When You Kill Time, You Murder Success

I still remember the first time I saw someone wearing a Stiff Records shirt.  If it ain't Stiff it ain't worth a fuck.  The logo and catch line immediately burned into my brain. It was a long time before I even knew what it was or what it meant.

I have always loved music.  As a kid, I listened to the radio, listened to albums my parents owned, even started working just to make money to buy my own records.

My brother and older friends influenced me on new stuff, from Bob Marley to Devo to The Ramones. This journey with music,  just as a fan at first,  started before MTV and music videos.  Back when radio influenced an artist’s success, the playlist dictating what we listened to - and it wasn't all bad. Freeform DJ’s played what they wanted in between the songs on the weekly playlists, Carol Miller or Meg Griffin popping in a random new artist that wasn't a label priority. 

Back when magazines were out weekly, and you could go and read everything from Village Voice to Melody Maker or NME.  If you went to a good record store, you could find the DIY fanzines. 

When part of the beauty of music was the discovery.  The articles, the photos, the descriptions. Music was coming out that was so original, there was nothing to compare it to.  Dancehall, ska, punk, rap, new wave...it was all new.  

Record stores became the place to spend weekend days. Venus Records, Bleeker Bob's, Barry's Stereo and Sound, and my personal favorite, Sounds. (St. Marks was the Mecca of cool: record stores, clothing shops, pizza places, St. Marks Theatre, and the stoops where you could just sit with your friends and hang out and talk).  These spots were how I discovered new music:  hours spent flipping through the vinyl bins, listening to the carefully curated music played in the store by the record store clerks.  You would be browsing, hear something and ask what it was. And then right there, you would buy that record, having discovered it just because they played it.

Through these selected purchases, patterns emerged.  What is this label?  Who is this producer?  What is this scene? 

I got into The Specials and Two Tone. My brother and I were gifted it by my dad's associate, Faith, who was British.  In this pre-MTV world, we would sit and pore through the photos, read the credits, learn the lyrics.  Know each record and song from the beginning of side A to the end of side B.  Playing those records repeatedly, playing them for friends, playing them before and after school, during dinner and before going to bed.  Buying an album was an investment, so if you bought it, you were committed.  Hard earned cash needed to be spent wisely. Through the need to be economic with my purchases I began to build trust with specific labels, people, writers, and DJ's.  

I started listening to a station on Long Island called WLIR, whose slogan was "Dare to be different". They had great DJ's, no rules, specialty shows like Across the Pond or Punky Reggae Party and Screamers of the Week showcasing hand picks songs that I would listen to and then make my Saturday and Sunday trek to St. Marks to search the bins for the songs I’d recently heard.  Paying extra for the imports that didn't have domestic distribution yet, buying 12' remix extended singles just to get that B Side that wasn't available anywhere else.  It was a true treasure hunt and if something was on a particular label I liked, I bought it.  

Def Jam.  The beginning of hip hop for me.  The 12" releases of the singles by their artists didn't even usually have art.  It was black or maroon-ish with “Def Jam Recordings“ on the back in their iconic logo,  and the front was blank with the label displayed only with the name of the artist and the name of the song. I’d have no idea what it sounded like, but would always snatch it up without question.  

Same went for 2 Tone, Go Feet (the English Beat's label), Moon Records, Sire, IRS, Twin Tone, Island, Trojan and of course Stiff.

I finally understood why If it ain't Stiff, It ain't worth a fuck. Why people wore shirts with the label art as much as they wore the shirts of the bands on those labels.  It was a silent wink from one fan to the other.  It was this club that anyone could join just based on your openness to discovery.  It was a trust made between the label, their bands, and the fans.  In a world where I could probably afford 2-3 albums a week from the money made by delivering newspapers, I learned to trust certain labels enough that if an artist was on one of them, I was pretty sure I would love it. Even in the old days of retail, there was an overwhelming number of music to choose from. So having this narrowed-down process of where to put your hard-earned money made decisions easier to make. 

Fan devotion to the labels and the artists meant artists had several albums, singles, and time to build their audience.  By signing to a particular label, working with specific producers and being cosigned by other artists gave one an edge, an audience to work from when starting. When I started going to shows regularly I saw that these artists could play CBGB's on their first tour, support a headliner on the next at The Ritz, and then headline the Ritz - all on one album cycle; only to return on their next tour to do multiple nights at The Ritz and eventually move around the corner on to The Palladium.  These were all career setting achievements.  Three to four albums in they were creating great music without the need to sell millions, having dedicated fans, selling merch. While would break through to the next level (most with the help of MTV), but it wasn't a necessity.  Artists were able to tour worldwide, building careers.  I remember in the 80's, promoters and artists realized that because of the over 21 clubs (like the Ritz), there was a huge number of fans not seeing them.  Thus began “all ages“ and matinee shows.  

 

I worked as an.A&R person from the 1990's to the 2000s.  Even in the 90's Columbia Records, we had the ability and the talent at the labels to develop acts.  The motto at the time was “As Long as It Takes”, and for a lot of acts, this was true.  For others, not so much.  No fault of the label and people there, it is the music business.  (A sad truth in business: there are winners and losers.)

But in the early/mid 90's, independent labels were emerging.  Not like the 80's where indies were owned by majors (like Sire or IRS), but actual stand-alone indie labels signing and releasing artists and breaking into the mainstream.  Of course, this only would attract majors to go and make offers to take those artists from their labels.

I learned about this firsthand when I heard an album called Let’s Go by Rancid and then saw them perform at the Epitaph Summer Nationals. The thing was, I understood what the situation was.  They were a punk band on my favorite punk label.  They made their second release for $5,000 with the owner of the label.  While they blew my socks off, I knew this band was a band I wanted to work with - but someday and not yet.  They were growing at the perfect pace where they were.  I really wanted to meet them though, to let them know I was a huge fan and if/when they ever were interested in talking to a major, I was their guy.  But there was nobody better to do what Epitaph did and what they were going to do here to develop this band. Rancid was under the radar that the time,  but Green Day had just released Dookie, and everyone was all about "find me one of those".  In an A&R meeting I played Rancid and received the "Get that" marching order.  So, while I knew this was not the time, I understood my orders and if there was anyone I needed to "chase" I couldn't think of a band more worthy of chasing.  I told many people about them, who told other people, who then also began to pursue.  The band went to the 11th hour of signing with a major before changing their minds to remain where they should have always been.  They became legendary and continue to be successful with Epitaph. Staying with Epitaph is what felt right to the band both business-wise and ethically. 

Many of my colleagues at Columbia and I would discuss how bands were getting picked up too fast or before they were ready and coming to a label that didn’t have the patience to develop these artists.  We discussed creating a label like a AAA baseball team;  where if we saw/found someone we thought had potential, we could sign them and would through the RED distribution system building these artists to give them the time and resources to get to a place where we had something to work with and upstream to Columbia.  The old 80's model of an indie idea in a major system.  If they weren’t commercial, they could keep making records until and if they got there.  Smaller budgets, more focus on development ideas.  A way we could be an indie and not have to poach artists or buy an existing label to get their acts.  We even went as far as meeting with Sal Licata - the head of RED at the time - who was all in.  Sadly, that was cut short by my dismissal from Columbia.

The major label upstream from indie labels became the norm from the mid 90's.  It became more prevalent in the 2000s and on, because the previous slow-cooker artist development was less and less frequent among the major labels.  Not because they weren’t interested, but because it took too long, and we sadly live in a world now where time waits for no one.

I was recently hired to head a label called Motherwolf. I was fortunate to be introduced by a friend to a great guy who was actively looking for someone to run an indie label.  The label’s vision is based on quality of artists, fairness, shared artistic vision, artist development,  and being artist- friendly.  

The idea is to be called a "singles" label.  But I know you can't develop on a single.  If I believe in an artist, the idea of single is great.  Even though I may believe in them, working together is a commitment and a chemistry.  So, starting off with a single is like a good first date.  See how the chemistry works.  How you fit together in the process.  Does the artist show dedication and are they hungry?  Do I want this more than they do?  If I do, the chemistry is not right.  For the artist: do they feel know what I’m doing? Do I have the right vision and resources to move them into the right direction?  If not, then each of us have the option of moving forward on different paths, no extended contract disabling them to move on.  Of course, when I decide to work with the artist, I want the relationship to continue and move forward together.

The development idea with artist-friendly deals is to help build these artists so that they find an audience, take small steps in the process to really lock in and build. 

Whether I sign an artist is not dependent on data or algorithms.  It's about talent.  It's about hearing something/someone and seeing the audience.  If we can build trust and elevate that artist, the hopes are to keep going and building more.  If a major label or a major indie discovers them and wants to take them somewhere I can't, then Carpe Diem.  If the band or artist build where they want to just take it solo, same.  

As mentioned earlier,  artist development is difficult to achieve at a major label.  Again, not because they don't want to do it, but because there isn't enough time.  I have spoken to artists courted by majors who admitted that they are scared to make the jump out of fear that they aren't ready to perform to the expected levels of a major label yet.  They know they will when the time is right, but feel they still need a little more time prior to going under that microscope.  So, the dilemma they encounter is, if they don't take the offer, they’ll miss the opportunity; but if they do sign to a major, they risk losing everything that got them here if it their release underperforms.  Remember, 4 million streams by a DIY/Indie artist are huge.  4 million streams on a major are an underperformance.   A DIY/Indie artist works at their own schedule, a major label artist (sadly many times, not all) works in an hourglass.  I’m looking to work with an artist or a major label who want that time and efforts to not rush into a situation too soon in this potentially critical time.

2022 has started off well.  With more releases out there, we are pushing the boulder up the hill; me, my trusted and awesome coworkers, and the artists.  We are all in it together, and want to “win” one step at a time.

My goal is to make Motherwolf like the best of the labels that “raised“ me.  A place where when we put out a release, someone will give it a shot, because it's on Motherwolf.  Maybe they'll discover a new genre, maybe they'll want to be part of it, maybe I’ll see someone walk down the street in a shirt with the label’s logo.