The Mayan calendar claims that the world will come to an abrupt end in 2012. We have all heard the hype and suffered through the movies. But even if that prediction falls flat, the pop-music business may still experience its own armageddon shortly thereafter. Are these just the ravings of another music-industry expert flying off the rails? Let's see.

In 2013, many classic recordings are scheduled to slip out of the control of their major labels. No, I’m not referring to odd recordings that no one actually collects. This list of records includes some of the top-selling albums of all time (abbreviated list below)!

Even though music-business insiders have been dreading this for years, the New York Times finally decided that it was a newsworthy enough subject and published a piece a few weeks ago about this issue (called “termination of masters”). Unfortunately, the reporter they assigned seemed to a have limited understanding of how the music business really works, as well as of copyright in general. In his article, he kept interchanging the word “songs” with “master recordings,” which littered his post with inaccurate statements like, “artists can claim their songs in 2013.”

Though this New York Times piece may be new info to outsiders, it is a subject that has long been on the minds of those concerned with the recording industry and artist rights. I reported about the subject in a 2008 Moses Supposes article. Here’s the reprint for your perusal:

Mayan meltdown at majors

The hot topic for the American Bar Association conference in 2008 was “termination of masters,” a little raison d’etre in the copyright act that supposedly levels the playing field for authors who are often at a disadvantage to the big, bad publisher (or record company, in this case). The copyright act states that after 35 years, the license or transfer of a work must “terminate” and revert back to the original author.

With so many variances in the law, we really need an iPhone countdown app to determine which master rights are soon to go bye-bye. But due to several exceptions, the albums that are immediately affected are those released in the US from 1978-1979. So in the year 2013, the following albums may no longer be property of their labels:

The Wall (Pink Floyd)
Van Halen (Van Halen)
Off the Wall (Michael Jackson)
Highway to Hell (AC/DC)
Joe’s Garage (Frank Zappa)
Tusk (Fleetwood Mac)
London Calling (The Clash)
Rust Never Sleeps (Neil Young)
Darkness on the Edge of Town (Bruce Springsteen)
Man the Torpedoes (Tom Petty)
The Kids Are Alright (The Who)
Some Girls (The Rolling Stones)
Fear of Music (Talking Heads)
Rickie Lee Jones (Rickie Lee Jones)

Basically my entire vinyl collection.

Oh, I almost forgot — Breakfast In America by Supertramp. (They can have that one.)

As you can see, this is not an insignificant list, and this list is in no way complete.

Though this may sound like a victory for the artists, keep in mind that without the threat of label litigation, we will likely see a de-facto public-domain-i-zation (I made that word up) of these masters. Artistically, this might be cool because now people can do wacky remixes and P2P them free of lawsuits. But it also means a complete deterioration of the one area that labels have been relying on for the revenue that it takes to invest in new artists: catalog.

And artists too?

Yes! To make matters worse, it’s not only the labels that could get the shaft here but the artist as well. You see, anyone who worked on the recording is considered “an author” and can apply for a “termination of [their] rights.” Anyone. Right down to the hanger-on who played the tambourine because he dropped off weed at the studio and someone said, “Hey, want to jam on the record?”

Imagine being a top heritage artist; you get your masters back and you’re looking forward to making a fresh deal for your classic recording, only to have an army of ex-entourage that you left in the wake of ascension shaking you down. Even if you’re legally in the right, the cost of litigation could bury you.

Several arguments have been forwarded to further define exactly who exactly “the author” is, but so far, each one seems to have just enough merit to pass summary judgment. The fact is that no one knows for sure exactly what or who “the author” will be in this context.

For my anarchist readers, who are presently wringing their hands with glee, I’ll say this: it’s one thing to want labels to suffer because they’re such greedy bastards, and it’s quite another to want to see a complete erosion of classic recordings and financial infrastructure.

This is only a small article on what is going to be a very, very scary topic over the next couple of years. Stay tuned.

What would you do if your label, which claimed that, after selling millions of CDs, you still owe them money, was going to lose rights to the masters? Would you take them back or renew your contract with them? I’ll give you some tips in the next piece on this important subject. What do you think is in the artist’s best interest? Post your answer below. Here’s a clue: it’s not the obvious answer.

Mo out

You don’t have to scratch your head too much to recall that Jim Carrey or [Arnold] Schwarzenegger got about $25 million to perform in their movies, or to remember the $280 million that it cost to make Titanic. I’d like you to ask yourself a question: why in the hell do you know these facts? They are not important to your day-to-day survival, yet they are part of common pop-culture knowledge.

Now ask yourself this: how much did Eminem’s last four albums cost? What about how much it cost to market and promote U2’s integrations into the iPod? What? No answer? The reason you have no idea is because whenever you learn how much an actor is getting paid, it’s not a fact that was uncovered by hard-nosed investigative journalism. It’s in a press release. The film industry wants everyone to know that it’s costing them a truckload of cash to entertain you, the public.

Over the last 60 years, while the movie industry has been investing millions a year in educating us about their costs, the record companies have not invested dime-one on this area. They have not taught us music’s cash value.

You probably don’t even realize it, but one important reason you don’t feel easily comfortable sneaking into a blockbuster movie is because subconsciously you figure, “It’s only nine bucks, what the heck, they spent $100 million to make it.”

When have you heard that Michael Jackson’s History video cost almost $2,000,000, or that Mariah Carey’s second record company paid her close to $29,000,000 to not deliver the remaining four albums of her contract and leave the label? Did you hear that a 50-piece orchestra was hired for $20,000 a day for an artist who is a known prima donna, instead of using a synthesizer for about $1,500? Do you think that hiring an orchestra helped sell more records than the synth? No, but the record companies spend gobs of cash on developing new artists and keeping old ones in the public eye. They just don’t advertise it. They don’t educate the public about their woes. Instead, they produce music videos about the high lifestyle the artists enjoy, and they give away the music for free in various venues such as radio and TV, hoping we’ll get hooked on their new prodigy. It's the same business model used by drug dealers.

So when a technology comes along that allows anyone with a computer to pilfer a record company’s inventory, who would think twice about using it? Music already feels free, and many feel as though they have a right to it.

THE LAW OF COMMERCE

It is a law of commerce: you cannot sell something if there is no perceived value in it. You simply can’t. Suing people who steal music, as the RIAA did from 2003-2008, is not really educating the public. It scares them a little, and perhaps this was necessary, but the conceptual effect is probably no different than TV companies suing viewers for making a tape (or DVD) of a movie shown on the air, and then lending it to a friend who can’t afford their own TiVo.

I concede, the analogy is not a parallel one in terms of the legal merits, but to the legally unsophisticated public, it feels the same. They walk away thinking, “Wait a minute, I’m not stealing. You already give this to me for free. It was free when I heard it at the mall and on the radio and on my MTV. I’m just ripping it and sharing my tastes with friends.”

Of course, from a copyright perceptive, this is ridiculous. Copyrights were designed to give authors almost absolute authority and monopoly over the use of their work — for a limited time. Regardless, record companies simply cannot get people to voluntarily abide by the law at this late date in the game. The law itself is too complex.

So how do they reverse this? How do they get people to see the monetary value of music when they’ve spent 60 years getting you to believe that you are entitled to it for free? They could try to reeducate the public. This would probably take another 15 years, if they start today, assuming there were no obstacles. And there are many. ISPs spending millions to “educate” the public that music should be free is a large wave pushing back on the minuscule efforts that the RIAA spends on winning hearts and minds.

Should they have thought about this years back when Internet companies approached them with new business models? Maybe. The tech-biased press likes to make the public think that record companies shut their doors to Internet possibilities. But what if they had no choice but to say “no” to them? What if Internet companies were bent on stealing their music no matter what? Would we learn about that truth given the way the media portrays the music business?

“It adds an element,” says Justin Pearson, bassist /vocalist for San Diego sci-fi grind-punk four-piece The Locust, a band that dons hooded, skintight, full-body uniforms. “It’s hard to say how you feel when you do it; you’re walking on stage with three other people with absurd outfits. We’re part of the show, and part of the live performance is the energy, negative or positive. It adds a level of intensity.”

“It’s all about using your imagination,” says Tom Fec, who performs under the name Tobacco as a solo artist and as a member of dreamy psych-hop outfit Black Moth Super Rainbow. He employs masks as tools to obscure his persona, rather than The Locust’s edgy, over-the-top approach. “I think that’s a really important piece to making an impact,” he says. “When you know everything about a person, then it’s like watching someone you know up there, and it becomes something else completely. The more you know, the less you care about knowing.”

RJ Krohn, better known as soulful hip-hop artist RJD2, is a performer who has experimented with masks and costumes on stage as much for his own amusement as for the audiences at his concert. “I have always felt that theatrics,” he says, “or at least dressing up, was an obvious way to say, ‘At least I’m trying here, folks,’ to a crowd. Just walking on stage in a T-shirt and jeans is cool if you are a genius. I, however, have questionable talent, which needs to be deep fried, slathered in a tasty barbecue sauce, and dressed up like real talent.”

Krohn’s first experiment with costumes was as an alter ego that he named “Mo’ Buttons,” in a costume decked out with tons of buttons with a sampler strapped to his chest, in order to highlight that on stage, he plays the device like a keyboard or drum machine rather than simply pressing “play.” The sampler proved to be too heavy to wear comfortably every night, but when Krohn discovered that he could incorporate a MIDI controller to run the equipment rather than the entire unit, he took the premise and his sense of comedy to the next level, introducing crowds to his latest persona.

“When I had [the equipment techniques] down, I realized that it needed a way to differentiate itself from the rest of the show,” he says. “A guy just putting on and taking off a wireless spinning MIDI controller is just dumb. So the alter ego became ‘Commissioner Crotchbuttons,’because I had built the thing into a belt that spins (à la ZZ Top), and when you have a musical instrument planted on your crotch, the jokes just write themselves.”
 

“When you know everything about a person, then it’s like watching someone you know up there, and it becomes something else completely. The more you know, the less you care about knowing.”
– Tobacco

Like Krohn, The Locust’s uniforms are rooted in a sense of humor but also an equally strong sense of rebellion. Formed in 1994, The Locust began wearing costumes by the late ’90s as a reaction to what it felt was unusual backlash from the underground press, which focused more on the band’s clothes than its music. “We were just wearing our street clothes,” Pearson says. “We were poor punk kids. Somehow that became the topic of the conversation instead of our music. It was sort of a pointless round-table discussion, and people seemed really agitated with us. We weren’t a racist band. We weren’t fighting people. We were playing music, and for whatever reason, they criticized us beyond the music.”

Its first costumes, fuzzy vests and goggles, were created to be tongue in cheek. Surprisingly, as The Locust developed as a band, the costume concept stuck. “We never really thought about it,” Pearson says. “We wrote music and we played music — jagged, funny, quirky parts. We started figuring out things to do musically that coincided with us doing a visual element. It happened by chance, and then it evolved. We look ridiculous, but we’re totally serious. Maybe it’s hard for a band to achieve that? It became very honest. We’re not fucking around or being influenced by this other thing. It wasn’t self-conscious.”

In turn, the uniform concept has affected The Locust’s performance style, which Pearson says also plays off the rambunctious stage antics and overt masculinity of many of its peers in the hardcore scene. “We found ourselves with this borderline homoerotic, nerdy, sci-fi thing,” he says. “We look like robots; we move jaggedly. We don’t have breakdown parts. We’re stationary, and you can’t run or jump. It was very technical and confined to a spot. We decided, ‘Let’s do the complete opposite [of many tour mates] and stand there and not move. And we’ll stop and be completely still.’ There is a physical edginess to it beyond the fact that we looked like these science-fiction creatures.”

Though The Locust has grown an overall aesthetic from both its musical and visual components, and Krohn is happy to poke fun at himself for the sake of the show, the reality for many musicians is that a costume or mask is a form of armor, granting them space from the watchful eye of the crowd. Take San Antonio DJ Ernest Gonzales. Under his own name, Gonzales creates music that is chilled and collected, often combining elements of indie rock, pop, and hip hop.
 

“I’m an introverted kind of person. A mask enables you to be whatever you want to be on stage…like getting drunk without having to drink."
– Mexicans with Guns

When he began toying with a more bass-heavy dance sound, he opted to present it under a different name. He created an alter ego that he called Mexicans with Guns, topping off the character with a Mexican wrestling mask. “It’s branding, in a sense,” Gonzales says. “If I’ve been doing a different sound, then coming out of left field with a different sound could be positive, or it could be negative. For me, it felt like two separate projects and sounds. The sounds are so different; I realized [that] I’d be playing to different venues and crowds.”

Having an alter ego enabled Gonzales to overcome his apprehensions about testing new musical waters, and specifically, wearing a mask allowed the introverted Gonzales to bring out a different side of his personality. “When I’m on stage and I have the mask, I’m able to be more loose,” he says. “I’m an introverted kind of person. A mask enables you to be whatever you want to be on stage…like getting drunk without having to drink."

“With the mask, it could be anybody up there,” he adds. “Also, the idea of the mask is very important to Mexican culture. El Santo (Mexican wrestler Rodolfo Guzmán Huerta) has been in 80-plus films. The wrestlers come out and they never reveal their face. It’s very political too; I wanted to bring out the mask and build up [the character] as a hero.”

Like Gonzales, others create cultural discourse by tying themselves to an era. For LA DJ Alfred Darlington, who plays under the name Daedelus and dons full Victorian suits on stage, the decision to perform in costume had its origins in the philosophy of his music. “I have a big interest in invention,” he says. “I felt that the Victorian period was a period of great invention. Now I’m pretty committed to it, and it feels more appropriate to me than wearing my street clothes.”

In Darlington’s meticulously constructed electronic music, every sound is deliberate; there are no improvisations and no room for extraneous noise. Sonically, it could be seen as an answer to Dandyism, a philosophy that Darlington finds particularly inspiring. “Beau Brummell was the prototypical dandy,” he says. “He was the first person to adopt attire as a full-time religion. Performance art didn’t exist at the time, so this was revolutionary. I liked the idea that that everything he did was deliberate. It took him four hours a day to get ready because every gesture he made was artistic. Philosophically, I related in the sense that in my music, every sound is planned. Dressing up like that helps me get into the mindset.”

Darlington describes the dedication to his costumes as “masochistic” in some ways. “I’m committed to my music and my art, and it does feel like I’ve taken on the burdens of the role,” he says. “I sweat through my clothes, but the idea of stripping it down seems ludicrous.” The Locust’s Pearson echoes his thoughts, saying,“There have been times when you’re like, ‘This is so stupid.’ Sometimes it’s been pretty brutal — mainly your face, because some of the masks haven’t had a mouth opening and were attached to our shirts. You could drink through it, but you couldn’t spit. One time I was sick on tour and threw up in the mask and had to swallow it. [Our drummer] Gabe [Serbian] has flipped his mask up, and he’d throw up if he’d overexerted himself. Sometimes with singing, I’ll get vertigo or tunnel vision if I hold the note until the end of the measure.”

Darlington doesn’t wear an actual mask, but wearing the 19th Century attire accomplishes the same goal for him. The same can be said for hip-hop artist Javocca Davis, a.k.a. Vockah Redu, a prominent figure in New Orleans’ bounce community. Davis incorporates face paint, theatrical costumes, and lavish sets into a subgenre of hip hop that is notorious for its energy, overtly sexual dancers, “triggerman” beats, and party-like atmosphere.

“I have a big imagination, and I bring that to the stage,” he says. “I don’t just want to be a rapper on stage with a chain. This is the theater part of me. I love to paint my face; it goes with my music. Why wear a T-shirt when I can demand the stage?”

Davis studied theater and performance arts at the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, but until the past year or so, he kept his two passions separate. “I wasn’t being open minded,” he says. “I thought a rapper was supposed to look this way or that way. It was limiting. Now I’m more mature. I’m representing me as a person.”

As Vockah Redu, Davis follows a tradition of artists such as Michael Jackson, Prince, and Madonna — as well as contemporaries like Saul Williams — who have toyed with sexuality and larger-than-life stage personas. Others like Tom Fec, however, are content to let their legends grow from speculation.

This includes atmospheric electro-pop trio Castratii, an Australian act that only performs in a mask of complete darkness to become anonymous or even invisible. Convention often dictates that having the right look to accompany one’s music is a key factor in launching a successful career in the entertainment business. Ironically for Fec and Castratii, not having an image has resulted in more attention from the press and music lovers.

“People are definitely more interested in not knowing right now, in particular as everything is so easily found online,” Castratii’s Jonathan Wilson says. “We like to make our own judgment on artists or musicians. We don’t need them to be real. We prefer the myth of the artist.”

“The usual stuff that comes along with being in music seems irrelevant to me,” says Fec, who gives few interviews and fewer (and often obscured) photo shoots, and who uses effects on his vocal recordings. “If I was a guy with a guitar singing about my life, it might make sense, but I have this fucked-up world that I want people to interpret for themselves. It really shouldn’t be about me.”
 

“I don’t just want to be a rapper on stage with a chain. This is the theater part of me. I love to paint my face; it goes with my music. Why wear a T-shirt when I can demand the stage?”
– Vockah Redu

Recently, Fec has invited a mask-wearing friend to join him on stage, and due to this lack of a visual public persona, audience members often walk away thinking that the masked figure is Fec. “I’ve always liked confusing people,” Fec says. “It makes everything more fun when you’re not sure what’s going on. If they mistake him for me, then I’ve done my job.” At first glance, Fec’s approach may appear as if he is having fun at the expense of his audience, but he maintains that his anonymity has given his listeners more room to interpret the music.

The members of Castratii, meanwhile, have found creative satisfaction in complete darkness — despite their visual- arts backgrounds in sculpture and installation. “Darkness is so much better for many things,” Wilson says. “It can be creepy and frightening or soft and sensual. It encompasses so many different good and evil connotations.

We also like the idea that we can barely see each other while we play. Our only link is the music.” Without the ability to actually “watch” the band, Castratii’s audience leaves its shows with a unique experience.

“We find that the sound can consume a person in a completely new way if the performer is left in the dark,” Wilson says. “It becomes about the sonic and not how it is made. When seeing a rock show or even a classical performance, most people walk away with an idea [that] they were closer to that performer as a person. They may also have an insight as to how those particular sounds are made. This is something we want to keep to ourselves — our sounds and our persons. This way it can retain a little mystery.”

Darlington, who believes that costumes and masks also can be protective forces, adds, “We live in an era where people regurgitate media. You are under this possible gaze, and it goes up on Flickr; it goes up on You- Tube. Everybody has a part and takes a role in forming your media presence. You always have to be prepared to be scrutinized.”

Although music as an art form is first and foremost for the ears, the fact that so many artists take on the additional task of elaborate visual schemes, whether masked, costumed, or otherwise disguised, is telling of its multi-sensory qualities. Perhaps thinking of music and art as separate forms is erroneous. “It tells a story,” Davis says. “Every show tells a story.”

The Jesus Lizard

With its first performances since 1999, pummeling mid-tempo rock icons The Jesus Lizard will briefly reunite to play at the All Tomorrow's Parties festival in Minehead, UK in May of 2009. The group's original lineup will be present and play a short series of additional dates that culminates in Chicago next November.

Idiosyncratic rapper Busdriver performs live with a jazz-crossover band called Kneebody tonight in Los Angeles. Pigeon John also performs and tickets are only $10, so don't miss it!

Instrumental violin-centered trio Dirty Three will perform its beautiful fan-favorite album Ocean Songs at All Tomorrow's Parties in New York in 2009.

Comprised of vocalist J. Bannon (Converge), Dwid Hellion (Integrity), and Stephen Kasner (Blood Fountains), Irons is billed as an artistic, nonlinear expression of melancholy through electronics, guitars, and vocals. The trio has announced the impending release of a split 12" with Pulling Teeth.

Minimalist folk group Phosphorescent has recorded a full-length covers collection of Willie Nelson tunes titled To Willie. The group will tour this winter and spring.

One-man grind project Toxic Holocaust will assemble in band form for January tour dates with 3 Inches of Blood and Early Man. Currently, Toxic Holocaust is touring with GWAR.

Andrew Bird's deluxe edition of Noble Beast, due out on January 20, is available to pre-order through Fat Possum Records. The deluxe edition includes a second disc, Useless Creatures, that includes new instrumental works.

Rhymesayers has posted the video for "The Truth," the single from Jake One's great new album, White Van Music, that features Freeway and Brother Ali.

Beginning today, you can download the Christmas single "Beam Mig Op, Jesus" by Danish rockabilly weirdos Powersolo via iTunes or Clicktrack.

Groove trio Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey is playing a New Year's Eve show in Tulsa in which the featured performers play the tunes of Prince, Lionel Richie, and Michael Jackson. Get down.