…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column

The bands that I was in during the ’80s to ‘90s were created, dedicated, and (in actual fact) singularly infatuated with the search and seizure of the elusive record deal.

It was a time when record labels actually came to showcase gigs and looked for bands to sign and record, thereby granting them entre to a world that we all aspired to, but could barely imagine in our wildest of wild. A time prior to when you could record your own record on your laptop (primarily because there was no such thing as a laptop), so you needed serious financial backing to pay for expensive studio time to commit the next million-dollar seller to tape. Yes, tape, people. It was two inches wide and sounded amazing.

The lucky ones got the attention of someone at a record label, who would offer you a “spec” deal and then you’d quickly burn off a few demos on their dime. Then the shopping and showcasing and shmoozing commenced, complete with fingers crossed and hopes high.

Writer’s disclaimer: I made a promise to myself that if I were given the opportunity to write a column for Xperience Monthly, I would not make it all about me; a wise old veteran offering sage advice to all you fledgling artists. Truth is, no one’s ever accused me of being either wise or sage, and I’m not all that old goddamn it. But unfortunately, the only point of reference I have to pull from for these quippy ponderings is what has happened to me during my own career. So, you’ll have to sit through brief, periodic, meanderings down memory lane. Buckle up.

When it comes to the business of trying to score a record deal, I ran that particular gauntlet countless times in those years. In three different instances with major labels, the deals all took the same shape and form. They’d start with, “We love what you do, we love the band, we love the songs, we can’t wait to work with you.” They would then culminate inevitably with, “We still can’t wait to work with you, but we want to change the band, change the songs, and also and most importantly, we still love what you do, but we really want to change the way you do it, and every other conceivable thing about you.”

I was in my early to mid twenties, so I turned all those deals down flat. I felt confident that the band and I would be offered about a dozen more deals to choose from. I overestimated that number by about a dozen. But I have no regrets about not traveling that cookie-cutter road. It wasn’t me, and it would never have worked. And even if an unfortunate alignment of the musical stars had resulted in their alteration of my very being, catapulting me to glory and riches, I would have ultimately become one of those whining rockstars. The ones who are sooo disillusioned by fame and who (through dewy blue, soul-bearing tears) exclaim, “I just want a normal life again Oprah!” You know, those guys we all wanna to slap. It’s like, “Hey brah, wanna switch gigs tonight? You play the bowling alley, and I’ll play Wembley Stadium.”

But here’s why this story is worth the telling. It’s not because I -not so subtly- slipped in there that I got three record deal offers from major labels (and I mean, like, biggies you guys, no kidding), or to forewarn you, dear reader, of the perils and pitfalls of the record industry. No. It’s about what I learned along the way. You know, like how we learn everything worth knowing in life.

I learned that making music, and the people I was making it with and for, meant more to me than glory and riches and record deals. Crazy right? I learned that working a job so I could play only the gigs I wanted to play, with the people I wanted to play them with was more satisfying to me than playing five nights a week simply for the dough, all the while wishing the night would end so I could get my $75 and eat something. I learned that every time we – all of us – get up on a stage, it is important. And we should be thankful that we get to do it. Because not everybody does.

But the biggest lesson learned here was that even if your initial musical hopes and dreams don’t come to fruition, you can still have a fulfilling, meaningful career with incredibly talented people in an extremely cool music community. And that maybe, that was the dream all along.

And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky, you get to write about it in a really cool magazine that’s part of that music community, and remind people that you had three record deal offers from major labels in your twenties. I’m just saying. But enough about me.

Somebody count it off…2…3…4.