Let’s face it. Most musicians love what they do. Like other artists, they get infected with their work, obsessed in pursuing it, always trying to make it better. And, unfortunately like many freelance artists, tend to underestimate their worth.
Freelancers are always looking out for that next job. They know the value of hustling and self-promotion; they need that knowledge just to survive. Making connections that lead to more connections, networking at every chance, all in an effort to land a paying gig where they can show off what they have to offer to a bandleader, composer or other players.
If they’re successful in their efforts, and they are indeed a good player, because let’s face it, being a good player is the bottom line here, they’ll eventually get more notice as word of mouth spreads.
In Los Angeles or in any other decent-sized city, if you’re serious about working in the music business, you join the musician’s union. The union ensures that when you get a call to work on a record, movie, TV show or concert, you’ll be paid an employer-agreed upon wage that includes health insurance benefits, contributions to a pension and if applicable to your particular gig, any extra payments that have to do with a reuse or a broadcast of your performance.
In other words, instead of being alone out in the cold world of the music business, you have the union as your way post to help make the journey just a little bit friendlier.
Not that said union is perfect. But it’s a way for a freelancer to experience the benefits that most other professionals share as a given in their working lives. Health insurance, retirement benefits, profit sharing and a good wage. Think about it. Those are things that legitimize what we do. The public likes to scoff and ridicule musicians based on the relentless stereotypes they’ve seen served up through the years. The union provides the basis for the individual musician’s dignity by equating what they do with the rest of the professional world: health insurance, retirement benefits and a good wage.
In the last few months, there’s been a movement of players, unsatisfied with the current situation, who have been lured by the possibility of studio work paying less than the prevailing rates and benefits. They feel that the current status-quo isolates them from moving into the system, and that this is the way to get ahead. Like it or not, studio work has always been the domain of a relatively small network of great players, but not because of any conspiracy by a particular group. When a player does a great job for someone, that player is usually rewarded with loyalty, as long as that player continues to produce what’s needed for the employer. It’s a positive feedback cycle.
By bypassing the contracts that union members have worked hard to secure, these players, while landing immediate work, are positioning themselves as a second tier product. One of the main tenets of self-promotion and marketing experts is that you position yourself in the marketplace via your pricing. If you’re a great player and you work under union contracts, you’re accorded a “pride of place” both in the minds of fellow players and employers. If you’re a great player and you choose to work under sub-par agreements, well, you might be able to get more work in the short run and some quick money in your pocket, but in the end, you risk the chance of being viewed and associated with the budget group; the B group, if you will.
And that’s just not smart marketing.
August 30, 2007 | Link to this entry
Drive west on Sunset to the sea,
Turn that jungle music down,
Just until we’re out of town…
In 1980, no words would conjure up a more mysterious yet beckoning image of Los Angeles. In just a few short lines, mixed with intangible harmonies, Steely Dan pictured an LA where dreams didn’t always come true, but you’d never know unless you tried.
LA was the city where all the music I loved was being recorded. Album after album was bringing me closer to succumbing to its siren call as many had done for years before me.
And then, there was Joni.
See the blue pools in the squinting sun,
Hear the hissing of summer lawns.
As worldly as Joni was, LA was the center of her universe and she sang about it as one who had seen it all, dissected it and shared it in an inimitable way that couldn’t help but draw you closer to the edge of the circle.
But I couldn’t let go of LA,
City of the fallen angels.
More darkness and dashed dreams, but yet there was an optimism that shone through; an optimism rooted in pure joy from an earlier time.
Oh, but California,
California, I’m coming home,
I’m going to see the folks I dig,
I’ll even kiss a Sunset pig,
California, I’m coming home.
And it was with the lure of this soundtrack that I came West, twenty-five years ago this month, and walked into the bright, sulphuric yellow light of my adopted home.
August 17, 2007 | Link to this entry
I just got back from a short summer vacation a week ago, so there haven’t been any new postings in a month, but I promise to make that up as soon as I can…
August 10, 2007 | Link to this entry