The first is the short one, so I'll get that out of the way first; the second probably deserves a post of its own.

The short answer is that I've been much busier, in my work and home life. In the first few weeks of January, the household was relaxed, I was enjoying the post-Christmas lull in the work calendar, the missus was back at work after the holidays, and I had loads of time on my hands. In the last few weeks, I've been touring much harder, the wife's work has been more demanding on the household, and my teenage son has been staying, bringing his noise and chaos with him. Writing songs has fallen way down the list of priorities.

If all goes to plan, however, by the second half of the week the Boy will once more be gone (though things rarely go to plan where the Boy is concerned), and after next weekend's gigs, Doleman domestic obligations have left a little hiatus in the tour schedule, so all may quieten again. It will be interesting to see if the quality improves again over the next two weeks. That depends entirely on how important this reason is compared to the deeper implication - you know, the one that deserves a post of its own.

Expect that before too long.

Only one solution

... when you've run out of time, and have to write a song, but have no ideas:

I've had to resort to the blues.

No disrespect to that fine genre, but you don't really have to think round that many corners to knock out a basic blues song, so it's perfect for my purpose, which this week was to get from blank page to MP3 link in the least possible time and fuss.

I decided to do each track as one take, warts-and-all, and not listen back to the whole song until doing the (very rough) mixdown. There are some trememndous clangers in it, but IT ONLY TOOK THIRTY TWO MINUTES TO WRITE AND RECORD. I'm quite proud of how little effort I made. $16,000? Really? (if you don't understand that reference, you haven't been paying attention to what this is all about)

And I've discovered that, although many years ago I was a reasonably tidy guitar player, I can't play for toffee any more. I'm not particularly upset about that though - I'm uke through and through now.

So here is the song, which we'll call, er, 'In Case of Emergency (Break out the Blues)':

http://www.box.com/s/ztrmyp3tzr4mr8zap3ye

Eek!

Well, nobody has reminded me. I was gigging on Thursday (my usual songwriting time), and I was going to write the song on Friday. I did the blog post, had some lunch, got distracted by something and missed my window. I woke late today, as I'm in Liverpool tonight gigging until late, so today and tonight's out. I'll have to do something tomorrow and sneak it under the wire, despite it being the weekend, meaning no alone time in which to sit and ponder.

Should be interesting. Or that other thing.

Must. Stop. Whining.

Over the last two weeks, a bit of a pattern has formed. I've spent a while moaning about how little time I've had to give this project any attention, then I've moaned about the quality of the finished song, only to have other people say they liked it.

This could mean I'm one of nature's complainers (true), I'm not a very good judge of my own stuff (I suspect this is also true), or I'm fishing for compliments and reassurance (if this is true, it's subconscious, but I'm not discounting it entirely).

I think there was an intention of demonstrating how little effort or quality control all this required, and that a hastily dashed-off 'that'll-do' song was inferior to one that took real work and crafting, but maybe I'm wrong. I honestly don't know. If people are obliging me with compliments because they think I'm being self-deprecating in order to seek reassuring praise, nice as it is to receive it, that was never my conscious intention.

I'm trying to be as objective and honest about the songs as I can. I do write songs I really like, and others I think are less good. But my tastes don't always tally with the listeners'. I tend to favour linguistic, harmonic, melodic and structural complexity, little spun sugar confections that have been crafted slowly, with delicacy and intricacy. Listeners often prefer simpler, more rustic affairs, and I can understand that - I'm looking at songs from the perspective of what it took for me to make them, whereas others just listen to them for how they sound. And rightly so.

As a result of this, I've come to several conclusions:

1) We can take it as read that the one-song-a-week timeframe is not where I'm at my most comfortable, so they're always going to feel rushed and semi-formed to me.
2) There's no point in me voicing this any further.
3) From now on, I'm not going to make any personal qualitative judgement on the songs; feel free to say nice things by all means, but not to counter my own negative responses to the material. Compliments are better when they haven't been fished for.
4) I'm going to try not to worry about treading tired ground, and am going to embrace a bit of simplicity and rustic charm.
5) Actually, I'm not going to worry about any aspect of this. If I can knock out a song a week - any song - that's all I have to do to fulfil my end of the deal. It could be a repetetive 3-chorder about toenails; it really doesn't matter.

So. I'm going to do one now.

Hooray! It's Rubbish!

It's been a difficult birth. I was on the verge of ditching it and starting again, but I've decided not to, partly because I've run out of time, and partly because, as I said before, the finished song isn't the important thing. However, it is crap.

I quite enjoyed the 'direct input' solid-bodied method, and I'll probably use that again at some point- though I'd probably have to get a soprano if I was to use it more than once more.

I won't be using my teenage songwriting methods again though. Picking a relatively commonplace, simple structure might work for some, but not for me. The music ended up sounding like 'Ordinary World' by Duran Duran, and the vocal melody ended up reminiscent of 'Times Like These' by the Foo Fighters (which means, by extension, that Duran and Foos sound like each other. Who'dathunkit?).

It was derivative, adolescent, whiney, bland crap, and at any other time I'd have cast it into the abyss.

But I still have the bowling alley in my head, tomorrow I'm off to Cheltenham, and I'll be returning to a houseful. I don't have time to do anything else. So it'll have to bloody do.

I've done one. That's enough.

There:

http://www.box.com/s/pxtlx6sufq1cprzhnqin

'Stealth' Recording

As I've previously moaned, the writing and recording of this week's song has had certain restraints placed upon it. It's forced me into adopting methods of 'stealth' recording I haven't used since I was a teenage insomniac with easily rattled parents. The double bass is packed away, as are most of the acoustic instruments, and the only method I can use to get music down without disturbing others or being disturbed is to use solid-bodied electric instruments, plugged directly into the recording device.

This does mean, however, that I'm rather limited as to what arrangement I can use. I have an electric baritone uke, tuned re-entrant G, and an electric bass that was so bad, it only became vaguely useful once I'd ripped out the frets and sanded the bumps out of the fingerboard. I also have an electric guitar, but I want to avoid making guitar-based songs if possible: I don't want to fully revert to my teenage years. The electric baritone uke is quite guitary enough, thank you very much.

I'll be reverting to my teenaged vocal style too, out of necessity. Quiet, whispery, breathy. I won't be belting it out. That is also a product of the necessity of not disturbing anyone, whereas during my teenage years, it was only partly that, and partly terrible self-confidence issues.

At this point, I haven't written the song yet, but because of these constraints, and my ways around them, I have a fair idea of how the music is going to come out. It's likely to be down-tempo, introspective in tone, simple, restrained and full of space, probably based around a single chord progression, repeated, with two-finger chords and open string drones. The lyrics will probably end up reflecting that. They'll probably be folksy and impressionistic, rather than the more direct style I prefer nowadays. I just hope it doesn't revert too much to the proto-Emo style of my salad days - or the 'wallpapery dirges', as my punk brother used to describe them.

The style is also shaped by time constraints. instead of being able to put a chunk of time aside to do it, as I normally do, I'll be nipping back and forth doing little bits where and when I can. It's likely I'll be abandoning my favoured pad and propelling pencil and writing the lyrics on my phone, maybe even in the loo.

Hence, it'll have to be simple, or I'll lose the thread in the long gaps between short sessions.

I will miss having soprano uke on the track, but I don't have a solid-bodied, electric soprano anymore. Despite recently feeling that I have too many ukes, I'm feeling the absence of that specific thing. Even a cheap and cheerful bog-standard Eleuke, Clearwater or the like is mighty tempting at the moment, but I sold my last solid soprano when my son moved out. He's back now (albeit temporarily), and I'm suddenly realising how useful it was. I'll admit, I have been hovering over BIN buttons.

Anyway, I've got a few mins left, so I suppose I'd better start cracking on with that chord progression while I can. Just don't make me tidy my room, you horrible gits.

Mad About the Boy

Last week, I moaned about being up against it because of time constraints and not being in the mood. What a fool I was. Karma then decided to deliver me such a bitchslap that my head has almost disengaged from my neck.

My 19-year-old son has temporarily (please God, let it be temporarily) returned to the loving bosom of the family, complete with the swirling miasma of chaos, noise and confusion that perpetually surrounds him. Suddenly, there is no room; instruments have been packed and stored to make way for bin liners full of rags. There is no time, as every waking moment is taken up by discussions on everything from his finances and his washing to his lovelife and his friends, Marvel and Tarrantino, Wild Beasts, the meaning of life, and how terrible Muse are. The bowling alley has been reinstalled into my head. There is no privacy; he is omnipresent.

Of course, this means that her son's presence in these environs give The Evil One a legitimate reason to begin calling the house once more. So she has been. A lot.

On top of that, the time constraints that were already there haven't disappeared. Time, space and headspace have all shrunk to a pinprick. Solitude, calm and quiet contemplation are rare jewels indeed.

If I manage to produce anything this week that consists of more than a random thrashing at an instrument, accompanied by a persistent howling noise, I'll consider it a miracle. I have an unexpected half hour to myself right now, so I'm doing this. I haven't got time to write this and a song. Hopefully, I'll squeeze in an hour tomorrow and do it then.

The First Test

Today is song day again, and it's the first time since starting this when I feel a little up against it. The first couple of weeks of January are always a little bit less busy for me, with a lighter workload, the post-Christmas lull, etc. Now, however, things are starting to gear up again. I'm having a very busy week, and it's only going to get busier in the coming weeks and months. The time available to sit and write songs is shrinking. Other priorities are starting to snap at my ankles. Add to this that this is the first week since starting this project that I haven't really been in the mood, and it suddenly feels a little harder.

It could potentially be argued, then, that there is a certain sense in charging people and being paid for the process, in order to keep it high priority, but I still don't buy that. The temptation to throw out any old tat and fulfil obligations with as little consideration as possible hasn't yet been higher - though I suspect it will get higher as external pressures mount - yet, I can't see how having to justify a payment is going to do anything to alter that. It may make you a bit more careful about mentioning it, but you'd feel it just the same.

In fact, the thing that makes it easier is the knowledge that I'm under no obligation to do it at all. It's just a challenge I've set myself, and I could stop at any time. If I had to do it to fulfil a financial obligation, it would suddenly be feeling very much like putting a shift in at a factory or somesuch; it would start feeling depressingly like work. I thank my lucky stars I don't owe you anything. I can crack on with this week's song, lighter of heart because of it.

Which is just as well, as I've decided to make the song quite dark. Last week I did a song with quite an upbeat, optimistic lyrical content, and I felt it was a bit of a dud. There were people who liked it, but I didn't feel it was quite 'me' - a view expressed by a couple of other people too.

Of course, that hardly matters. The finished song isn't the point, and public reaction to it barely figures. It's the process that is important. The point is to write a song a week, record it, and disseminate it, free of charge, to whoever wants it. That's the principle. What the actual song is and whether you or I like it is irrelevant. No offence.

Anyway, it's 12:45pm and I want this done by 2pm at the latest - I have things to do - and so far, all I've got is the idea I want it a bit darker, a blank page and a couple of hours. There's no music running round my head, no lyrics, nothing.

This should be interesting.

*UPDATE - from blank page to uploaded mp3 took exactly one hour. Properly thrown together, only four tracks, only one vocal.

The song is called: 'A Pat on the Back (We're all rubbish), and here it is:

http://www.box.com/s/2mz55x6tfdharxexqdy7

Week Three Song

I figured if I was going to use anger and annoyance as my only motivator in songwriting, I'd end up having a coronary before too long, never mind the songs going down the tubes. So this week I wrote a particularly optimistic song called: 'On a Day Like Today (anything's possible).'

It was inspired by a friend called Mary Agnes, who is the single most upbeat person outside of a religious cult it is possible to meet.

I'm kind of getting used to my preferred setup, of soprano uke, baritone uke, double bass and vocal, so I added a melodica for a bit of a change. I think that arrangement might become my preferred generally (anyone want to buy a guitar or a mandolin?). It's almost feeling like a band.

The setup:

Anyway, here's the tune:

http://www.box.com/s/0xpmjzhbgsxmzykxid2a

Unexpected items in the Bagging Area

Last night's pre-bed noodlings wove their magic, as they are sometimes wont to do, and I woke up this morning with a fully-formed new song on my lips. Now, I'm waiting for the delivery of one or two items for the impending tour, but unless the Man from Parcelforce ends up doing a sterling impersonation of the Man from Porlock, it's pretty much in there, and I'm rather pleased with it.

It's still rough, and needs considerable panel-beating, but it has the potential to be a cracking little number - kind of late 50's Sinatra in style. Probably one in ten songs I write get the kind of thumbs-up I gave this one.

What I found interesting about it, however, was that my first reaction was: "There's no way I'm putting this one out as a 'weekly freebie'. I'm saving this one."

So, I'm beginning to change my Quality Control perameters; the reject bin has been relabelled the Giveaway Bucket, and those diamonds in the rough are being filtered away to safety.

The implications of this are manifold. Would I only release the B-stock if they weren't freebies? Am I in the proper position to judge what's a good song and what isn't, even when I wrote them? What am I going to do with the A-stock? If I only release the seconds, will people think that's the best I can do? Does that matter?

I don't have the answers; I'm just ruminating out loud really. I don't even think I'm trying to make a specific point - I just thought it was an interesting development.

Another interesting development leads me to concede at least one point. The sudden need to come up with a new, original song - as well as at least one new piece of writing - every week has stimulated creative muscles long-since withered and ossified. I'm noting down ideas I would have previously allowed to slip back out of my mind, and my ears and imagination are more open. If it continues in this way, I think it likely I'll be a far better songwriter this time next year than I am currently, and possibly more creative, self-disciplined and productive in general.

Of course, the recipients of the freebies may not necessarily directly feel that benefit. We're back to the implications of the internal Quality Control Inspector. We'll have to see how it pans out.

The final interesting point is raised by the notion of cheating. It would be very easy to cheat at this, and I'm sure when my schedule is ramped up to fever pitch later in the year it may be very tempting, but I find I have no desire to do that. I've got notebooks going back years, containing literally hundreds of songs that have never seen the light of day. It would be all too easy on a busy week to pull one of those out of the bag. But I won't. Partly, I won't because cheating this challenge would be cheating myself, and would weaken, even if only in my mind, the principle that has driven me to do this. Partly, I won't because the vast majority of those songs are bloody awful, which is why they've never seen the light of day in the first place. Anything I'd consider good enough to use, or even to cannibalise, I'd rather put somewhere else than in the weekly freebie bin. So I won't cheat.

Anyway, stuff to do. I'll probably do the next song on Thursday - it's always a good day for it. It probably won't be called '50 Ways to Leave Your Mother' as someone suggested - the Quality Control Inspector wouldn't stand for it.

I've done the second song now. I decided to try doing the music first. I used a soprano uke, Bari uke and double bass, jammed out a few chords, then I added the voice last, writing the lyrics moments before. I decided to do the whole thing on 4 tracks, with no bouncing down, so I made up the instrumental break (which I'd been informed was missing from the first song) without overdubbing, which is why it's a bit crap.

Again, it's rough and ready, and the eagle-eyed will spot plenty of bum notes, buzzes, etc. in it, but as I said before, that's kind of the point. It has to be done quickly, with the minimum correction, and no consideration towards actually honing it into something better.

I promise not every song will be inspired by spite, but this one's about just how creative you can be with no external input, like if you were just dossing about at home all the time. The lyrics aren't great, but they only took 10 minutes, so I'm up on last week, which took 20.

Ooh, and I also added a weird intro, as I had my 4-track to hand last night, but no instruments, so did a sort of vocal sting for it. Ironically, the intro was recorded on three times as many tracks and took longer than the actual song.

Anyway, here it is:

http://www.box.com/s/jbz4nzsygg9cz51pulee

I'll try to get them collected into one place on a side page or something.

I'll start off with a small apology. I'm a bit of a dunce with technology, and last week I decided to put my polemic into blog form, in order to avoid all those pointless, circular arguments that would come if I put it directly onto a bulletin board or social media site. However, I've never really done a blog before, and I'm unfamiliar with the etiquette and mechanics of blogging, so if I'm supposed to have done things like follow back or befriend or what have you, I apologise for my negligence. If I've broken any unwritten codes of internet fraternity, it's only because I don't know what they are. Feel free to put me right on that front.

It has been an interesting week, however, and I have had a fair bit of feedback. I've had messages of support on various other bits of webspace, I've had texts and calls, and even one or two offers of money (some more ironic than others, and none of which I accepted). I've also had a fair few counter-arguments thrown at me, enough to warrant a few answers and clarifications regarding my position. Some of the counter-arguments have also given me a firm idea of what I want the second (and much more ambitious) 'No Packet Required' project to be.

Firstly, although I used some specific examples of projects I believed were particularly cynical and exploitative, for illustrative purposes only, I named no names. Of course, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to discover their identities, and names have been mentioned elsewhere - particularly: 'One Song a Week' girl. I want it made clear I used this as an example, and took it as a workable model for demonstrating certain excesses, but I don't want to get fixated on some personal vendetta against her. I'm sure she's perfectly charming, and I'm not out to get her, even if I do find her project morally and artistically lacking. Saying that, by tweeting that she's finding it difficult to get up and dressed in the mornings, found time to bake raisin bread, and intends to base her second song on a new instrument she received only the day before, she's really not helping her own case. Inexpert, distracted fumblings on a new toy hardly inspire confidence that something is about to be created to give Beethoven's 9th a run for its money.

Ah, Beethoven. "Beethoven and Mozart both received money from rich patrons, so that they could concentrate on the art." True enough, though they did also receive it in the form of commisions for specific work, toured constantly, took on students and produced some of the greatest music ever achieved by homo sapiens. Not a hastily dashed-off whimsical tale about toenails to be found in their entire canon. If Beethoven had been given access to fundraiser sites, what joys may we have now? We could have hundreds of rubbish Beethoven symphonies to enjoy, instead of the nine astonishing ones we currently have to make do with.

I'm not against art patronage. If they were used responsibly and morally, I wouldn't even be against fundraiser sites. It's the excesses and the exploitation of what could be a decent system that annoys me. Working on the idea that they are to fund an artistic endeavour that couldn't be realised without funds, how can it be right to fund a project that requires no money to complete? Why doesn't the project fund close automatically as soon as the funding requirement has been met? If it's more about thinking of something to justify asking for money than it is about having an artistic vision which is stymied by lack of financial backing, how is that even art? It's profiteering. It may allow the 'artists' full control of their art, without the 'men in grey suits' getting their claws on all the money, and that would be a good thing, if it wasn't for the inevitable swing towards the artists actually becoming their own men in grey suits, or even men in grey suits cutting out the middle man and becoming the 'artist' themselves. Inside so many of todays 'artists', there's an accountant trying to get out.

Which leads me to another argument I heard, that paying one's dues by touring scuzzholes and wrangling roudy drunken crowds is no place for a lady, that the Rock 'n' Roll lifestyle is difficult and fraught with dangers. So many great artists have become casualties of the lifestyle, exploited by unscrupulous sharks, fed substances to keep them going, etc. etc. The tragedy of the '27 Club' and if there's a way of being a working musician without all that, especially for a woman, open to sexual exploitation too, it must be worth pursuing.

Now, apart from being massively patronising to women, the main flaw in this reasoning is that ... erm ... that's kind of the job description and kind of the point. Teaching would be much easier without having to deal with children; firefighting would be safer if they didn't have to go anywhere near fires. Paying your dues is also learning your trade. Rock and Roll without the Rock and Roll lifestyle is bland, asinine and banal. And it will -and does - make itself evident in the music. Jimi Hendrix sitting at home doing mp3s and the odd safe, local coffee shop gig? If Keith Moon had spent his days in his PJs posting stickers and baking raisin bread, I'd have killed the bugger myself, and he'd have thanked me for it. The idea of these people being wide-eyed babes-in-the-wood, mercilessly corrupted and destroyed by the machine is one I find difficult to swallow. Maybe that kind of habitat just attracts that kind of animal.

As for sexual exploitation, look at who raises ten times more money on these sites than everyone else, and how hard they fight against it. To quote Chief Wiggum: "Why's it always the pretty ones?" The internal grey suit kicks in again, eliminating the need for any external exploitative influence.

The froth around my mouth suggests I'm ranting again. There are other arguments to answer and clarifications to make, but I'm keeping them back for now, as I think they would be better answered within the context of another post, when I outline my plans for the second 'No Packet Required' project.

But I will quickly clarify one thing before I go. I can scarcely believe I have to reiterate this, but apparently I do. I am not against musicians making money from their skills. I earn a living playing music myself. I travel around and perform for money; I sell CDs; I take commisions to write specific pieces of music; if I believed I could do the job with any degree of success, I would take students. I'm not saying I'm the new Beethoven or Mozart - that's for you to decide on for yourself. ;0)

Seriously though, I'm not advocating that all music should be free, and all musicians should feel honoured to perform. That's obvious hogwash, designed to undervalue the hard work musicians put in- and it is hard work. I believe in a fair day's pay for a fair day's work. But I think these spurious fundraising projects detract from that and damage that idea. They make virtues out of greed and indolence; they make a musician's lot look easy and undemanding, by highlighting the side of things which is traditionally not the side you're paid for, and neatly sidestepping the actual hard work bit. They appeal to vanity, delusion and self-indulgence and roundly ignore the dedication, industry and professionalism required to make a go of a real musical career in the real world.

Keep music live, brothers and sisters!

I rattled off the first song this morning. So, that's a week's work done for some people. It took about 20 mins to write:

and a couple of hours to record. It's ragged at the edges, and hurriedly done, but I wanted to squeeze one in for this week,and am pushed for time. Nevertheless, I still got a few instruments out and gave it a bit of a fancifying.

It's about the subject that was already on my mind, and is called: 'Begging Bowl.' I did it in a sort of Johnny Cash style, as a huge Johnny Cash fan offered to pay me not to record any songs.

Anyway, here it is:

http://www.box.com/s/p71u88jeru4bdxfen27u

No Packet Required - does music really have to cost that much?

Last year, dozens of ukulele artistes raised funds for new albums and projects through dedicated fundraising websites. Some raised a couple of hundred dollars. Others raised figures in the tens of thousands. One YouTube star raised $77,888 for her album. Another young lady raised $104,000 for hers. A well-known, self-styled ‘Burlesque Queen’ raised a staggering $133,341 in order to record a short tour to put out as a live album.

Does it cost this much to make an album? More to the point, does it cost this much for a relatively obscure ukulele player to make an album? Maybe it does; I don’t know. It just seems a little excessive to me.

Even during the course of writing this, I have become aware of another ukulele artiste (again, an attractive young woman, by sheer coincidence) who has raised over $14,000 for a project. The project? Writing a song a week for a year, recording the song on whatever she has available, and emailing the weekly mp3 to her backers. Bearing in mind you can write a song on a scrap of paper with a pencil stub, you can record an mp3 on most laptops and smartphones and you can email essentially free, what on Earth is the $14,000 supposed to fund? I find this genuinely baffling.

I have several issues with this approach to funding projects. One of the main ones is the seeming lack of accountability. You are told how much is apparently required to complete the project, and what you get (if anything - it’s often little or nothing – in some cases, contributors don’t even qualify for a copy of the finished CD) for your contribution, but what happens to the extra money generated? Do the contributors see how their money is spent? Do we have any idea how much of the requested funds are actually required to achieve the project? There is precious little information. Also, if the finished product turned out to be an ill-advised vanity project, you’ve contributed to a white elephant, destined to sit under someone’s bed for the next 300 years, whereas if it ends up becoming hugely commercially successful, the creators are under no obligation to share any of the profit with the investors. You’ve got your signed postcard, and that’ll have to do.

Of course, it isn’t seen as investment; it’s seen as patronage of the arts. But it’s odd how many people suddenly believe they are artists when there’s a chance to hound friends, family and internet acquaintances for free money, bypassing the necessity to risk your own money on your own project, circumventing any need to have any confidence whatsoever in the value of what you are doing. It’s very easy indeed to put someone else’s money where your mouth is. If you’re going to spend $100,000 on an album, you’d better be damned sure you’re the sort of artist who can make a $100,000 album commercially viable, or you’re just being deluded or vain, or at the very least criminally self-indulgent, asking others to finance you for playing at pop stars.

None of this applies, of course when talking about art, but as soon as you start asking other people for money before you've even produced anything - or, for that matter, fully demonstrated what you're going to produce - it serves a different master. It stops being art and starts being a commercial venture, and the rules are different.

Several of the big hitters in these funding schemes made what name they have in a resolutely lo-fi and understated way. The simplicity and accessibility of the ukulele is one of its chief appeals. It’s often at its best as an unadorned accompaniment to a singing voice, and though it works as an ensemble instrument, the ensembles where the uke shines tend to be less grandiose, more rustic affairs.

Or so it was. Perhaps it’s different now. Fancy hardware and fancier software is easy and cheap to obtain nowadays, and inexpensive instruments and equipment mean even people on a modest budget have the wherewithal to become multi-instrumentalist, one-man record companies. Most home computers have the capability to create astonishingly complex recordings, and much more besides. Even phones can give us Abbey Road in our pockets.

I’ve heard many, many amateur or semi-amateur recordings over the last couple of years that have been unbelievably complex affairs, with huge arrangements, string sections, drums, full choirs of harmony vocals, filled with effects and filtered and shaped to the nines, all knocked up at the kitchen table while the other half was watching the match or Coronation Street.

So why would a person with that kind of technology at their disposal, from that lo-fi background, need $100,000 to make an album?

I’m going to start a range of projects under the banner title: ‘No Packet Required’, where music can be created and hopefully enjoyed without costing me or anyone else a packet.

Project One:

I’m going to match ’One New Song on mp3 a week for a year’ girl’s offer. I’m going to write one new song every week for a year, record it on whatever device is freely available to me at the time, and give the mp3 to whoever wants it, gratis. Apart from the frequency, I, along with thousands of others (including many of the ‘fundraisers’), have been doing it on YouTube, social network sites and Bulletin Boards for years.

Of course, writing one new song every week isn’t necessarily conducive to writing quality material, so you may have to take the rough with the smooth, but then it’s the same for her, isn’t it? Also, she offers a $1 refund for every week she doesn’t write a song, which I won’t match, as I’m not looking for any money to begin with.

If I forget about doing this, please remind me.