Maureen

"We didn't sell a lot of records, but everyone who bought one started a band." --Lou Reed on The Velvet Underground

I used to be in a band called Babes in Toyland--almost exactly ten years after I left the band I started working for Fuzz. I was introduced to one of the founders through my brother who worked with him at Google. I have been doing a lot of thinking about what artists need--I always have, and now it's part of my job. I think that artists need to make a living doing what they love—not sacrifice so severely to be able to create—and in some cases stall their ability to be prolific. Artists live in possibility, but they can not live on it.

How much power does music have in people's lives? Enough that millions of people are obsessed with hearing it every day and finding the easiest, most direct, cheapest--or free--way of doing it. But how can artists survive?

I am trying to connect the dots at Fuzz. I communicate with artists almost daily who live in the kind of volatile, uncertain poverty that most people could never imagine coping with--and a significant number of those are accomplished artists with mid to high record sales (past or present), noted press darlings with legions of myspace fans, or highly influential heroes. I know the duality of perceived fame and actual destitution because I lived it. The same month I was on the cover of Entertainment Weekly in 1993 as part of a cover story on Lollapalooza, I had to borrow money from my mother for rent, even though Babes in Toyland had been in all the press all over the tour that summer. After everybody took their cut (manager, booking agent, Lollapalooza t-shirt fee, tour manager, bus & bus driver, lawyer, soundman), there was $175 a piece left for us--and we were supposed to start writing our next record. And live on what? That was the first and last time we ever used a tour bus, by the way—something not so gently suggested by Warner Bros. so we wouldn’t be the only band on the tour in a van, which we preferred.

Following Lollapalooza, we were reluctantly forced to make the decision to sell our publishing rights for an advance to get through. We all still rue the day, but we had no money to live on. It would have been either that or halt the momentum that Lollapalooza had given us to take a hiatus while we worked regular jobs. I want Fuzz to provide a center for the one-stop features to help artists generate and keep more of the income they are pumping into the industry. Merch and ticketing right from your artist page—these are features that will come, mark my words. We are exploring things that you wouldn’t believe. I feel I am definitely in the right place at the right time—and because of what I’ve been through as an artist—the good and the bad, I feel my experience can be valuable—because I’ve been there.

Babes in Toyland, we didn’t hate our label—we were grateful that Reprise took a chance by signing us and that our A&R man worked so hard whipping up excitement for us in the company—and that was back when they were still doing artist development (and when Bill Bentley was our publicist). But cautiously, we still stayed on our indie label in the UK and Europe. Then as the accounting started trickling in, we found out that our tiny little English indie label, Southern, sold more records in the UK and Europe as Warner/Reprise did in the whole United States. And we got checks from that indie--I've never seen a check from Warner Bros. that wasn't an advance. "Bugs Bunny Money" we called it. It wasn't real money. It was like going to a loan shark but with nicer offices. But that's the set-up and it looked so good, it's what we all wanted. Here's your money up front, just what you needed. But if you don't hit the mark they've set on the first (or God forbid second) album, well, you're damaged goods--and now you're deep in debt and they've moved on to a band that has more promise. Oh, you're still on the label. But you're Jan Brady.

I take the Fuzz Manifesto very, very seriously. I worked on it very hard along with everybody else at Fuzz. I am proud of it. I am overjoyed when I get immediate emails or calls from artists or indie music organizations after they've read the manifesto---they believe in it, they have hope, they want to join the uprising--they want to form an alliance. In Fuzz, they see the foundation of good and they respond to our direct expression of it. If we continue to align ourselves with our stated principles and think innovatively about what we are building here--as a business and as the answer everyone's looking for—that’s crucial. You know what really resonates with artists? The same thing that resonates with anyone: making a living doing what we love. The more art created, the more art is sold. The more art sold, the more income for the artists to continue to create. The more activity generated and more fans and users attracted, the more quality advertisers we can work with whose products and services are of actual interest and relevance to the users—instead of a soulless banner-ad orgy. All the activity helps support the system—and the economic foundation is the artist—and they should be compensated accordingly. That last part is from our manifesto and I think it is key.

It is affirming when a band has impact and it reinforces their commitment to the road less traveled (and the road)--because the payback for the soul is huge. Plus it's fun. But increasingly, because of the change in how the art they create is commerced and delivered by the traditional music business, the financial payback that allows artists to continue--or even begin--to create is diminishing to the point where bands who once would have been viable contenders are out of the race completely.

Even talented major artists are creatively thwarted by the celebrity demands of majors requiring blockbuster hits and costly media saturation to desperately connect to any audience it can bang over the head, just to sustain their baffling business model. In turn, these major artists are producing assembly-line, overly hit-conscious mediocrity. To be fair, the majors have been blind-sided by technological change at break-neck speed. But, what does the public, what does our culture lose when songs are not written, never heard, or compromised?

I see artists all around me devoting their time to creating art and struggling to capture a tiny percentage of the revenue they generate--because everyone gets a piece--and to get started in the studio, unless you have a trust fund, you’re going to need some money to make a decent recording. Artists know they need support and realize serious help isn't free. But there's got to be a better, fairer way than the old loan shark/pimp model. Maybe if artists made more money, they wouldn’t even need a label in the traditional sense. Maybe eventually they could self-fund their recording and get support in getting the word out with sites like Fuzz and all the resources available on the web and in our culture.

I believe Fuzz can do it better--and differently--for the betterment of artists, fans, and the future of music--and entertainment at large. We’re a music community and e-commerce site for bands, labels, venues, booking agents, etc.--we're also a label. It's important that we trust our instincts about greatness and are open to it regardless of whether or not it might go platinum. Maybe if the band sold songs to their natural audience without so much of it going to someone else, maybe we could all survive—and continue to put out great music.

I've learned over the years that the gut is a genius. After I left the band and had done a stint as an editor at Musician Magazine, I started dabbling in the music business and managing artists. The irony is thick that I was then trying to get an artist who was already on a great indie label a deal with a major. Anyway, I'll never forget the call I received late one Friday night in 2000 from a legendary Atlantic Records A&R guy I’d sent an artist promo pack to for this management client. This guy called and said he'd been listening to the CD I sent. He said it was the best record he'd heard in many years. (P.W. Long's "Push Me Again".) That it was so compelling he had to call me right away. Excited, I started talking about next steps. "No," he said, "he'll never get signed." As I sat on the phone dumbfounded, he told me he was packing up his office and leaving the music business. While he was packing he'd decided to listen to the stack of demo packs he'd received but never listened to. He said he'd been listening to my artist's CD over and over. Confused as to why he called, he told me, "I just wanted to tell you don't give up. He'll never get signed, and I can't help you, and that's why I'm quitting--but don't give up." Then he hung up. I'll never forget that phone call—though his name now escapes me.

I really never stopped believing that great music will rise up. (Luckily, that artist is still making music—on the same indie that my band started with, Southern.) I want Fuzz to be an answer and I want artists to be part of finding that answer. Once I got involved with Fuzz, I brought in some artist friends who have been a great help--like Duane Denison from the Jesus Lizard who now works in Artist Development. Fuzz can be a place we can do it differently, with the right vision—and the technological tools that soulful but sad A&R guy didn’t have.

I’m at Fuzz because I haven’t given up and I believe we do have the answers--and are asking the right questions. I’m committed to bringing every artist I know to Fuzz--from upstart bands who just want to put a page up, to stellar talent that shouldn’t be ignored, to established greats that recognize that the Fuzz model is the solution. As long as we remember why we’re doing this, everybody wins.

If you're interested in these kinds of issues, please visit the Future of Music Coalition at www.futureofmusic.org. If you want to find out more about Fuzz and how you can get involved, please send a message here or email me at maureen@fuzz.com or read our manifesto at www.fuzz.com. It's an interesting time for freaky people.