I’m sitting here tonight feeling frustrated by the US Court of Appeals decision rejecting the requested stay of the looming CRB royalty rates set to take affect on July 15th.
I have loved every moment of it the experience of sitting as a member of the SaveNetRadio coalition. Being immersed in politics at a grassroots level and seeing the power of the people in action is personally empowering to me. I’ve met people that I would never have crossed paths with had it not been for SaveNetRadio and for that I am always thankful. They have offered me an insight into the inner workings of this business and its politics that has both educated and fascinated me.
I was invited to sit on the SaveNetRadio coalition as a director of the Roots Music Association to be a representative voice for artists. To say yes to the opportunity to do so was a no-brainer for me…I’ve wittnessed first hand the day to day struggles they experience, as well as the turmoil and vices that this business seems to readily cultivate for those who give it’s breath.
Its been a tough go at times to keep hammering the message and voices of independent artists at a level where we’re talking about billions of revenue dollars and high level politics. There are many times I’ve sat there listening to the intelligent and passionate conversation between highly educated, productive and successful businessmen and women feeling as if I were one little tiny voice from Whoville attempting to catch the attention of Horton. The coaltion members have been wonderfully supportive of my contributions and extremely inclusive when I offer my own passionate contributions to the matters at hand.
I advocated to the best of my ability on behalf of independent artists. Artists that end up paying out of their own pockets to travel half way across the country to play their hearts out for six people only to have the venue refuse to pay them at the end of the night. Artists who pay thousands of dollars to put out a cd then can’t afford the ‘promotional budget’ needed to have corporate radio give it airtime. Artists who believe in and follow their creative vision with sometimes blinded passion and pay the price often times with the loss of their marriages, children or health. Sometimes all three and more. Artists that not only deserve royalty payments for their creative efforts but appreciative value for the contributions their music makes to the lives of others. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without music and I’m sure everyone else who reads this feels the same way.
My frustration lies tonight in the hope that somehow I’ve managed to contribute enough to make my voice heard enough and is coupled with the additional hope that someone out there somewhere was listening.
As I struggle tonight to find the right words as to why I’m so passionate about the right for independent music to be heard as always its a song that is able to express the emotion far more adequately than I ever could.
Instead of spending hours on a rant about why independent music is culturally vital and why we need to advocate for those who make this wonderful music that touches not only our lives but our hearts and souls I’m going to encourage you to go to www.myspace.com/dukelang and listen with an open heart to Doug Lang’s Troubadour.
It’ll say everything I’m wanting to and more…if it touches your heart the way it does mine then continue to call and add your voice to the masses until all of us here in Whoville create enough noise that the right people listen to our pleas and take action. It’s music like this that makes every ounce of passion we’ve got left important enough to be expressed.
TROUBADOUR
Just got a new demo of this song from Magne and Jarl in Norway.
They put their own music to it. Funny thing is that their melody
is nearly a shadow to mine. I guess the lyrics did their job. There’s
still work to be done, but you can get a feel for the song and the
process that goes into its development. This is a song (and story)
about the end of my nights making a living from music. I didn’t
know it at the time, but it was also the beginning of something.
(I posted this blog before, but bumped it up top to go with the
new demo I just uploaded).
Nine years of workin’ the bar rooms
Agents who don’t give a damn
The 2 a.m. chicks, the 4 a.m. fix
The 6 a.m. poached egg and ham
The drive from Nanaimo to Duncan
Worry lines creasin’ my brow
Sick to my gut I ask myself what
In hell am I gonna do now
I don’t even know if they were B-rooms. That’s what my agent
called them. I called them toilets, because that’s what they smelled like.
I worked up and down Vancouver Island in all kinds of bars, lounges.
Some where they listened, some where they didn’t. Most places had
a dozen or so regulars, which is a nice way of saying alcoholics. The
kind of folks who, five minutes after you rocked out on Hey Goodlookin’
would stagger up to the stage and say, “Hey, buddy, could you play
Hey Goodlookin’ for me?” It took about that long for the echo of
your performance to reach their brain. They’d buy you a drink. I always
said rum & coke, and had a deal with the bartender where he’d save
the rum and give me the drink money later.
I could’ve been a contender
I had the songs and the voice
But I stepped on the toes of a couple of those
Who could’ve offered a choice
I never could bide by the system
The gig it was rigged from the start
Each dollar you make is a dollar they take
And they tell you to sing from the heart
So goodbye to all of the toilets
The agent who don’t give a damn
The 2 a.m. chicks, the 4 a.m. fix
The 6 a.m. poached egg and ham
Drivin’ Nanaimo to Duncan
Worry lines deep in my brow
Light me a butt and ask myself what
In the hell am I gonna do now
I was going pretty good there for a while. Playing six nights,
even putting on Sunday night concerts in smaller places
where folks were willing to pay a higher pop for a show.
I lugged my own sound system around. My agent would ask me
every week if I’d learned how to work that Rhythm Ace yet, but
I didn’t want to use that metronomic gadgetry. Stubborn, I
suppose, but I hated having a machine dictate the tempo
and feel of a song. Of course, the agent got his cut no matter
what. Seemed like just when I had the rent together, I needed
to get the car fixed, or something went wrong with the P.A.,
or a friend was selling his guitar and I had to have it. I was
a friendly pawnbroker, though, and sold two guitars back to
friends – same price – once they’d gotten work again.
I quit on a cold Sunday morning
Packed my suitcase and P.A.
Broke a hinge on the door of Room 234
Spit gravel as I drove away
Threw the room key out of the window
Lit a joint on the Malahat route
Inhaled to the core, drove two miles before
I let any of it back out
I did quit the business on a bitterly cold Sunday morning in
Duncan, after finishing out at a hotel there that went by a rude
nickname. They had a guy playing in the pub and me in the
lounge. Late on Saturday night, around 2:00 a.m., we both had
to find the hotel manager in order to get paid. We found him.
He was drunk, upstairs somewhere putting a move on a hotel guest.
We finally got him downstairs into his office, and he told us he’d
give us half of what we were due. He said we both let him down.
