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We Love Music – But Who Pays For It?

There are so many bad things happening in the world these days that a lot of news stories end up even lower on the radar than usual.

It certainly didn’t receive anywhere near the attention that Will Smith’s incident with Chris Rock did, but did you know that last year, Canadian songwriters made an average of only $67.14? Talk about a slap in the face.

Ever since music ventured into the digital realm, more and more people have been using streaming services to create their playlists. And many find ways to create digital copies of songs so they don’t have to purchase them.

But, of course, it didn’t start with the internet.

When cassette tapes were the big thing, we would record songs off the radio or make copies of our albums to play in our cars. And with the advent of recordable CD’s and the internet, we found a way to download and record songs that we wanted copies of.

With everybody streaming music these days, I decided to research how much a songwriter actually makes from streaming their songs. It turns out that they get, on average, about $0.005 per stream. That means their song would have to be streamed 200 times just to make one dollar.

One dollar. For 200 streams.

Spotify is reported to have about 406 million subscribers. About half of those pay $10 a month for the service while the “free” service includes ads.

That means Spotify rakes in about $2 billion a month just from subscribers. Never mind the ad revenue. Where does all that money go?

If you’re a Rihanna or a Justin Bieber, you’re not too worried about money. But if you’re a songwriter trying to make some kind of living from your work, well, don’t give up your day job.

Don’t get me wrong: it has always been a challenge making a living as a performing songwriter. Never mind how COVID has impacted live performances in the last couple of years.

But when I was doing that back in the 90’s, at least I could sell a CD or two.

I can’t tell you how many times I was told that not getting paid for a gig was okay because it would be great “exposure”.

Sometimes I was lucky and they would pass a hat during my performance.

On one occasion, I was asked to play right after a poetry reading night at a coffeehouse in Burnaby. They were going to pass the hat that night, and they did so during the poetry readings.

When the poetry was done, the poets and the patrons left and took the “hat” with them. I was left with empty pockets and one person to play to for an hour. She sat on the couch politely listening, probably too embarrassed to walk out and leave me all alone.

If you got your song on the radio back then, which I did a few times, you were at least fairly compensated. And if you were really lucky and the song caught on, you were on your way.

When the internet became a thing, I remember thinking that this would be a great way to reach so many more people without having to go on the road.

I was partially right.

In fact, in the very beginning, I got a couple of my songs on one of the first digital music platforms, mp3.com. A lot of businesses played mp3.com stations, and if your song got into rotation on one of those, you were doing well. I made some real money from that.

According to Wikipedia, “At its peak, MP3.com delivered over 4 million MP3 formatted audio files per day to over 800,000 unique users on a customer base of 25 million registered users.”

It was a great venue for independent artists to not only get that “exposure”, but make a little money at it too. And then everything changed, mp3.com was sold, and it morphed into something else. 

Big digital companies caught on to mp3.com’s success, and now here we are with streaming services that, once again, have no respect for content creators.

SOCAN, the Society for Composers, Authors and Music Publishers of Canada, is trying to do something about this by pushing for Bill C-11, the Online Streaming Act.

But I really think more needs to be done to force digital streaming services to pay actual money for the content they use to make their fortunes.

Now THAT would be music to my ears.

The Writing Bug

QuillImage via Wikipedia

This morning I decided to weigh myself. It was a bad decision, but also a good one in a totally unexpected way.

We have a scale in our carpeted bedroom, one of those digital scales…you press your foot on it to turn it on, and then once the 00 shows, you step on it. I have had trouble getting it to work lately, and I think it’s near broken. It keeps showing an error when I step on it (maybe it means I’m just too light to be weighed? Nah…), so I have to put a book under it so that the surface it sits on is hard enough to register.

I grabbed a book that was large enough for it to sit on, a black binder. It worked, so I got on it and up popped the numbers.

Ugh.

But my weight, thankfully, isn’t the subject of this story. The black binder is.

Inside are the pages of my father’s autobiography written a number of years before the onset of his dementia. I have three copies of it now. They used to be at his place, but he’s in a care facility now so I have inherited all but one copy that he keeps there. He was not the first to write one; his father, my grandfather wrote his story a number of years before that, and that’s where the whole thing started.

My Auntie Edie, my father’s sister, loved to write poetry and, inspired by my grandfather, she also decided to write her autobiography.

I found out a few years back that my grandmother used to make up songs. Although I never met my grandmother (she passed away a few years before I was born), it gave me a bit of a connection to her since I eventually became a songwriter myself. My father’s brother, who is a professor of political science at Boston University, is also a writer. He has co-written a number of books on various political subjects over many years. So for me, the urge to write seems to be in the genes. 

As I put the scale and the binder away, I thought again about my Dad and how it was a wonderful thing that he had written his life story down. My girls will read that thing one day, and my grandfather’s story too, I thought, and I’m going to write one when I’m a little older, so they’ll have an awful lot of reading to do. 

My mind wandered into the future, past a few generations or so. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if one of our future ancestors (is there another name for future ancestors?) had a whole library full of autobiographies to go through? That would be a precious thing to some. I know it would be to me. 

I shook off my depressing weigh scale incident and got on with my morning, ran a few errands and then I sat down at my computer to find an email from my cousin Karen through Facebook. I got a little tingle up my spine as I read it. I never realized that she was a budding writer too; she was sending me a link to her first blog entry which she completed just today. Is that what you would call serendipitous?

As it turns out, over the years she has been encouraged by others to write, just as I have.

And now, here I am, writing about writing. I don’t consider myself a great writer by any means, but I have always felt this urge to communicate something and it seems my life has become pretty much about that.

First I wrote songs, then I kept a journal, and teaching guitar, which is what I presently do, is a way of communicating too. I am fascinated with how people learn, and I’m always looking for a better way to explain something. I drive my kids nuts with my habit of saying the same thing about ten different ways, until I feel like I’ve found the “right” expression.

I write three blogs…this one, a music news-related one, and a songwriting one. So I definitely have a writing bug. I love a good story, and a good storyteller. There is an art to it, one which I feel like I’m only just beginning to understand.

So I’m happy to see that I’m not the only one of this generation of my family who writes. My cousin’s daughter and one of my daughters also appear to have a writing streak which means it may very well carry on down the line, just as I was imagining this morning.

That is, AFTER the depressing weigh scale incident…

IJ

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