June 14, 2007
Greetings, Music Fans!
I am proud to announce that we, Nerissa & Katryna Nields, are officially launching our own label: Mercy House Music and Books. The first release will be our new CD Sister Holler, after which we hope to publish some children's books, our own brainchildren, maybe How To Be An Adult and who knows – other writers and musicians someday. Our mission is to promote all things good and worthy and Nieldsian, fair business practices and to end sweat shop labor and global warming and put out good art that you can dance to.
In a way, this is nothing new. We've been putting out our own CDs for years now, starting with Bob on the Ceiling; Gotta Get Over Greta, which originally came out on the indie Razor & Tie and was later re-released on Guardian/EMI, has been on our own "imprint" since 1998. We've self released 'Mousse, Live From Northampton, Songs for Amelia, Abigail, and most recently, All Together Singing in the Kitchen. We just never bothered to name our imprint. Now we've even made a logo. Katryna will show you by posting it here soon.
I've always said that being a musician is like being a farmer. Making CDs is a similar endeavor to growing crops or livestock. There's a cyclical nature to both. The songwriter sits in the dark and the quiet, coaxing along new ideas, plangent tunes as fragile as baby basil plants, watching them slowly take form and grow, with the help of her band mates, into fully formed songs, until they are ready to present as tender green shoots onto a stage where they'd meet the light for the first time. From this point, with the love and enthusiasm of the audience, the songs grow strong and became ready to harvest. The band records the song and has a product to sell to the marketplace. The product, in the form of a CD sells for a while until its season runs out, and it becomes stale; so the songwriter hunkers down again to write more songs. The band takes the money made from the last crop and lives off of it through the winter, tending to their root cellars and feeling grateful for a bountiful harvest.
Until recently that is. As the New York Times said in Sunday's paper (article about the White Stripes, Arts section) the music industry is in "free fall." To wit, I got a letter from my music publisher last week, apologizing for the tiny quarterly royalty check. "Tiny" apparently is a technical term for "non-existent." The letter said
Dear Songwriter,
Because of the digital revolution, iTunes, the death of the music store, the death of the CD, the death of any interesting bands, the death of radio and the death of the song, we songwriters should not be expecting to get paid anymore, so maybe it's time to either: 1. write a letter to your congressperson or 2. get a real job. And have a nice day! Check out our website for updates!
These days, artists are bypassing the whole industry, releasing downloads off their websites, saving money on packaging and distribution and getting the music directly to the fan base with no "CD Release Date" hoopla. Paul McCartney escaped from his label of 45 years (EMI, same as the one we were on. Coincidence? I think…so.) He's released his new CD Memory Almost Full at Starbucks. When I asked my teen writing group where they buy their music, they unanimously replied "iTunes." My six-year-old niece presses a few keys and soon has purchased the entire soundtrack of Annie and The Sound of Music and listens to it on the computer speakers, the music just that—music.
This is a far cry from my experience, sitting hunched over my Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band cover, which I studied assiduously, not to mention playing with the cut out mustaches and Sgt. Pepper paper dolls the Beatles so generously included (against the wishes and better judgment of EMI, I am sure). I spent countless hours of my youth bent over tiny lyrics, liner notes and cryptic photographs. The "record cover" was art, it was poetry, it was a tangible companion to the music emanating from my big clunky stereo speakers. I can't imagine growing up thinking of music as just an aural experience.
Over the weekend, I celebrated my fortieth birthday in my childhoodhome. My parents, presented me with a large, square package. "Open it!" my father said, rubbing his hands together like a kid. I should mention that I was parented by notorious Beatles un-enthusiasts. I used to console myself with the thought that if I were unfortunate enough to have a child who loved Kiss, I would bravely support him or her, and not wag my head back and forth in cruel imitation of their drummer as my father did. But here were my two parents, sitting across from me on a June day in 2007 watching as I unwrapped an LP of the Beatles Anthology, signed by George Martin, the Beatles' amazing and legendary producer. They'd won it at a silent auction by planting themselves next to the record and outbidding everyone who came by. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged the LP the way Lila hugs her teddy bear. Never mind that my turntable is wedged under my receiver and not hooked up to the speakers. Never mind that I don't even listen to the other components of my stereo, since I too mostly hear music either in my car or on my iPod. Or that I actually own this album on CD. This gift proved to me that the artifact once known as an album is alive and well. Could I wrap up and autographed iTune for my daughter or Amelia? Could I win George Martin's virtual signature at a silent auction?
So, although we will be offering our new CD Sister Holler as a download off our website, we have also hired the best graphic artist we know to design a gorgeous (eco-friendly) package complete with witticisms and liner notes galore for you to pore over. And we have a release date! With big HOOPLA! (We'll announce that in July, the better to HOOPLA you, my dear.)
Pete Seeger once said at a concert: "Music is like a series of rivers; the mainstream may be polluted but there are countless sparkling tributaries that we have to seek out, where the music is pure, and refreshing and clean." And the kids will find the tributaries; they always do. Meanwhile, we may look back at ourselves the way my friend John talks about his annoying grandmother who used to say, "In my day we never listened to the RADIO. We went down the block to see Fritz Ambrozy and His Amazing Flying Polka Band play at the Baby Doll Polka Club. We didn't sit on our butts and listen to PLASTIC DISKS!"
And my six year old niece (better known as Amelia) may never set foot in what we used to call "record stores" in her life, flipping eagerly and curiously through record bins, wondering who the OJs were or the Raspberries, seeking rare British imports. But she will find her mystery bins and she will find the music, and she'll probably introduce us to lots of cool bands who will become our favorites. Kids and music are like those intrepid wild roses that grow determinedly along the bike path. They do their own thing, find their own way. And the world is all the more unexpectedly beautiful because of them.
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