There are very few people I know who wouldn’t agree that money is a pain in the ass. Those who disagree probably have a lot of it. Actually, I think wealthy people are probably equally bothered by it. Honestly, I’ve never cared that much about money, otherwise I’d have majored in finance and jumped straight into Wall Street. Among the many risks of being a musician is a huge financial one, but I don’t care because all I want to do is make music, and if I’m not doing that I won’t be happy. And that’s the point, isn’t it? Every day my heart aches a little more when I’m not able to devote myself 100% to what I love to do. But no matter how little I care about money, I still need (and want) it, and it sure would be nice to have a lot of it. Because maybe money can’t buy happiness, but there is one thing it can buy: Freedom. Sweet, sugary freedom.

The music-money relationship is a tricky one. For a very large portion of people out there that are earning money from a day job, it’s all about business. To make money from music, you inevitably have to turn it into a business, and turn your band and your CD into the product you’re selling. Someone once told me, “make it fun, don’t make it work.” Well, the point of trying to make music my “work” is because it’s always fun. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. Don’t we all want a fun job? That’s all I’m trying to get for myself. When I make it work, it’s the most fun work I’ve ever done. It makes me want to work.

And so we come to the ubiquitous phrase: selling out. It’s one of the most over-used phrases in the music business, particularly by fans. The problem is that there is no actual definition of selling out, because it’s totally different from everyone’s perspective. For a lot of people, selling out has simply become a synonym for success. As soon as a band makes it big, they’ve sold out. As soon as they sign to a major label or appear on MTV, they’ve sold out. But accepting money for your work isn’t selling out, even if it’s a big fat sum of money. The artists who have become rich are well off because they have a ton of fans who shell out cash to buy their music, a T-shirt, a concert ticket, etc.

Selling out to me involves sacrificing your music’s integrity for money. Too often, signing with a major label means you give up control over your own music and have to squeeze into a cookie cutter artistically. Any time you let a so-called authority change the way you go about your art for a few extra bucks, you’ve blown it. If you’re lucky enough that your music already fits the mold of what’s popular, then you’re good to go. I’d love to sign a major label contract today, but only if it meant that I wasn’t a slave to the trends. Fat chance, really. But there will always be some amount of compromise… It all comes down to how much is too much, and what you feel comfortable with.

Basically, I’d love to be making music from strumming my guitar, fiddling with ProTools, and being creative. I don’t particularly care about much more than that. I’d love to be in a successful touring band, or play guitar for recording sessions. It would be fun to write music for films. I’d even enjoy recording background music for SportsCenter clips or TV commercials. But if you ever actually see me appear in a goddamn 1-800-COLLECT commercial (Lit, I’m looking in your direction), remind me to slap myself in the face. With a brick.

One thing’s for sure: selling out is always associated with success. Sometimes, I think, this is a result of jealousy. Think about it: you’d be way more likely to think that Coldplay sold out if they said they like Miller Light than if your local bar band got paid for saying the same thing. That reminds me, I really, really enjoy Smithwick’s Ale, and I could surrrre go for one right now. No? OK, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you: someday you’re probably gonna tell me I sold out. But I probably won’t agree with you. And you know what? I’ll just think you sold out for working your 9 to 5 instead of pursuing your dream. So we’re even.

The only championship that a Philly team in one of the four major sports has won while I was alive was when the 76ers won in 1983. Fittingly, basketball is the sport I care/know about the least out of any of them. With the Flyers’ recent big embarrassing failure against the Penguins, they’ve made it official: it’s been one hundred straight sports seasons without a trophy in the City of Brotherly Love. That’s a pretty staggering number.

I’ve seen each team get to the “big one” and choke. The Sixers’ loss to the Lakers in 2001. The Flyers getting swept by the Red Wings in 1997. The Eagles’ agonizing Super Bowl debacle against the Patriots in 2005. The Phillies’ heartbreaking meltdown against the Blue Jays in the ‘93 World Series (damn you Joe Carter/Mitch Williams).

Over the years there have been many happy moments for a Philadelphia sports fan, but we’re not interested in remembering them. No, we’re much more interested in wallowing in self-pity, depression, self-loathing, devastation, uh… Did I mention self-pity? Anyway, a fine reporter at Sports Illustrated put together this dandy list of the 100 shittiest moments in the past 100 loser-laden seasons of Philly sports. Browse through the list, and let my people mope in misery forever!!!

And the only prescription is some new music that I play on. In this case, my good friend Genevieve has been working hard on her first album for a long time now, and it’s finally finished and ready for an eager public to soak it in. She’s a pop/folk singer-songwriter, and this record is chock full of well-crafted tunes, organic sounding production and interesting arrangements (plus lots of great vocals and harmonies by Genevieve, who has an uncommonly good singing voice). I play most of the acoustic guitars on the CD, plus I rock some electric and even mandolin on one track. A few fellow Shaimus fellas (Shaimites?) were heavily involved in the production, so it’s got that going for it, too.

So go ahead and take a listen… You can hear four full songs in all their glory on her Myspace profile, or hear long samples of every song (and buy the damn thing) at CD Baby. This is music for a rainy day. Or a sunny day. Or for night time. Maybe even dusk or dawn. But only dawn if you’ve been up all night. Otherwise, just stay in bed.

Here is a random thought/gripe inspired by part of my previous post. In the episode of House I referenced, there was a scene that I’m pretty sure was filmed in the Ortho Mattress store down the street from my apartment. First of all, I just thought that was kinda cool. I’ve been living in LA for two and a half years now, but it’s still fun to see places I recognize, especially when I live near them. Second of all, it made me think of SoCal mattress juggernaut Sit ‘n’ Sleep. (Disclaimer: I actually bought my mattress from Sit ‘n’ Sleep, so although my upcoming complaints are valid, I totally contributed to their staying in business.)

I didn’t live here a month before I started hating Sit ‘n’ Sleep’s commercials with the insufferable catch phrase of “You’re killlling me Larrrrry” and “Sit ‘n’ Sleep will beat any advertised price or your mattress is FREEEEEE!” But let’s think about that ridiculous offer for a second. Only one second, please. Because that’s all the time it takes to realize that it is nonsensical and a total BS promise. Picture this scenario:

Me: “Uh, hey, I want this mattress for $400.”
Salesman: “I’m sorry, we sell it for $500.”
Me: “I have this printed advertisement from Neil with the Deal and he says Leeds is selling it for $425. He also says he won’t be beat.”
Salesman: “I’m sorry sir, I just can’t beat that price.”
Me: “Well then, you know what to do.”
Salesman: “OK, here is your free mattress. Thanks for shopping at Sit ‘n’ Sleep.”

Sounds stupid, right? It is. They can make that claim because they will never be giving away a free mattress. Ever. And by the time you start thinking about it, you’re already listening to an ad for laser hair removal. Come to think of it, my bikini line sure could use a trim.

Don’t get any
Big ideas
They’re not gonna happen

-Radiohead

In my apartment tonight we tackled the DVR and watched last night’s episode of House. Hilarious as always. The patient was a soap opera star with some sort of allergy, or brain tumor, or bacterial infection, or… Hell, they go through so many red herring diagnoses I can never keep track. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What was interesting, though, was that the actor on the show (yes, the actor being played by an actor, how meta) was talking about how he hated his job, that he wanted to be in something important, something influential, a show or film that meant something. Any time one of the doctors told him to just quit his soap opera gig, he said “it’s not that easy.” When pressed for more explanation, he had none.

They never really went into any more detail, but it’s an interesting topic: where does one draw the line with how far they can push their art? Or really, where does one begin to compromise with the line someone else has drawn for their art? Wait, that didn’t really sound right and I don’t think it made sense. Are artists here to entertain or innovate? Either/or, or both? If you’re hoping to push the envelope, but just end up in a comfortable gray area that doesn’t revolutionize but does entertain, when should you resign yourself to be satisfied with what you’ve accomplished? Or should you at all?

When House was over, we watched a live Radiohead performance on the Music HD channel. They performed mostly songs from In Rainbows. They are one of the tightest bands I’ve had the pleasure of seeing live, and it seems like they’re just getting better sometimes. The difference in musical contribution to the world between them and, say, a band like Good Charlotte or Nickelback, is like night and day. But the latter two bands entertain large audiences. Some might call it mindless, still others call it greatness. When it comes down to it, they’re both equally valid. But if the members of Nickelback are in the business to innovate, should they accept their place in the music world (which, for the record, is in a spot completely free of innovation), or should they keep pushing to be something they are most likely never going to be?

These are the kinds of questions someone like me who is still waiting to break into the music scene might ask themselves. I would love to be an innovative, revolutionary musician, but to be totally honest I have no idea if I’m even capable of earning such a label. Do the revolutionary musicians even think they’re revolutionary? Maybe they totally do. Maybe Pink Floyd knew they were making history with each successive album. But like the soap opera star said, it really isn’t quite so simple as quitting what you’re doing and jumping right into something influential. When it comes down to it, all I can do is be completely sure with myself that I am making the best possible music I can make. (This could apply beyond music of course… Just making sure I’m doing the best job I possibly can with anything that is meaningful to me in my life.) What more could I even ask out of myself? And that is being said by someone who is harder on himself than any music critic or fan could ever be. I suppose that when all is said and done, it’s not up to me to decide if my music is revolutionary or not. Hell, it’s barely even up to you, either.