In one of my early fantasies about becoming a subway busker, I imagined that I might attract a crowd. (Attracting a crowd is, in fact, discouraged by TTC management for safety reasons.) I imagined that everyone passing by might stop and listen.
"In your dreams!", you're thinking.
Well, exactly. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good!
Even Adam, the virtuosic Juno-award-winning guitar player, doesn't bring pedestrian traffic to a halt when he plays in the subway.
It's pretty hard for one artist to attract the attention of mass audiences without mass promotion. This should be obvious. But somehow, it's not.
Music has such powerful emotional resonance, both for the creator and for the listener, it can transform our emotions and our everyday experience. As a result of its beauty and its meaning for us, it can fool us into thinking that it has the power to change our economic circumstances. Its seductive quality makes us believe we'll win big. It keeps us playing the music business lottery.
Just one more gig, one more demo, one more CD, one more song, one more expensive session player, one more tour, one more whatever the next task is, and Something Big Will Happen. The music endeavor will click into focus, the path will make sense. There will be a big redemption, a payoff. That's how the story is supposed to end, isn't it?
C'mon, aren't you half-expecting THIS story to pay-off big time? Aren't you waiting for someone powerful to discover me in the subway and offer to become my agent, producer, promoter and benefactor? (Or perhaps you'd prefer the tragi-comic ending: the disillusioned indie musician throws herself onto the subway tracks in a fit of despair?)
It’s not going to happen.
But it's worth noticing that we expect those endings. We don't feel satisfied when big shiny dreams just putter along in a way that may be self-sustaining but un-dramatic. We're conditioned to expect the big finish.
The Cinderella story of the entertainment business is deeply ingrained in us. That myth supports many people in the business, from producers to graphic designers to side musicians, all of whom are hired by artists aspiring to the music dream of mass audiences. The music dream is energizing and sustaining, and the hope and possibility that a song might be heard by others is often just the ticket to get it written in the first place. Dreams make life exciting: think of those lottery commercials where people's lives are enhanced simply by the possibility that they might win.
I’ve always been a big believer in dreams. Popular songs have served as my official dream soundtrack, with inspirational melodies and lyrics such as “Hold On To Your Dreams” (Triumph? ELO? Both?) The first song I recorded, with my high-school friend Danny, was called “Dare to Dream”. True to form as a dream-believing singer-songwriter, I’ve spent thousands (and thousands) of dollars on CDs, many of which are in my basement. I’m very proud of those CDs. Yet I know that to continue to create a product that attempts to compete with industry-funded recordings for large audiences is a financially unsustainable and ultimately foolish proposition.
At Broadview subway station, the lottery ticket kiosk is located right beside the performance area. However, I’m never tempted to use my busking dollars to buy lottery tickets.
I don’t need to.
In the subway, and in humble 'non-industry' performance spaces, I see that songs have value even when they do not reach mass audiences. They have value--currency, meaning--when they reach individuals.
I see that while the odds against mass popularity are astronomically high, opportunities to serve others through music are everywhere--and odds of success at it are strongly in the artist's favour.
I see a new kind of game, where everyone's a winner.
No comments:
Post a Comment