Myspace Music Part 2

I suppose it's been about a week or so since I decided to write a piece on the upcoming, much anticipated Myspace Music. I invested great deals of time and energy (about 20 minutes) into getting as much intel on this pet project as was available. Those who read it probably remember that my predictions on the venture were less than positive (like you crazy kids would expect anything less from me.)

Turns out I wasn't too far off the mark.

Mr. Murdoch is gonna be sitting at the big boys table. Talking football and getting first dibs at the gravy. It's so cute when they act all grown up. Of course, me and my colleagues will be firmly planted in that metaphorical cracked with warped plastic kiddy table. The unknown and unwanted rabble that the adults try to ignore but feel obligated to feed.

So here's the rundown from where I read it. Driving traffic to my Myspace artist page entitles me to no kind of advertising coin. Despite having cool people being barraged by pointless, redundant ads that spam cheaper crap than any porn site within every few inches of every scroll, and despite not being allowed to have any control over how the advertising happens on the page, or what is advertised, I shall also not be getting paid for it. Not a major niggle, considering I've never been paid for it in the past. However, now I know that I won't be paid for it while any act that's ever made the VH1 top 20 will be.

And that tends to make one feel a little cheap you know? I'm not so foolish as to assume I'm in the same standings as your modern popular fare, but it's beginning to feel like I don't even deserve to call what I do "music." Ye gods, I'm not a musician anymore. That title is reserved for artists with labels and hefty overpaid organizations who can peddle flesh that can hold a tune. That's not me. Can't be. I refuse to let Sony BMG touch me inappropriately in the back of a limo. My conscious is clear you bastards. Of course all this clean living has apparently come at a price in the eyes of Myspace. Me and my colleagues have become second stringers. "Sonic Apprenticeships" that's what we are, until we break down and suckle the teat of the majors.

Of course, focusing all eyes on the profit is sort of missing the point in doing what we do. I'm a musician. It's not a job or a career, it's a passion. A deep lust to conjure and create something unheard of in the ears of the world. To see someone's face contort into a twisted smile as my monster rapes their eardrums and fills the void with something interesting. To watch a crowd of people shake and sweat to a body of sound I made whole. That's the good stuff right there. Gets me out of bed every morning brother. And if you boys and girls want to help me pay my bills by investing in some of my penned works? Hell, I won't complain. If you don't well, I'll still play. Until my hands fail and my mind has heard one voice too many, I will play.

So, the money doesn't bother me as much as what will happen with the press. Artists need an audience and press is important. I'm an unheard entity for the most part. Not too many know I even exist. Same can be said for a lot of my colleagues. And when the big boys start taking their pieces of the pie, you can bet we'll become even harder to find. Backdrops and window dressing. Unnecessary entities in a world where Chris Brown and Rick Ross can drive more traffic than all of us combined. Which technically isn't all that hard since we're already tucked conveniently in the shadows already. Come launch day, we'll probably all be tossed in some throwaway corner of Myspace like the grab bag section of a thrift store. 10% chance of something interesting in every bag. You just need to sort and shuffle through the day job accountants and grocery store owners with bands on the side. You know the type, those who stopped their musical development once Whitesnake hit the scene.

My first reaction is naturally to lead an army of my colleagues away from Myspace to greener pastures. There are better options out there, those that believe what we make is something worth appreciating. We could storm away from Rupert's big top en masse, a bold statement to the man and his machine. Watch it all burn down as journey towards our utopia.

Ah, but I'm daydreaming again.

No artist would dare follow me into the void. Too much riding on the horse. There's a big world under the tent, lots of people that could be turned on to what they do. Too many webcam pimps and bad clothing merchandisers out there to befriend. And no fan would follow me out either. If anything my craft is merely a tacked on bonus to the joys of talking with school chums and other like-minded folks who enjoy sports teams, television programs, and real artists. My walk out wouldn't so much as register as a rat fart in an auditorium. It's pretty doubtful anyone would even know I was gone.

Still, one has to do what it takes right? Run lean, bare essentials, make your stand from any sure footing you can find. Running solo means doing battle as hard as you can for as long as you can.

So, I started drawing my line in the sand. First thing I did was start hacking dead weight from the page. Myspace friends, more than 1/4 of what I had in the stable, have been severed from me. All the major label big name artists (Yes, even Tila) have been cut. Any artist with big label backing and using me to push their stuff, gone. This may seem like a minor deal to most, almost childish. But it's a necessary statement for me, helps me sleep better at night. I'm no longer a walking endorsement for someone else. Scratch that, I'm no longer a walking endorsement for those who can afford to endorse themselves.

And when the big change hits, and Myspace Music launches, well I'll stay vigilant. If things go like I think they will, and I'm left nothing but shadow scraps, well I'll tip my hat to the storm and venture off. I have no time for those who don't have time for me. Life is too short.

Hell, maybe I might make a social network of my very own. Something happy and happening and different. Something for those of you dejected unknowns out there to feel celebrated in. To get the appreciation for your craft that you deserve.

Don't count on it though. I'm still a rat fart in the eyes of the world.