I love discovering people who live in an inspired way. Derek Sivers is such a person. It’s not enough that he is the king of DIY for musicians everywhere, creating CD Baby and other businesses. He is a messenger of ideas, his own and others’.
I find his blog inspiring not just because I’m a a musician, or because he is so knowledgeable about the music industry. I like it because it is loaded with hope. With new thinking that turns the conventional on it’s head and says why not try something else? This post is a great example.
The idea comes from Terry McBride of Nettwerk. This excerpt gives the very simple gist of it.
If you are a performing musician that sells CDs at your shows, please consider this:
1. Say to the audience, “It’s really important to us that you have our CD. We worked so hard on it and are so proud of it, that we want you to have it, no matter what. Pay what you want, but even if you have no money, please take one tonight.”
2. Mention this again before the end of the show, adding, “Please, nobody leave here tonight without getting a copy of our CD. We’ve shared this great show together so it would mean a lot to us if you’d take one.”
It changes the request from a commerical pitch to an emotional connection. (Replace market mindset with social mindset!) Allowing them to get a CD for no money just reinforces that
Besides the audacity of this kind of gesture/business model/community-building approach, I think I like it because it reflects a mission-driven path as opposed to a profit-driven one. And I think that the mission driven approach brings more long-term (ie; your whole life) security.
It is also exciting because it requires re-examining the way I think about CD’s-making them and selling them. As well as re-thinking their role in my career/musical work. I can’t wait to try it.
In all my furious questioning of how we define sustainability in terms of the arts. maybe the simplest definition is embodied in the simple question a “What do we leave behind for our children?” My friend who is a therapist and writer shared these thoughts with me the other day:
“I was thinking today about my friend who just put his son on the plane, and another friend whose son is leaving for University of Washington tomorrow, and I started thinking about sustainability through the lens of what we leave behind for our children. Often people leave money or special possessions. Traditionally people have left the family farm or some plot of land if they could. I think it must be comforting to feel like you are leaving your children the means to survive. We cannot know what will speak to our children’s hearts and souls, but we know they will need to find shelter and eat. The parent who leaves an inheritance for a child has given a gift with no ties–the child can use money however he wants–but he has also left nothing of himself or the culture. The parent who leaves the family farm, for example, may be leaving a great deal of himself–decades of sweat and careful decision-making are in that land–but his child may not be able or willing to farm or live on that property. To be able to shape one’s life work so as to include maximizing one’s own gifts and goals, but to also keep an eye on what one’s child will need and want in the future, seems like a real challenge. Maybe our mainstream culture is way, way off the mark in leading us to believe that our career choices and lifestyle decisions are all about ourselves. Maybe loving our children should include making choices about money, land, and other resources that we can pass on to them in ways that they can really use and that carry forward a rich cultural context. And any rich cultural context includes art. If we only leave our children cold, hard, cash, where is the love in that? Where are the values? Where is the beauty?
I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of the artist in the community. These days I’m especially interested in what it means in terms of this concept of sustainability. We all know that the old models, especially in my industry (music) are crumbling around us. Everyone is trying to figure out what the new models will be. My thought has long been that maybe we should be looking back in time, aiming at cycling back to something older, something pre-dating post-industrial market-capitalism. Something based in a connection with community.
Tonight I just stumbled on a blog post that speaks to all this, and resonates with the direction I hope to go. I am sending this out to all my current and former students, because the thesis is something I believe provides a baseline for the kind of sustainability that we all are seeking.
I was in Chandler, Arizona last week. On a September morning I stepped outside my friend’s house to make a phone call (long story about lack of cell-reception inside the house). I looked around. No-one to be seen. Admittedly it was 101 degrees, but that didn’t make the view of the deserted street in the new suburb any less daunting.
I wonder how this became someone’s idea of a city: Identical bland subdivisions stretching for miles and miles. Camouflage beige brick walls shielding them from the street. Each house a duplicate of the one next to it. 3-car garages in lieu of front porches.. It’s not a neighborhood, it’s a cluster of nondescript pods surrounded by five foot high walls. They are spacious and comfortable pods, no argument there–they have flat panel televisions, KitchenAid refrigerators, surround sound and all the modern day staples, as well as family pictures and homey touches. But they hermetically sealed to the outside. They have no shared spaces, no outward side of inner life, no color, no welcome. And they don’t make a community. Not even Identical CVS Drugstores on every other southeast corner and Mini-mails full of franchise chains on every other northwest corner can make it so.
This was not the vision.
Chandler was founded by Dr. Alexander John Chandler. In 1887 Dr. Chandler arrived in Prescott, the capital of the Arizona Territory as the first appointed veterinary surgeon to the region. According the Chandler Chamber of Commerce website: “Unfortunately, the entire southwest was experiencing a severe drought. Dr. Chandler found that he was unable to help the area’s cattle herds and resigned his post and made plans to move on to California. However, as he arrived in the small frontier town of Phoenix, a deluge of rain began to fall that halted all travel. Dr. Chandler watched from his hotel room as the desert blossomed into a fantastic array of renewed life. The doctor, moved by what he saw and the possibilities it foretold, reconsidered his resignation and canceled his departure. Seeing the great changes that the rain brought to the parched soil, Dr. Chandler began to learn about irrigation methods. Returning with the financial backing of two Detroit friends, Dr. Chandler formed the Consolidated Canal Company. When the Granite Reef Dam to the southeast of Phoenix was completed in 1908, water from the Salt River was available for all canals to the south. Thousands of acres were put under cultivation, but there was still not enough water to keep the land from remaining dry. In 1911, the Roosevelt Dam was completed, but each landowner was restricted to irrigating only 160 acres. Dr. Chandler was forced to subdivide his nearly 18,000 acre ranch and he began to advertise and marker his land to draw settlers to the area. He hired a city planner and an architect to design a planned community with spacious lots, wide boulevards and a town green unique to the Southwest.”
Ironically, Chandler was inspired by the city beautiful movement. A late 19th century idea that believed that a beautiful city would create harmony and improve quality of life.
So how did that vision become this?
Even more significantly, I ask myself, as an artist, how can community possibly flourish here, with no bridge to the outside world? How do I reach these people? Not with homogenized pop radio, cable television, NPR or Facebook–but with what is happening under there very noses. How do I draw them out of their pods to experience local music or theater? How do I put them in relationship to the painters, poets, potters, woodworkers, glass blowers and jazz musicians who could make their homes, their lives and their community richer.
Tell me. How do we build community in a place like Chandler? How do we get people to think outside the pod–If only as far as to add some color other than tan, beige or gray to their exterior walls? The desert can still bloom. But we can’t just leave it up to the flowers.