As an amateur songwriter, about the best thing that can happen is that someone notices. Joel is a guy who notices. He seems to be able to hear heart and sense integrity, and he is one of those special people who delights in spreading the word.

In 2008 I chose to try a little online activity called February Album Writing Month to see if I could pump some energy into my songwriting routine. There wer two people in that community who took note of something I was doing and provided encouragement. One of those people was Joel, who included my song "Rookie of the Year" on an Americana compilation he made of that year's activities.

Spurred on by that experience I took on an even more ambitious task I call the "Hard Rain Songs" which Joel supported from a distance. It was a daunting task, and without his support and enthusiasm I'm not sure I would have had the same energy to keep it up. Eventually he also featured and interview with me on Know Your Music. I can't really say how nice it has been to have that support.

Some of us create, some enjoy, some promote. Joel is an awesome combination of all three, but I think the way he supports other creators is a unique and special attribute.

Here's to ten more!!!

Happy 10th anniversary, KnowYourMusic.com!

I thought I’d take this historic occasion to ask a simple question: what makes a music act great? (I confess I’ve been obsessed with this question for over 40 years, especially as it relates to rock bands.) Between the late 60s and mid 80s, I played with a dozen decent bands, hung out (hung over?) with a hundred others, and opened shows for two dozen R&R Hall of Fame acts. And over the last ten years I’ve done hundreds of hours of research on the best of the best.

Though I may never come up with a conclusive answer to the question (why spoil the fun?), I can say with some confidence that a great music act (or business enterprise for that matter) is dramatically different in some way. It must stand out from the pack. It has to have a unique identity. It must offer something that nobody else offers. If you’ll excuse the business jargon, it has to have some brand differentiation.

The best example? The Beatles, of course, who at the time had a shockingly unusual look (long, mop-top hair), a unique sound for a pop band (crooning harmonies over rocking guitars), and original material that broke the mold year after year. Their radical image was probably the biggest factor in gaining them world appeal. (Capitol Records signed them because of “the hair”—and the teen hysteria it generated—and only later realized they had fortuitously acquired the world’s greatest songwriting team.)

Yes, there are other things required besides having a distinct brand—and I outline five other success differentials in a book I’m working on, Business Lessons From Rock (which may finally see the light of day this year). But a great music act must be distinct or everything else doesn’t matter. It will just be lost in the crowd.

Different isn’t always better but better is always different.

BusinessLessonsFromRock.com
"One of the top 100 management and leadership blogs that all managers should bookmark." — HR World

How long would the ride in an elevator to the 100th floor take? Could you learn your ABCs with out the song? Maybe, but it would not be as much fun.

How many times have we as teenagers, hung out with our buds listening to our favorite tunes. Maybe we were out in the middle of a field with the truck doors open and the Garth blasting from the speakers while we sat on the tailgate. Or maybe we were cruising the strip and kicking the bass.

Imagine going to the movies without music. I am not sure that I could even take a romantic scene seriously without that gentle lullaby playing in the background. What about the big summer blockbusters? How lame would the action scene be without the over the top symphony production. Try to image the climactic battle in Star Wars without any music. Boring!

And what about relationships? I bet there is not one of us that does not have that song. You know the one. The one that brings back all of those memories of that special person. How would we serenade without music? Oh and there was the mix tape. What a perfect way to express the feelings that we just could not put into words ourselves. We would certainly miss snuggling up and sharing ear-buds with that special someone. What about a candle light dinner? How romantic would it be without some soft jazz playing in the background?

Since music adds beauty and energy to everything we do, we should consider it a valuable thing. It is important for us to show that we value it by supporting musical arts. Every time we spend our hard-earned money to buy the sound track from the movie we love, we do that. We show our support when we shell out our cash to see a live performance or download the latest song from our favorite band.

There are other ways to support music though. Keep in mind that every new song adds to the joy that others find in living. Even if it is just a little guitar riff the someone writes while sitting on the edge of his or her bed after school. All songs have to start somewhere.

Take the time to encourage music at every opportunity. Commend those who pour themselves into a song and are willing to share that with others. Help out where you can with what ever skills you have. Give music every opportunity to grow.

Because you never know how just one song can change a person's life forever.

Live, love and share music.

Jay recorded that album on an audiophile label, DMP. So I started thinking about other DMP artists and remembered a band called Flim and the BBs, that I think many consider to be a pioneer in exploring the full potential of digital music. Flim and the boys are the poster children for ‘dynamic range’. Heh, I’ve startled the heck out of many an innocent bystander blasting the title cut off the “Tricycle” album. (Tricycle is one of the songs that you play at excessive volume levels in lieu of explaining to people exactly why you paid so much for your ‘killer’ stereo. If they don’t understand it then, they never will!)

A moment inside Ron's head: Holy mackerel! I went looking for Tricycle to give it a quick play and make sure it was the song I thought it was … and I discovered that I seem to have accumulated 6 Flim & the BBs albums! Wow! When did that happen? I didn’t know I was such a jazz head!

Then, (and I really don’t understand the linkage at work here either), I started to think about undervalued ‘bodies of work’ … like the early Roxy Music albums, or the first three Blue Oyster Cult albums from their early ‘black and white’ album cover phase.

But I think I will go with my first instinct and try to write something up on Jay’s album. [Feel free to edit me … I tend to run on too much!]

Two quick things before I sayonara on outta here:

1. I actually made a New Year’s resolution this year to listen to more music that is new to me (I’m doing pretty good on this part), buy more music this year (I’m over achieving on this one, I need to temper myself), take more time to play music this year (eek – not much progress there yet), and actually try to write something this year (zero progress– but I DO get this mildly terrifying ‘tingly’ feeling when I remember that I was going to try this).
2. I’ve started ‘raiding’ resale shops. I recently bought five CDs @ $2 a pop in a single trip to one resale shop. For my tenner, I got:
   • A folk CD – A live evening with Earl Scruggs, Doc Watson, and Ricky Scaggs. Three legends for $2?? Really?
   • A country CD – Blackhawk’s 2nd album. Not so great. I may sell this one back if none of the grandkids want it.
   • A classic rock CD – rarities and radio appearances from Jethro Tull.
   • An “Alt rock” CD – Chris Izaak. “Forever Blue”. Very nice. An excellent album! The kid is interesting.
   • And a Brazilian thrash metal CD from Sepultura! I really like it but it is waaay too tempting to leave it playing during my calls with IT.

I is one eclectic mess! “… and loving it!” ;-)

You, Joel, haven't been making a good living as a singer/songwriter for the past 10 years because you're afraid to fail at it. Try and fail, and you risk your greatest passion. Much better to avoid the whole thing, and struggle trying to decide whether you're a web developer or an author coach or a writer. Failing at those (well, succeeding at a much lower level than you know is possible) is hard. Can't pay the bills, keep switching horses in the middle of the stream, keep searching but not finding.

But it's not difficult.

Difficult is the emotionally dangerous path, the one that requires actually having some skin in the game, the one that carries real live genuine risk for you because while you don't care about money, you don't care what you do for work, you don't really care where you live, what country or what house, you'd be willing to eat whatever was put in front of you if need be—

—but risk your music? Try, and fail?

That would finally top the end of your first marriage as the most painful failure of your entire life.

And every day you put it off is another day it sticks in your craw, turning to the ashes of passion.

Me write about music? Sure. Why not? I can read music. I can play some songs on some instruments. And, I know how to work a radio and a CD player and iTunes. I have been asked not to sing ever. I have been kicked out of a church choir (surprisingly, not for rowdy behaviour but for my voice) and been refused private singing lessons after one. Lesson.

But, I have also been in choirs and passed both my singing tests at university (after many, many, many, many hours of coaching and practice.) And, I dance to music. Always. Mostly every day. Sometimes while driving. Which is different. It includes speeding. But the stuff in my living room or a dance floor isn't all that straightforward because I can't hear music accurately. That, my dear, is my musical resume.

Now, tell me what you want. How much of it, in what sort of vein? My favourite music/musician? Raising a baby with a heavy metal band in the living room? "Dust in the Wind" still reminding me of being 19 and hanging out with all my gifted musician friends? Finding Nancy White and realizing that I, too, don't really want Leonard Cohen to bring my groceries in (and that's not a metaphor, you are to take that literally.)

Do you know of Nancy White? Here she is:

The above version of the spoken ad-lib section is as recorded on the CD. Nancy indicates that these lyrics evolve over time. Currently she is saying "I'll call Rita, Rita's everybody's friend." This will probably change soon, since this is a reference to Rita McNeill who had a TV show on CBC called "Rita and Friends" which has now been cancelled.

^* "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy" on Leonard Cohen's Songs from a Room

© 1990 Multinan Inc., SOCAN. 4:15.
Lyrics reprinted with permission.
Cat. # SANCD 1025, Children's Group, Toronto, 1990.
Published by Mouton Records.

I was so lucky that my parents took me to see so many of these Big Bands while their original band leaders were alive and well. Maynard Ferguson, Woody Herman, Benny Goodman; Stan Kenton on the Art Museum steps- little knowing that someday I'd live my dental career just scant yards from there! Sonny Payne with his insanely fancy drumstick maneuverings; I even saw Gene Krupa once! My Dad is a jazz drummer still, and Krupa was always his favorite. They had met and talked once and Gene recognized my Dad and called him by name, speaking to us at our table for a few minutes. Ella Fitzgerald- I saw her in college, and I admit it she made me cry with joy, she was so wonderful.

Basie was always my favorite though, and I saw him twice. The first time I was younger, maybe 11, and my signature memory besides the gorgeous and fascinating music was smoke in my eyes. Not the sultry old standard "Smoke Gets in my Eyes", but the real, airway-burning, eye-ripping carcinogenic effluent from too many cigarettes in a crowded room. The second time, my Dad and I caught him at, I believe, the old Covered Wagon Inn. All these years later I recall the room precisely and can hark back and picture Curt and I chatting at the corner of the bar. (Were they more lax about kids, accompanied by their parents, being in proximity with alcohol in those days? I dunno.)

Basie taught me so much. First, the man had incredible "chops"- the basic set of musical skills a musician possesses, particularly in jazz. He could shed arpeggios with blinding speed. I've heard him do it, it's amazing. And yet he often started a piece or took a solo with just a few spare notes. Why did he forego musical density for minimalism so often? I'm not sure what was in his mind, but I have my theory. He may have only played a few notes, but they were excellent notes. They mattered. Basie also understood that the spaces between the notes were just as important, if not more so, than the notes themselves. There's a lesson in human communication! He also left us wanting more. That was part of why he was so successful for his entire career; in short, he was always cool. Never jumped the shark...

(There's more below the image.)

Imagine my elation when I got to Muhlenberg College and found that our band director, Barry Kolman, was also into Basie. Every concert contained at least one chart, sometimes two. In fact I can quote Dr. Kolman precisely: "If you can understand Basie, you can understand the rest ot jazz." And it was true.

My most important and valuable lessons learned from Basie are not about music, however, but concern intolerance. The thing is, William "Count" Basie was born in 1904, a time of open and raw intolerance in this country. I wish at age 13 I could have had the understanding to ask him about his response to the intolerance he saw around him, but I believe that I know the essence of it. Faced with something monstrous that he could not control, he chose to influence it- and also to control his own reactions to it. What I mean is, in his gentle and yet relentlessly consistent way, he broke down barriers long before the more famous musicians and athletes of a later generation. Basie was an outlier- in Malcolm Gladwell's definition from the book of the same name. Outliers are defined by Gladwell as people who do not fit into our normal understanding of achievement; exceptional people, especially those who are smart, rich, and successful, and those who operate at the extreme outer edge of what is statistically possible.

What I want to say to a later generation of listeners who may not be familiar with Count Basie's music is this: you can hear in the music itself that the man is an outlier. You can hear that he was remarkable and interested in doing things the way he felt, not the way that someone told him to. And, most importantly, you can hear Basie's essential optimism. It runs through every note. That irrepressible mid-20th Century American optimism that may be gone now. A recognition that things may not be perfect, but that they for darn sure are going to keep getting better, and this man's job is to contribute something positive to that goal with his music and his actions and his life.

And, in a classic and memorable example of doing just that, one person at a time: by talking to a 13 year old kid and signing a photograph to him: "To Rick, Basie '74".

Years ago, three of my best friends and I went to the desert for a camping trip. During the long, hot drive there were a number of disagreements about our schedule, food preparations and campsite setup. We couldn’t agree on anything, and the car’s poor air conditioning didn’t help. The last half-hour of the drive we sat in sullen silence.

We set up camp, exchanging few words. The afternoon heat had crested, and though still hot, the air hinted of cooling. Not so with our tempers—we sat awkwardly in camp, hardly speaking. Then Matt said he was going for a walk. A few minutes later, Lynn, my girlfriend, said she was going for a walk as well. She tried a neutral, “Do you want to come with me?” but I couldn’t let go of the hard words we’d had, and I declined. She moved off in a direction opposite Matt’s.

That left Marty and me, and since I felt he had started all the arguments, I didn’t want to stick around. I got up, said a quick, “Me too,” and moved away through the sandy dirt toward some craggy hills, avoiding both Matt’s and Lynn’s paths.

The desert began to work its magic. It is a place of subtle beauty and crisp vistas: soft, stark colors of scattered sage and creosote, harsh rock outcrops, heavy air. I walked for a while, sweating, but felt the cooling of early evening.

When I headed back to camp, I was still irritated, but no longer felt an active sting. Still a good distance away, I heard a faint, melodic sound. I couldn’t quite make out the series of reverberant, high tones. As I got closer I realized that the rich sounds were from Marty, playing his violin as twilight fell.

The great silences that fashion the desert air were a perfect medium for the arching, yearning melodies pulled out of the instrument’s strings. Though I couldn’t identify the composition, its message was clear: there was beauty in the air, beauty all around us. We just needed to listen, to hear, to see.

Do you know that saying that food tastes better when you’re camping? Well, there was something about the desert air, the soft twilight, the ethereal, lingering notes of the violin that washed over me—music is better when you’re camping as well. Even for overheated savage beasts, music can heal.

It was uncanny; just as I got within site of the camp, I saw that Matt and Lynn were approaching too. Marty’s playing was a siren song, but instead of dashing us on the rocks of destruction, it brought us together. He didn’t say a thing as we approached, but just continued playing, a small smile on his face.

The first stars began to show in the still-bright sky; a slight breeze came up. We found places to sit while Marty painted the air with sweet sound. When he finished, we burst into applause, and then into laughter. There were no more arguments in camp, nor on the way home. Music has magic, and words aren’t the instrument to convey its captivation. We were spellbound, and then we were released, friends again.

People ask me what kind of music I like and only recently have I realized that I like "new" music. And not just any new music... I like music at the point of inception. I like hearing songs that were literally just written that day by people I'm lucky enough to be around as they write.

Well, I thought I could just whip up 500 words but I ran out of steam... back to coding. The new Indie Band Manager is almost ready. I have it running on my iPod, iPad, and MacBook Pro here at a Panera in Boston as I listen to the easy listening instrumentals piping in over the restaurant speakers, nursing a cold coffee for a place to sit and code.

Hope you're well. -Charle