Nic Harcourt on music

Nic Harcourt on the failing recording industry. PLUS: GOOD Video Feature

Earlier this year I made my first visit to MIDEM, an international music industry conference that takes please each year in Cannes, France. At the conference, just like at every other recent industry shindig, from South by Southwest in Austin, to CMJ in New York City, the overwhelming majority of panel discussions, and conversations in bars and clubs, focused on one thing: how will things shake out in the music business as new technologies remove control of music delivery from record labels and radio stations? Notice that I didn't mention MTV. The station pretty much removed itself from the music game several years ago, largely dropping videos in favor of game shows and dubious reality programming. MTV says that it made the programming switch because no one wants to watch music videos anymore. Fair enough. Generation (fill in Madison Avenue's current half-decade demographic description here) isn't watching videos. They're not listening to commercial radio because it (A) doesn't play the music they want to hear and (B) pretty much sucks anyway. They're not buying CDs because they can download the music they want (sometimes paying, mostly not) or rip it from a friend. So where is the music business heading? Can it actually survive the current chaos and uncertainty in any recognizable form? The simple answer is that the jury is on a long sabbatical, and nobody knows. What we do know is that the internet and digital revolution have thrown almost every aspect of the music business into the air and the chips are yet to fall.In the '90s, the record and radio industries systematically squeezed any last vestige of creativity out of their respective businesses in a constant kowtow to the bottom line. The record industry focused on divas (Christina Aguilera), boy bands ('N Sync), and alternative rock one-hit wonders (The Verve Pipe). As a result of federal deregulation, corporations gobbled up large numbers of radio stations, and the once eclectic landscape of radio became a wasteland of homogenized jingles, shortened playlists, and beer and mattress commercials. By the end of the decade, tuning across the radio dial for anything remotely original became a futile exercise. Drive across the United States and you'll find the same cookie-cutter radio formats in every market. Noncommercial radio (i.e. public and college) has become the last bastion of original music programming on the dial, as the audience has turned away from commercial radio in droves. Listeners have found other alternatives as well. Internet and satellite radio now attract significant audiences because they offer a choice. And that's really what the current state of play is all about: consumers having the freedom and technological resources to make their own choices.The industry is still grappling with the fact that music lovers will no longer be spoon-fed whatever flavor record labels are pushing that month. Do the labels have a future? Yes they do, but it will involve a very different way of doing business. Early adopters have moved forward in their embrace of digital streaming and new media, and are using technology to make their own playlists. The record industry must adapt or die. Radio advertisers are beginning to shift their budgets to target new media consumers. As for satellite radio, I've always believed that there are only enough potential subscribers to support one company. Both Sirius and XM spend more money than they make. I failed math badly, but I still know that only the U.S. government can get away with a financial plan like that. There are more choices around the corner. Digital radio, a new technology that allows existing radio frequencies to be split into up to six streams, is becoming more and more accessible, and it's only a matter of time until the web becomes truly wireless and you'll be able to listen to web radio in your car.Bad news for the music industry is, paradoxically, good news for artists. The web has allowed them the freedom to develop and find a fan base in a way they could never have before (see "Breaking it down," right). In recent years, I've known several musicians who refused traditional major label contracts (Damien Rice, Bright Eyes, Jem) in order to retain control of their musical visions, instead cutting deals that gave them access to marketing and promotional support. I'm sick of hearing boomers bemoan the lack of exciting new artists while they drop a couple hundred bucks to see (enter old-fart band name here) in concert. The truth is that there are many vital young musicians writing and recording important songs today, but you have to look for them. Corporate America isn't going to discover them for you. The world has changed; there are no pop stars anymore. But there is a wealth of amazing music that you can discover. For a music fan, there's never been a more exciting time.

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Dan Pearson on graphic novels

Dan Pearson on the seriousness of serious comics.

Crumb was a spooky cat who hung out with the editors at Oui in the '70s. Parents didn't want him near their kids. He was an outsider on the inside, who filtered his times through the tectonic movement in his loins. There was, however, torture in his art, because it was about sex and love and revolution. That mattered. It was real.Two decades later, the comic book artists of the '90s, beaten down with their own white manhood at Wesleyan, Davis, and Reed, would come to embrace Crumb and his boldness. It was only natural, in the cultural vacuum of that decade; they had finally tired of living on politically correct eggshells. Grunge and Gen X had turned out to be no more than a grand recruiting scheme by Microsoft and Intel, with super-cool photos by Charles Peterson. Kurt Cobain's primal scream had seemed real (and it was). But he would have been the first to tell you that the underground had run its course, and no one should have depended on him for cultural insight. Yet the scream worked because what else was there to talk about? Peace? Prosperity? No drama there. The generation needed something primitive, honest, something from deep within reminding them that they hadn't been reduced to characters in Tron. In Crumb and others, this new generation found a creative way to make love to the world again, without having to string crossbows with Ted Nugent.The comics they produced were serious, secret, subversive. You couldn't find them on the shelves of Borders. It was Kurt Cobain's voice, this time without the Kurt Loder commentary. It stood on its own, with characters who were aimless, diffident. The readers either embraced it, or knew that it shouldn't be mythologized. Or both. Hate. Love and Rockets. "Hey," the hipsters at Powell's or Reading Frenzy thought, "That's me."And it was them. But then, while Generation X got lost rubbing itself into a fit of cultural onanism, things got serious. The generation was cut off from the entire discourse, and was left to sort through all its closets of ironic T-shirts and space-age bachelor-pad music for something that couldn't be corrupted, something that could keep itself proud in the face of so much degradation. But come the second Bush administration, you couldn't just wallow in your own self-worth, you had to make a difference because it was getting way worse than you could have ever imagined. So Generation X sought a symbolic anchor to its old frivolity, some landmark, some sense that its artists had made something lasting of their brief peace and prosperity.Jimmy Corrigan, Eightball - at a sidelong glance the comics of that era seem insignificant. Look closer, though, and they offer a portent, even then in the prosperous, happy times of the '90s, that everything was not all right. And now that time has proven that things are not, in fact, all right, the comics seem richer and deeper still. See the characters of Daniel Clowes and Chris Ware? See them shaking and perspiring? It was about more than doing covers for Estrus singles. It was about fear, and loathing, and pain; and more than that, it was about isolation. What, the generation had to ask itself, did we accomplish with our privilege and opportunity? What is our Dangling Man? Who is our Jasper Johns? Tough to say. But you can be pretty sure nobody wants to go down in history as the one who threw it all away for Counting Crows.Generation X has grown up, but we still see ourselves in the pages of the graphic novel. We are still the outsider, the aimless wanderer, even with our kids, and our giant haul of Williams & Sonoma wedding-registry loot, and the Krupps panini maker running double shifts on the ciabatta. We refuse to concede to convention, we refuse to believe that the way it is is the only way it can be. We're sensitive, but realistic. We're artistic, but not affected. We're organizing team meetings, but we're still subversive. And strangely, we've been embraced by the establishment. Our comics are no longer mimeographed by friends in exchange for weed or guest-list comps at Kinko's. They're running full color as New Yorker covers or New York Times Magazine installments. See. We put our vision on the front page. We won. Full circle. We were there all along. We never left ourselves. We mattered. We matter.

What is he talking about?

Charles Peterson Photographer who captured the love beads and the Fenders.Chris Ware Author of Jimmy Corrigan.

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