As a child of the 80s, I was more enthralled by mainstream Michael Jackson, Madonna and Cyndi Lauper than by edgy Prince. My life had little angst, so Prince's dark and dangerous persona held little appeal.
Prince could do it all. Play everything. And he could dance to boot. In heels. The night he died there was nothing on my Facebook or Twitter feed but posts about him. We all expressed our sorrow in our own way.
I say this for my brothers and sisters who have elected to become soundwave-shapers, who have given their time, their sweat, and their waking (and dreaming) hours over to this strange and hallowed profession: The world would be a mighty desolate place without you in it.
When I woke up on the first morning after delivering you to college it was quiet. Really quiet. Just as I thought, nobody was in your bed. I knew you weren't at a sleepover. Or on a school trip. This was for real.
Of course our largest area of discourse will be our polar opposite views on the way in which music creators are being compensated (or not compensated) in the current digital economy...(yours being: stream away and embrace the new era; mine -- fair market value for my content, please).
Sixteen months ago as I was walking across the Wesleyan campus on a college tour with my daughter, my iPhone buzzed. I had told myself I would not be taking business calls on this trip. But this was different.
Steve Rennie is a former record label executive, talent manager, concert promoter, entrepreneur, and not to mention, an incredible golfer. In a recent article, Billboard Magazine ranked Steve No. 1 on their music industry golf leaderboard.
This past weekend -- July 3, 4 and 5 at Soldier Field in Chicago -- the "core four" surviving members of legendary rock band the Grateful Dead played their final three 50th anniversary Fare Thee Well #Dead50 reunion shows, a celebration of longevity, peace, friendship and love.
I've been thinking about the innovation of interactive streaming--how versatile, convenient and instantly gratifying it is. Interactive, however, means that before I take off for a drive to the mall or a run on the beach I have a decision to make: what do I want to listen to?
I often say (and you've probably heard me say it), that when I started out in this business of writing songs I was twenty. Everyone else was twenty. Now I'm fifty-something and everyone else is five. I'm exaggerating about the five, but you know what I mean.
If you've been in the songwriting business for more that a few years, you've undoubtedly seen your royalty statements fizzle so I'm sure this statement will make you crazy: Spotify is worth more than the entire U.S. music industry.
How many club owners would ask Lady Gaga or Keith Jarrett to play for free? None. Why? Because both artists can generate ticket sales and bar receipts that exceed their fees -- a mutually beneficial arrangement for both the club owner and the artist, which is how it must be.
A fairytale ending can certainly happen for an artist in the music business, but it usually comes in the form of having a wise and learned advocate who can point out the dangers that lie ahead in hopes of helping them navigate the landscape.
I've learned from experience, the best way to recharge my brain is to turn it off -- for a half hour at least. When I wake, my synapses will be fresh. The word or the line that eluded me before, will reveal itself voluntarily. And I will feel like a fool for not having seen it sooner.
I took my 17-year-old daughter to see Beautiful: The Carole King Musical, over spring break. Before we went to New York, and in anticipation of the show, I'm happy to say she "pre-acclimated" herself with Ms. King's music and all of its non-Auto-Tuned perfect imperfection.