Hospitality: Hospitality (Merge, 1/31/12)

Hospitality: "Friends of Friends"

When Brooklyn's Hospitality surfaced in 2008 with a six-song EP produced by Karl Blau, there was, naturally, immediate blogosphere buzz surrounding the band. Its poppy, minimalist sensibility catered to the indie-pop avenues it was exploring. The songs were spirited, displaying immense capability and promise. With that potential and talent came a signing to Merge Records and the band’s proper debut LP (produced by Shane Stoneback), which revives several songs from the EP while adding a few more, just for good measure.

From the moment that the album starts, there is something very warm and welcoming about the arrangement and composition. Album opener “Eighth Avenue” starts with acoustic strumming and persistent, steady drumming, immediately calling to mind early Belle and Sebastian work. The song builds gradually, integrating keyboards, harmonies, feedback, and percussive ornamentation, but it never strays far from its sunny-day feel. It is a laid-back indie-pop treasure that is sure to give first-time listeners a reason to give the rest of the album a chance. And once that happens, you’re roped in for the duration of the record.

The inviting track sets the tone for the rest of the album, giving way to the horn-happy “Friends of Friends” and dream-pop gem “Betty Wang” — two of the album’s strongest songs. Throughout the rest of the album, the Belle and Sebastian comparison rings true, as singer Amber Papini offers imaginative lyrics with a tinge of both loneliness and happiness, always presented with ample hooks. Whether it’s the peppy, poppy “The Right Profession” or the pared-down “Sleepover,” Hospitality’s debut offers a light, breezy listen that evokes indie-pop contemporaries like Allo Darlin’ or Tennis, making the band the next in line to carry the torch of summer-sweet sing-alongs and carefree jams.

Moreover, the hooks here never feel worn or routine — they feel new, undiscovered. With many of the songs oscillating between up-tempo head bobbing and sparse breakdowns, Hospitality has crafted a record that doesn’t try to do too much or too little. It is a debut that shows incredible potential, as the band is completely in charge of its own sound. Where the folks of Hospitality take it from here is up to them, but one thing’s for sure: they’re onto something.

For a purported personal zine, Al Burian’s Burn Collector is strangely outward-looking. His philosophical musings on expat culture, life in Berlin, punk rock, and other topics are based on his own experiences, but they aren’t just stories. Burian raises plenty of questions without answering them, putting his reader in a position to consider these everyday ideas in a new light. His essays are a fine counterpoint to the legions of navel-gazing zinesters that populate the perzine genre in that they aren’t meant to chronicle his life, but instead connect it with larger social and existential problems.

Issue #15 is based largely around Burian’s life in Berlin, where he’d been living for one year when he wrote it. Two of his stories describe a toothache he had abroad and his slight panic at managing his health in a foreign country, while another section details the people and sights he sees on the street. Burian shows loyalty neither to his country of origin (the US) nor his adopted home; instead he looks at Berlin as a flawed but fascinating place to be. His interview with fellow expat Liam Warfield adds to this impression; Warfield tries to see Berlin as more than a tourist or artsy city by visiting non-touristy parts of town. However, both visitors worry about increasing gentrification and influx of “hipsters.”

One thoughtful essay looks at a scientific study that, for Burian, proves happiness and a realistic view of the world as essentially incompatible. Maybe it’s the idea of happiness that’s flawed, though; later, Burian writes of happiness not as an achievement but as a right way of living, or pursuit of “the good.” Neither essay gives a definitive answer, but they definitely touch on deeply held assumptions (or maybe just suspicions) that we all have. Burian makes the leap that most personal zine writers seem to attempt – to make connections between the personal and universal, and touch upon common concerns with humor and dexterity.

A fairly large section of the zine excerpts Anne Elizabeth Moore’s reflections on the fall of the Berlin Wall and the aftermath, both in Germany and abroad. Examining the use and misuse of the Berlin Wall’s legacy, and looking again at life in a partitioned city, Moore draws some surprising conclusions about socialism and radicalism. Burian’s reflection on May Day in Berlin, as a social event and staged encounter between radicals and police, fits in neatly with her essays.

In a seeming parody of the magazine format, Burian includes a “reviews” section in which he talks about a museum, famed squatting locations, his own LP collection, and more in a somewhat rambling and, again, philosophical fashion. His thoughts return again to gentrification and a seeming loss of radicalism among young people; meanwhile he wonders if he’s lost his own sense of activism and become part of what he used to rage against.

Burn Collector is sort of like sitting down with a friend for a chat, if that friend were highly analytical and interested in finding deeper meaning in seemingly mundane experiences. Burian is a good writer and thinker; he has clearly considered these essays for a long time, and he bolsters them with his own experience. If you’re looking for a perzine with punch and pathos, check out Burn Collector.

Adam Gnade

When writers or readers think of literary formats, the lowly novella is often overlooked or forgotten. Usually between 20,000 and 40,000 words, the novella occupies an awkward space between short story and novel, but it offers opportunities for characterization and conciseness that longer or shorter forms don’t. Adam Gnade writes both novellas and novels, and his shorter works stand apart as fascinating experiments in an unusual media form.

Hey Hey Lonesome and The Heat and the Hot Earth were published in 2011 and share a lot in terms of structure and characterization. Both follow a group of teens (and one older character) in Southern California as they navigate relationships and try to find their place in an amorphous social order. Lonesome follows the paths of several characters as they move toward a house party; they move between astonishingly crude and aloof dialogue and highly emotional introspection. Its characters, for the most part, balance outer cool and inner turmoil. Hot Earth is more dynamic and simpler in structure; punctuated by a longing letter and a sneering Tumblr post from two characters, it reflects the callousness and romanticism of the modern teen.

The two novellas are connected through recurring characters and themes, and Gnade notes that he ultimately wants to link these stories with his longer novel, Hymn California, and another novella. Gnade says, “The whole universe of my characters is mapped out in a little three-inch-thick notebook. It's like a geometric cube of paper. I'm just following that map until it's done.” The connectedness of the stories gives the novellas a feeling not unlike those big ensemble teen comedies of the ’80s and ’90s; characters move in and out of each other’s orbits, brushing against each other as they go.

For Gnade, his interest in novella was born of necessity and convenience, as well as attachment. He began writing novellas almost by accident: “A couple years ago I was set to do a giant two-month overseas tour, and my publisher at the time had promised that my novel Hymn California was going to be ready to take with me. It got close to the wire and they didn't have the book ready, so I pulled together some writing and printed up my first novella, Seasons Loving Nothing, on the copy machine at the house I was living in in Portland.” He went on to write three novellas in 2011, including Hey Hey Lonesome and The Heat and the Hot Earth, though he insists that was “a fluke.”

The idea of the novella is close to his heart, however. “I've always traveled a lot, and I like things I can carry with me," he says. "The pocket-size book format is great. I have a lot of smaller books I've carried with me around the world and read obsessively wherever I was — stuff that really saves your life, that you know cover to cover, and coming back to it each time is like coming in from the cold.” More than a convenience of form, the novella holds a special significance for Gnade.

Gnade’s novellas are published by Punch Drunk Press, a small press based in San Diego, California. He sees independent publishing as the smartest move for any writer more interested in creativity than profit, and he laments the idea that some writers, by depending on big media to publish them, go unpublished altogether. Independent and smaller publishers are, for Gnade, the answer to a struggling writer’s prayers: “Independent publishing has the potential to keep literature alive if writers actually go for it and opt out of the mainstream press trap. The problem is that a lot of people are too proud, and as a result, beautiful, life-changing works of fiction are wasting away, never to be read.” Getting your work published is more important than what form it eventually takes or how big the print run is, in other words.

His latest venture, a longer novel called Youth is a Wolf Dark and Golden, may not seem to be on the same wavelength as a few novellas, but the ethos behind the work certainly is. “I want to show people how it is to live in the time that I've lived,” he says of the novel, “In a way, realist fiction writers can be just as important to historical record as historians.” Both novellas – Hey Hey Lonesome and The Heat and the Hot Earth – are chock full of characters just like us. They aren’t famous or even all that objectively interesting; they talk incessantly about themselves, to others and in print, and they feel nervous about the present and future. Through their stories, Gnade asserts that these kinds of stories — our stories — are worth telling.

With piracy affecting all areas of commerce, why does it seem like only the music biz is whining? Well, because the mainstream media is only “reporting” about them and ignoring the massive extra-music industry support for SOPA. But why? Is SOPA really such a huge threat to media outlets’ revenue that they would sell out on a bill that is designed to keep themselves alive?

The other day I read a story about how the E-book trade is being rifled by piracy. The journalist postulated that the reason pirates have been ripping and burning E-books is because the public doesn’t want to pay the “high price” offered by Kindle, Nook, Kobo, etc. A reader posting in the comments section sympathized, hoping that the “fledgling” E-book trade would not be too badly hurt by piracy. Then a lawyer for a website that sells counterfeit designer handbags and is presently under indictment was quoted. He defended his client with intimations that the world is entitled to designer style without paying designer prices.

High prices causing piracy? Entitlement to quality goods and services? It all started to sound familiar. Where had I heard these defenses to theft before?

That’s it!! The music business! According to just about every paper and blogger, those bastards are charging $15 for one song. No, wait, it was $15 for 12-15 songs, but only one song is good, right? No, wait, it’s the record company’s greed that makes artists release only one good song on an album. Wait, I’m starting to get confused again, because someone smart once taught me that theft had little to do with the quality of content; people steal bad records too, right? (Britney Spears was one of the most illegally downloaded artists at one time.)

I thought theft was caused by a person not wanting to pay for something they perceive they have a need for, or a right to. Yeah, that rings true.

Now, can you imagine these same absurd arguments of “high price = theft” being printed about any other industry but music?

- People are stealing food because the price is too high; when you think about all the food you throw out, or decide you don’t like, after you buy it, it’s a rip-off.

- People are stealing movies because studios/theaters charge over $10 for a two-hour experience, but there are usually only a few really good scenes in the movie, so it’s a rip-off.

- And books…don’t get me started. How can you justify charging $10 for an E-book containing 50,000 words when I only have time to read about half of them? And let’s be honest: I’m only going to like about one-tenth of the book anyway. I mean, the Steve Jobs book didn’t have any pages that I’ll to want to re-read or experience over and over again like my porn and pulp novels, my Godfather DVD, or…my entire music collection.

Yet the mainstream press (and thus the public) seems far more sympathetic to the plight of most every other trade supporting SOPA than it ever has been to the record companies and their stable of artists. Why? The answer is simple, but not very uplifting.

Buying power

Even though SOPA (which I’ll get to in a minute) will benefit all forms of media and intellectual property, the mainstream press cannot seem to get past its hate of the music trade and the journalists who “work” in it, to report on this very important bill accurately.

All you read is how the RIAA, the NMPA, and the MPAA are sponsoring SOPA with unprecedented amounts of lobbying, but little to nothing about others backing the bill: the pharmaceutical trade, designer clothing, major law firms representing big brands of all types, and even an Internet-centered business, GoDaddy (until they were bullied into changing their stand by tech companies — a virtual blackmail campaign that seems to have backfired in GoDaddy’s favor.)

Why do the papers hate us so much that they would shoot themselves in the foot, journalism-wise?

Let’s take one at a time:

News media institutions hate major record labels for one simple reason: they buy virtually no advertising in newspapers or even on TV, like they did in the good old days. Yet despite the horrendous rape of their inventory, they have survived the Internet transition better than the print news business and all without any help from them as an advertising platform and with their journalists pissing on our head the whole while.

Mainstream journalists despise music “journalists” because to a hard-boiled investigative reporter who meets sources in back alleys to get a scoop, music journalism seems like an overpaid high-school-newspaper beat: going to concerts, hanging out with musicians, and getting your ass kissed in exchange for a decent write-up.

Yep, if I were a New York Times reporter making something south of $80K a year, I’d have nothing but contempt for their cooler-than-thou back-stage passes, designer swag bags, and gifts from PR firms.

So everybody in the media biz hates us, but they love our product enough to promote its theft under the bumper sticker “information should be free.”

When it comes to SOPA, geeks can sometimes be pretty dumb

I sat next to a 20-something, “SOPA is evil,” tech-employed hipster the other night at a poker table. He thought that information should be free.

He was repeating the standard propaganda you read in all tech rags, how SOPA is censorship and will destroy the Internet. I managed not to puke on him but did politely ask, “Help me understand your view point, 'cause I don’t know much about this stuff. If information should be free, then why should I be paying ISPs for data charges?” He stumbled, “That’s different. You’re dealing with lots of technology and infrastructure.”

Yep, that’s different, I guess, than spending hundreds of hours getting a song just right.

Anyone who thinks that SOPA, which simply gives content providers a slightly bigger stick when seeking court injunctions to defend their property, will destroy the Internet, well…I think we can guess what that person is using the internet for. I’ve questioned many a person-on-the-street about SOPA. Without exception, all who oppose it have not read the bill itself. (You can read it here.)

If they did, they would see the bill clearly states that blocking counterfeit sites is only something an ISP is required to do if it’s “technically feasible” and reasonable. (Bottom of page 19 of the bill.) This still leaves ISPs with an enormous amount of wriggle room.

SOPA does have its problems, most of which will ironed out in the next draft. But when it passes (and it’s a safe bet that it will), it will not destroy the Internet or free speech any more or less than FCC regulation has “destroyed” cable TV or radio. History has proven that a little bit of regulation changes very little. Humans find a way to say what they want.

What SOPA will do is cost ISPs a lot of cash to be compliant, which means that this is not a philosophical argument but a financial one.

The rest of the “censorship” claims are window dressing. What the tech-biased, music-biz-hating media, pandering to their advertising clients, don’t want you to know is that most people do not use the Internet to find/steal/share entertainment content illegally or legally. According to studies, most people use the 'net mostly for:

1) Shopping
2) Finding restaurants
3) Finding dates, their friends, and finally…
4) Cloud storage

The boring truth

And that is what the ISPs are really, secretly afraid of and why they are fighting SOPA, ACTA, et al with threats, boycotts, and thuggery instead of logical arguments.

It’s not because the Internet will end if they have to take a little bit of responsibility re: piracy. It’s because if laws make ISPs liable for piracy and they are forced to filter many P2P sites and forgo profits from advertizing such sites, then it will reveal to the public what the Internet really is to most of us: a communication service. A simple, electronic, high-tech yellow pages and Post Office replacement. Not the sexy entertainment hub and you-can-get-anything-your-heart-desires dream-box that the Valley lords wish it to be.

And if that happens, then the tech gods will have to come to grips with the fact that they are not the new Les Paul. They are just the new Thomas Edison.

Why they are not happy with that probably goes back to a junior-high-school trauma about losing a chick to a jock or a musician.

Sorry, Valley lords, I know you want to be cool like us. But you are not. You’re cool in your own way, and this year Congress will prove it to you.

See you in court.

Mo out

PS: If you’re new to the SOPA debate, here’s a pretty balanced (lightly anti-leaning) CNET piece that explains the issues with some great links.

And here is a great piece by very a clear thinker, Chris Castel, on a recent debate regarding pirating or “rough sites,” as they are referred to in this debate.

And for a truly absurd “conspiracy theory” about how media companies want people to steal their inventory, read this one on, of all places, Forbes. (Shame.)

Nada Surf: The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy (Barsuk, 1/24/12)

Nada Surf: "Waiting for Something"

The first thing that people usually think of when they hear words “Nada Surf” is the mid-’90s post-grunge gem “Popular.” The track seemed to encapsulate everything that alternative rock in the ’90s stood for into a three-minute radio hit: humor, irony, hooks, cheekiness, and distortion. (It also helped that MTV played the music video nonstop.) And the band deserved the, well, popularity. The song was clever and catchy as hell. But, as is the case with many bands of that era who still had good songs/albums besides their hit (see: Superdrag, Better Than Ezra), Nada Surf has spent the rest of its career trying to get as far away as possible from that song.

To belittle the entire career of Nada Surf to a mere three minutes of one hit in the ’90s is completely unfair, though. Even though the band has lived in the shadow of “Popular” for the majority of its career, Nada Surf has quietly and steadily been putting out an array of solid garage-rock/power-pop-infused records. The Proximity Effect, from 1999, still hinted at the humor that “Popular” touched upon, but the album showed natural growth, with lyrics revolving around more “adult” problems, like seeking out a therapist or the emotional bankruptcy of living too fast. The album’s lyrical honesty and vulnerability is on par with Weezer’s Pinkerton.

By the time Let Go rolled around in 2003, Nada Surf had completely detached itself from the snot-nosed teenage angst of its lone hit single. Instead, a matured, weathered, broken, and fixed Nada Surf was at the helm, endorsing the same power-pop sensibilities it had on previous records, but now with added layers of acoustics, synthesizers, harmonies, and deeper, more meaningful songwriting. The Weight Is A Gift (2005) and Lucky (2008) followed in a similar (though slightly more watered down) fashion.

And that brings us to The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy. Once again, the New York-based trio has found its voice in a barrage of ’90s nostalgic alt-rock, fused with more refined musical techniques and textures. The appropriately titled “Teenage Dreams” treads familiar water with its distorted, minor-chord arrangements, reminiscent of the band’s roots, while “When I Was Young” features a delicate finger-picking pattern. The album also showcases the band’s signature wall of sound, which is a staple of the band’s live shows.

But there aren’t any Trojan horses here. There aren’t any mazes or trap doors. This album confirms that Nada Surf knows what it’s doing, and it’s been doing it all along: churning out up-tempo, hook-riddled rock songs. The tracks more or less blend together into one nostalgic heap of ’90s bliss and misery, but the album moves along smooth and steadily, anchored by singer/guitarist Matthew Caws’ distinctive tenor.

The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy might not be the breakout comeback to take Nada Surf to the top of the charts like its debut did, but the band seems content with that. It knows its territory, and it knows it's good at it. It’s refreshing to hear an album every now and then that isn’t trying to turn genres on their head, or revolt against convention out of boredom. Above all, the album feels genuine. Honesty has always been a strong suit of Nada Surf, and that quality is once again present on The Stars.

But what it really boils down to is this: If you’re familiar with the band’s last few albums, you know what to expect (poppy rock songs that can every now and then snap your heart strings in half). If all you know is “Popular,” maybe it’s time to give the band another shot. Nada Surf has much more to offer than you might think — and much more to offer than it gets credit for.

The personal zine or “perzine” genre is one of the most popular in independent publishing (we’ve covered a few here, like EmiTown and King-Cat). It can be hard to distinguish yourself in such a crowded field, but Alec Longstreth’s Phase 7 stands out. Published by the author since 2002, Phase 7 is a series of minicomics, most recently alternating between five-issue adventure story “Basewood” and sketchbook issues on the artist’s life. It’s personal, funny, and, incredibly, quite original.

Despite its most recent form, Phase 7 is much more than “Basewood” and even departs frequently from personal stories. As Longstreth says, “The subject matter of each issue of Phase 7 varies widely, depending on what kind of stories I want to tell. I've done auto-bio, attempts at serious fiction, humor, comics essays, stick-figure diary comics, and sketchbook issues.” Variety is the key to Longstreth’s longevity, but it also seems like the outgrowth of a natural impulse to continue experimenting and learning.

Issue #16 in particular covers Longstreth’s years in New York, struggling to make a living and forget old loves while pursuing new ones. He also includes plenty of absurd and charming interactions with New Yorkers on the subway or in parks. Random denizens of the city approach him to offer encouragement on his drawing, or simply to yell at him. We see Longstreth at work, out with friends, on dates, and in a wide variety of ways, adjusting to life in New York.

Most of Longstreth’s artwork is miniscule (the panels are usually one-inch squares); his drawing style is appropriately simple but expressive. Some of these comics are particularly rough, given the original sketchbook context, but undeniably interesting.

For Longstreth, art and cartooning is a process of evolution. His interest in experimentation comes through even in the sketchbook issue; some panels are ornate, while others are little more than scribbles, and his page format changes frequently. Longstreth says of his drawing technique, “I was doing a lot of theater work before I started making my own comics, so I definitely think about choosing a specific drawing style for each story, the same way the set, costume, and lighting designers will design a specific look and feel for each play.” His interest in playing with form is especially noticeable in a flow-chart page that shows his future; abortive options circle around each other, conveying uncertainty.

Although the sketchbook issue was apparently meant to be a placeholder when gaps between “Basewood” issues became too large (Longstreth describes them as something “quick and fun” to work on during Basewood issues), it stands on its own as a nice addition to the perzine genre. It’s impressively polished but never really lets you forget its self-published roots. Longstreth views his role as publisher as privileged, in that it allows him to preserve his own voice in a way that mass media can’t compete with. He adds, “No one makes any money self-publishing mini-comics, so it is usually done purely for the love of the art form.”

Now that he’s finished with the “Basewood” story, upcoming issues of Phase 7 will focus on the band Weezer and movies from Longstreth’s childhood. There’s a sense of play in Phase 7; new issues could be about anything, and it’s interesting to see what the author chooses next.

Gruff Rhys: Atheist Xmas EP (Wichita, 12/20/11)

Gruff Rhys: "Slashed Wrists This Christmas"

Liz Baudler

It seems that all we hear about these days is how much trouble the print-publishing industry is in. With many major publications moving online (or at least developing a much stronger online presence), it seems natural to worry that smaller (and less wealthy) works like zines are going to have to adapt or die off. The zine-like literary journal The Toucan is at least a partial proof that print volumes can survive (and maybe the Internet is their salvation).

I’ll admit that I have a soft spot for submissions-based literary magazines. It’s nice to think that in the digital age (and the increasingly conglomerate-based publishing industry of today) that some people are still painstakingly choosing and collecting short stories and poems from aspiring authors and publishing them in zine form. Printed work has a way of feeling more personal, and when your reading material contains a variety of poems and stories by mostly anonymous individuals, the personal touch can be crucial. The Toucan retains this touch of intimacy, but the quality and variety of work is especially surprising in this little unassuming volume.

Issue 12 (Summer 2011) includes some really great pieces from writers and poets alike. Matt Morgan’s short story Doppelganger is a tense, twisty tale of a failed writer who becomes convinced that a successful lookalike is taunting him from afar. Paid in Full, a short story by Mike Tager, is a new twist on an old “crossroads deal with the devil” myth. Some works are stranger still; Ian Singleton concludes his blank-verse outtake from Shakespeare’s play in “The Villainy of Hamlet,” while Sarah Anne Stinnett’s standout poem “I Put the Ass in B(ass)” is two poems in one.

Even poems like “If Vegetables Had Skeletons,” by Brandon Amico, might not be for everyone, but many of these works feel like experiments or interesting digressions. Amico’s somewhat facetious poem wonders what would happen if all of our food had “ribs and teeth / beneath their flesh.” A few other works like “Playing Intergalactic Baseball” by J.J. Steinfeld or “Wedding Toast From the Best Man, Who Is Still Single For Some Reason” (also by Amico) provide levity and balance in a collection that sometimes becomes too navel-gazing for its own good.

For the most part, the works in this collection come off as assured and professional; their stories recall some of the more polished college creative-writing journals, and sometimes more mature publications. There’s not a lot in the way of formal experimentation; most writers diverge from the norm just enough to keep it interesting, but very rarely does the work feel particularly adventurous. On the contrary, this is the kind of literary journal that assures the reader that strong narrative voice and even blank-verse dramatic work will always have a place in print publishing, and will be appreciated.

The Toucan’s “Editrices Extraordinaires” Liz Baudler and Laura Rynberg are both Chicago natives and students at Columbia College, and their letter to the reader makes clear their intention to publish something that they’d want to read. On the whole, it feels like they’ve succeeded in creating a quality journal. The Toucan’s thirteen print issues include an impressive array of fiction and poetry, and although the magazine has moved most of its operations online, the journal lives on. In fact, the web edition allows it to live on and continue publishing new submissions; the move to online publishing has been relatively easy for The Toucan. However, I can’t help but hope that the print edition will resume someday and further prove the continuing viability of smart and interesting zines.

Is the Bronfman exit the sign of great things to come in the record biz?

So Warner Music Group chairman Edgar Bronfman quit. Who cares? Well, I do, and so should you if you’re an artist or anyone who services one.

I never met Mr. Bronfman. The closest I came was to sit a table away from him at an awards function years ago, and here is the embarrassing part: I didn’t even know it was him.

Ed changed the music business, and though we could argue for another ten years as to whether he changed it for better or worse, the truth is that it’s now irrelevant, because it’s his departure and this particular time that has meaning. Now that the most significant (albeit not the largest) label, Warner, is in control and positioned to be the most influential distributor in the game, what is the Russian guy who bought it gonna do? He’s going to clean house as step one.

Ed didn’t just quit. He was fired. Not with a pink slip, but by the natural merger and acquisitions attrition of a golden parachute and planned obsolescence. If you didn’t see this coming, you’re not paying close enough attention to the recent music-biz math.

We don’t need the big wigs anymore. We don’t need to pay label CEO's $4 million salaries plus bonus. I’m sure we can find a 35-year-old somewhere who can squeak by on $500,000 a year and all the back-stage ass he can grab to run one of the industry’s biggest catalogs.

Since 1985, CEO salaries have increased from $800,000 a year to somewhere in the millions. Meanwhile, all other salaries have remained basically constant. (See the chart below.) This is non-sustainable in a industry going through the kind of upheaval we’ve seen since 2005.

And this is just the beginning of the new music business.

As this smarter, leaner, younger model sets in, the other "big two" distributors will follow and trim the fat-cats. Next will be Jimmy, Reid, and others, resigning to “spend more time with their families” or getting into other facets of entertainment.

Consolidation is the new growth. Though just about every blog and paper seems to feel that the EMI breakup is another blow to the recorded music trade, as usual, I see it a bit differently.

This is the blitz. Fewer distributors does not necessarily equal less product, fewer releases, fewer signings, or less anything. As long as we have two large distributors with families of labels, we have competition, and two is all we really need to keep the game going — let alone three.

Consider this: there were not more labels when we had six major distributors through the 1990s; there were fewer. (Source: Pollstar) When labels consolidate, they tend to create more imprints, which leads to new A&R vehicles. And I’m sure with the millions that the industry will save on its executive restructuring, more imprints and more development deals will be created.

The top has been too heavy for far too long. Now is the new dawn.

Ed, sorry to see you go, but we need your money for new artists more than you need it for a new boat. No hard feelings.  But we’ll see ya at the Grammys, I’m sure.

This time I’ll say hi.

Mo out.

CEO salaries at major record labels have tripled since 1985, while all others have barely kept pace with inflation.

The Black Keys: El Camino (Nonesuch / Warner Bros., 12/6/11)

The Black Keys: "Lonely Boy"

Earlier this year, when The Black Keys announced a new album via a used-car commercial spoof starring Bob Odenkirk, it was obvious that the band had something fun up its sleeve. The gimmick didn’t come out of nowhere, given the band’s knack for humor (see last year’s “Tighten Up” video). If anything, it felt right — with The Black Keys’ rising popularity in the last few years, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney seem to be enjoying themselves. And that’s never been more apparent than on their latest release, El Camino.

With the last decade spent tearing apart genres and sewing them back together, the blues-indie-rock outfit (which recently relocated to Nashville from Akron, Ohio) has become one of the most consistent acts around. And though many bands might crumble under the weight of mounting exposure — in the last week alone, the band has appeared on Saturday Night Live, The Colbert Report, and The Late Show with David Letterman, in addition to jump-starting a North American tour packed with numerous arena stops — the band has simply gotten more carefree. Auerbach and Carney look and sound like they’re having the times of their lives, and they probably are, even if that means adapting to their now-more-expansive surroundings. And El Camino, the band’s seventh effort in just nine years, showcases the end product of that transformation, as the duo has cultivated a bigger, more varied sound — without losing its edge.

El Camino finds The Black Keys teaming up once again with Danger Mouse to oversee production (he produced 2008 album Attach & Release as well), and the result is one of the band’s most sonically diverse offerings. Though the songs are firmly fixed in the classic Black Keys style (untamed distortion, clamoring drumming, bluesy vocals and lyrics, and noodling guitar riffs), El Camino builds on the band’s recent exploration of musical diversity and experimentation. The record incorporates bass, layered guitars, keyboards, synthesizers, and textured harmonies into the production. Nearly every track features a different type of distortion, as well as different kinds of periphery instruments. Fortunately, the experiment never feels saturated or fickle, as the band’s tried-and-true tactics of crashing cymbals and shredding solos is present more often than not.

The excellent “Dead and Gone” sounds like a gritty ’60s jamboree, chocked full of xylophones and layered harmonizes; the first single and album opener, “Lonley Boy,” starts out with a lurid de-tuned guitar riff before kick-starting into a chugging roadhouse number. “Gold on the Ceiling” features a variety of guitar sounds (think The White Stripes’ “Blue Orchid” guitars textured with elements of Queens of the Stone Age); “Little Black Submarines” starts out with a heartsick, acoustic folk arrangement before colliding with a wall of grunged-out guitars and exploding cymbals; and the alien-organ intro of “Nova Baby” feels like the band is trying something completely new before veering into more familiar territory.

More than anything, El Camino is a rock album, keeping a faster pace throughout the duration of the record and seeing how many different ways the duo can rock out without feeling redundant. And, thankfully for us, the songs never do. There is always a new twist or turn lurking around the bend, keeping us on our toes as we hear a band we should be able to put our finger on by now. But El Camino refuses to let that happen.

And though the production’s quality is flashier and more pristine than the band’s earlier DIY days, El Camino might be The Black Keys’ most easygoing record. It’s fun. It has a swagger to it that usually doesn’t appear on albums this late in a band’s career. So even though the duo is getting bigger and more famous, that hasn’t hindered Auerbach and Carney’s creative energy. If anything, the exposure has only strengthened it. They flourish in the spotlight, and it’s never been more evident than on El Camino.