Kristin Hersh

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One of my greatest frustrations with respect to marketing has been that while I speak often about human’s predisposition to share, we’ve yet — in the entertainment realm — developed a way to encourage/reward sharing/sharers.

A bit of background. It was when music/books/movies/etc. went from being objects (analog) to being information (digital) that people could finally satisfy their hard-wired impulse to share with no downside.

Prior to this, if I wanted to share an album/book/DVD with you, when I gave it to you I was deprived of my copy — you win, I half lose/half win. Post the shift to information, when I share my digital versions with you, I still keep my copy — we both win.

This switch, naturally, had a massively disruptive impact on media (and other) businesses. It’s really the underlying cause of the crumbling of the firmament of the old-school media businesses. We’re doing what we’ve always done/wanted to do (share information), it’s just that now, with the switch from objects (analog) to shareable-information (digital), scarcity-based economic business models are left scrambling to find a purpose that can be monetized.

In any case, we can all agree with Mark Earls when he says:

Human beings are to independent action, as cats are to swimming. We can do it if we really have to, but mostly we don’t…. Instead, we do what we do because of what those around us are doing (Whatever our minds and our cultures tell us). So if you want to change what I’m doing, don’t try to persuade me — don’t try to make me do anything. I can’t make anyone do anything. They do what they do because of their peers.

So, we as content creators desperately need to encourage our constituents to share. In the past, I’ve made facile suggestions to artists (musicians, visual artists, etc.) to attempt things like “buy one, give one free” in the analog realm. That is, when someone buys a CD at your show, offer them a second for free, with the request that the person buying the CD give this second one to someone they believe will appreciate the music. Same with prints of photos, etc.

While not exactly the most innovative (or measurable) strategy in the world, I still think there’s merit to to this approach. However, it doesn’t really scale, and I’m constantly asked by people with whom I work if there’s a way to reward digital sharing.

So far, what we’re seeing is variants on the “RT for song” that firms like CASH Music have developed. I, of course, love this type of approach, and hope more utilize it (Disclosure: I’m a proud CASH board member).

However, I believe this approach needs to be expanded upon.

I genuinely hope that artists in 2011 take the approach that when a customer purchases their digital work, they are presented with the opportunity to email a copy to a friend they feel will appreciate it. Perhaps this is part of the transaction cost that the initial customer must bear. In other words, prior to the original customer gaining access to the digital work, she must not only pay, but also enter a verifiable email address of one of her friends, who she believes would enjoy the work.

If this all sounds vaguely familiar, it should. Beyond the fact that I’d be surprised if someone smart in the media world hasn’t tried this (it seems like, for instance, something Topspin or Kristin Hersh would be doing), it’s very consistent with what appears to be an emergent tenet of social entrepreneurship. The most visible example, of course, being Toms Shoes. Their “One pair sold = one pair donated” approach is not only virtuous, but also great marketing.

When I introduce the concept of social entreprenuership to my students, the very first example I offer is Toms Shoes. When I ask how many people have heard of Toms, typically two-thirds of the students raise their hands. There are very few companies that when I ask my students if they’ve heard of that I get that type of response. And, yet, to my knowledge, Toms has spent little on traditional advertising. Rather, their conceit of “buy one, give one free” has done the work for them (of course, there are costs associated with Toms’ approach, but I’m guessing these are less than what a traditional ad campaign would cost, and clearly their approach is more effective and vrituous).

I’ve long felt that there is a linkage between social entrepreneurship (“team of teams,” small groups, emphasis on “changemakers,” “purpose-driven brands,” etc.), and the creative arts. I believe both can learn from each other.

I do hope that more in the creative arts glean from social entrepreneurship this notion of “buy one, give one free.”

I’ve been frustrated by the lack of a mechanism for this type of sharing of information, which makes it easy for the existent constituent to introduce the work to her friends. As above, one may exist, and, if so, I’d love to see some examples, so please leave them in the comments.

Here’s hoping we see this develop in 2011.

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A while back I made a promise to try and engage in more random acts of creativity; things get very dark around the Ponderosa when I don’t.

I’ve done OK with this, but I’m certainly not where I want to be in terms of frequency.

I was thinking about why my output hasn’t been what I’ve wanted, and some of it comes down to my damnable Virgo personality of needing to refine things rather than letting them be/go. While I’ve come to be largely OK with this, it does stand in contrast to much of what I preach with respect to getting stuff out there and refining.

What happens is, I’ll start with a sketch of a song or of a…er…sketch, and rather than keep it as just a sketch — a moment — I add layers.

The question is, do these layers really add anything? Isn’t the essence where it’s at?

I think the answer is that, yes, the essence is there…or it isn’t. Refining is not necessarily a bad thing, and, often, is absolutely necessary. But sometimes it’s more necessary to just create, and let the essence be what it is or isn’t.

I think if there’s something there, you’ll come back with a different eye, a different approach, and you’ll refine. If there isn’t something there, coming back to it a billion times won’t get you any closer to the truth.

To that end, I was taking a break from the jaberwocky a bit ago, and came upstairs from my office; the kids were running around in circles (not kidding), and I picked up my guitar. I’m fascinated and obsessed with staccato rhythms on guitar that imply melody, and am always on the hunt for these. A drop D and a capo later, I had the feel of something. I plopped my iPhone with the voice memo app running on my knee and banged it out.

My intention was to use this iPhone recording to just remember the idea of the tune. But then I started thinking of all the layers I would add to it, and it became less about doing something fun and cathartic and more about planning a time when the house would be quiet, the phone wouldn’t be ringing, etc.

Pretty soon I was tired just thinking about it.

So, screw it. Here’s the iPhone recording. Yes, that’s Henry running around in circles talking about monsters. Yes, that’s me breathing. Yes it goes out of time at one point.

mouse-with-pincushion
Mouse and Pin Cushion

Once again, I’m honored to use, with her kind permission, one of Kristin Hersh’s amazing photos as the title inspiration.

If you want to hear real songs, head on over to Kristin’s Site; lots of amazing things going on over there.

I hope those of you who read Ye Olde Bloggee don’t mind these little moments of internal contemplation and their collateral manifestations.

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Sachuest Point

This is an older instrumental that’s been looking for a name for a long time. Since I’ve been inspired by Kristin Hersh’s, “Kristin With an Eye” images to connect my songs to her visuals (ala “Southern Waste”), I though it made sense to finally give it a name.

Here’s Kristin’s image that retroactively inspired the song:

And, here’s the song:

gh_instrumental1
Sachuest Point

It was written many moons ago upstairs in the little make-shift studio I put together above the Ryko offices in Gloucester. I’d disappear on occasion, when the business overtook the art, to try and remember what pulled me into this business in the first place.

The sort of drone-y under current in the song is a dulcimer. While sort of thought of as the autoharp’s less cool cousin, dulcimers are actually pretty happening. Have a listen, for instance, to this:

“Everybody hit the ground,” indeed.

Creative Commons License
Sachuest Point by George Howard is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

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photo by Kristin Hersh

Southern Waste
Southern Waste

These are songs I write to quiet the madding crowd. I do them very quickly – like sketches – and present them warts and all (or all warts).

They’re licensed under CreativeCommons, so please feel free to use them.

A note about the title/image. One of the hardest parts of writing instrumental music is coming up with titles. Happily, Kristin Hersh, in her genius, posts a new photo to her blog every day. Not only do these images inspire me, but they also provide fantastic titles. With Kristin’s kind permission, I’m attaching my little songs to her images.

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Creative Commons License
Southern Waste by George Howard is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

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I’ve sort of needed a few days to process the greatness that was the Outstanding in the Field dinner Marci and I attended Friday night. My views on food are pretty transparent. Basically, I see cooking, creativity, and art as all being very interrelated. I have found that making records, starting/running businesses, and cooking all share an awful lot of the same, er, ingredients.

I also feel that the theme of my new book (The Artist’s Dilemma) – helping artists find ways to connect directly to their constituents (and in a scale-able manner) rather than passing off their creations to someone else to “market”/”distribute” – is very much inspired by chefs. In a sense, a chef is the truest distillation of the artist’s dilemma. She spends years honing her chops, finding her culinary voice, etc., and then opens a restaurant. She then finds that no longer is she able to do the things she got in to the business for (creating/cooking), but, instead, is a business owner. Of course, she has zero training on how to run a business. The results are predictable.

I marvel, therefore, whenever I see a chef who has managed to maintain artistry, and scale to a degree where they have a successful business and stay true to their creative/gustatory ethos. These rare people have solved the artist’s dilemma. No different for authors, film makers, musicians or any other artist.

Outstanding in the Field is an emphatic example of the solving of the artist’s dilemma. Founder, Jim Denevan is an artist first and foremost. From his bio:

Jim Denevan makes freehand drawings in sand. At low tide on wide beaches Jim searches the shore for a wave tossed stick. After finding a good stick and composing himself in the near and far environment Jim draws– laboring up to 7 hours and walking as many as 30 miles. The resulting sand drawing is made entirely freehand w/ no measuring aids whatsoever. From the ground, these drawn environments are experienced as places. Places to explore and be, and to see relation and distance. For a time these tangible specific places exist in the indeterminate environment of ocean shore. From high above the marks are seen as isolated phenomena, much like clouds, rivers or buildings. Soon after Jim’s motions and marks are completed water moves over and through, leaving nothing.

Here’s an example of his work:

In many respects Mr. Denevan reminds me of no one so much as John Corbett’s character “Chris” from Northern Exposure. Chris is one of my all-time favorite characters of fiction, and both Chris and Mr. Denevan share a true artist’s spirit:

Of course, if you’ve watched the show, you know Chris doesn’t fling the cow; he flings a grand piano. It’s an amazing moment (though sadly not findable (by me at least) online). Man, I miss that show.

There’s, of course, a similar emphasis on the aesthetic moment going on with Mr. Denevan’s visual art. However, while these moments emphasize the connection between fleetingness and beauty, all art is really about the aesthetic moment. Certainly live music represents this, with recordings only attempting to approximate the more ethereal nature of the live performance, even while, occasionally, becoming a genuine artistic moment (while you listen) in and of themselves.

Art is about the moments of being present: looking at the painting, listening to the music, reading the book, watching the movie.

The art is influenced by the context. I got into a kerfuffle with someone who had (politely) taken issue with an article that I wrote, and which appeared on TuneCore. Basically, this gentleman disagreed with my exhortation for artists to get out there and find a constituency with shared values (psychographics). This gentleman recommended instead that artists simply focus on writing great songs, and he believes – thanks to technology – the songs will be delivered to those predisposed to want to hear them. In my retort to this I stated that I feel that only through context can a song be deemed great (a great song isn’t a priori great, its “greatness” emerges out of context (a posteriori). My point being that context plays a role (a large role) in art.

This (finally) brings me to Outstanding in the Field. This emphasis on context is best summed up by quoting from Mr. Denevan’s site:

Jim Denevan is an accomplished chef and founder of Outstanding in the Field, a world-wide moveable feast, a seasonal open-air investigation into the quality and meaning of place.

Outstanding in the Field grew out of Jim’s “farmer dinners” which took place during the mid 1990s at tiny Gabriella Café in Santa Cruz where he invited local farmers to preside over special meals featuring their just-picked harvest. The first Outstanding in the Field “farm dinner” took place at Mariquita farm in Corralitos, California in September of 1999.

Outstanding in the Field has hosted 75 events since 1999. In 2008, Outstanding in the Field goes even farther afield and ventures beyond North America — bringing our long table to selected sites around the world.

This commitment to affirming the connection between what you eat and why you eat is crucial. It’s obviously crucial from a sustainability perspective (checked the price on those fertilizer futures recently?), it’s also crucial from an artistic perspective.

The entire event brings context to food and art. It requires effort. Marci and I had to drive about an hour and a half to get to Big Branch, LA, but our drive was trivial compared to the many attendees who had flown from all over the country (having been unable to get tickets to events closer to their homes).

Trivial or otherwise, the drive itself was the first step in setting the context: leaving New Orleans, crossing the bayou, finally entering farm land. It was a transition, and artistic moments require you to transition from one mental space to another.

Upon arrival, the transitions continued. Being amidst the produce and the poultry, the mosquitoes and manure, while drinking darn good champagne, and watching the amazing appetizers being made (menu above in the photostream) all contributed to setting the artistic moment. This is only enhanced by the table setting, and the subtle, but emphatic, details that Mr. Denevan and his team tend to (the parking of the bus, the chalkboard sign, etc. (photos above)).

The meal was preceded by a brief discussion about the food we were about to eat… by those who had grown the food and cooked the food.

As we ate, the purveyors walked down the length of the table continuing to talk about what the food meant to them. The woman who foraged the chanterelles was followed by the man who kept the bees which supplied the honey.

I managed to speak briefly with Mr. Denevan. I told him that what he was doing resembled what Kristin Hersh’s manager, Billy O’Connell had just described to me the other day: Kristin was doing small, intimate gigs at the homes of a select fans. The fans were to set up the environment and invite others to their home to share the experience with them.

Mr. Denevan listened very attentively, smiling all the while, before saying, “You know, I’m a musician.”

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