I’ve now adopted Bandcamp on my website, allowing fans to download tracks from the Buoyalbum for any price they choose. I’m planning to release the new record, Idiot Heart, in the same way. Additionally, for the past year, I’ve been inviting fans to choose their own price for my physical CDs at my shows.

This approach has gotten mixed reviews from fans. Some people are instantly in favor of it, others are downright incredulous. I’d like to let you in on where the idea came from, and why I’m now 100% sold on it.

The fan experience

Before I was a musician, I was a music fan. I still am! Music that moves me is worth more to me than almost anything else in the world. I would eat gruel every day for the rest of my life, or live in a tin hut, before I would give up good music. Music that doesn’t move me, on the other hand, is worth nothing to me. So how can two songs, one totally inspiring and one completely boring, both be worth $.99?

My answer is, they aren’t.

Not everybody has the same taste, but I will wager that everybody who loves music has a similar experience. If you really love an artist, if their music gets inside you and wreaks glorious havoc, destroying and rebuilding your interpretation of the world, making you laugh and cry and reconsider things, their art is worth an infinite amount of money to you.

The industry

Something big happened in the music world about a hundred years ago. Vinyl records were invented. Suddenly, record labels could record musicians, and distribute their music to jukeboxes, and later, directly to music fans and radio stations.

Imagine the enormity of this! Before 1910, a musician was a working person who traveled from town to town, performing their music live, in the same room with their fans. A fan was a person who saw that artist, enjoyed their performance, and planned to see them again the next time they came through town.

Recording changed the face of music in countless ways. The most shocking and new and important way, I submit, what that it turned a song – previously an experience, unsellable and unquantifiable – into an object which could be bought and sold.

With that one little idea, the recording industry was born. You can’t have an industry without a product, and you can’t make a product out of a musical performance unless you stamp it onto a piece of plastic. Now, a hundred years later, the music-buying public seems to think that a song is more or less the same as a pen, or an iPod, or an ice cream cone: it’s a thing, and it’s worth a fixed amount of money.

This, my friends, is lunacy. Songs are magic. Money is just money.

In Conclusion

It seems to me that the big mistake – the very biggest mistake in the history of the music industry – was not highly paid record executives, or unfair royalty distribution, or Napster, or iTunes. It was the faulty premise on which the whole empire was built: pretending, in the first place, that a song could be bought or sold.

So, here in the 21^st century, as I make my songs and sing them into microphones, as so many others did before me, I’m challenging that premise. If you hear my music, and you like it, and you want to take it home with you, don’t ask me what it’s worth.

To me, it’s worth everything. It’s worth every failed love affair I wrote about. It’s worth the debts, and the late nights, and the incessant station wagon traveling. It’s worth every ounce of heartache that went into conceiving, writing, singing, and recording it. It’s worth all the money I’ve ever made, and ever spent, and ever will.

The question is: what’s it worth to you?

Now that my shameless plug is complete, let me shamelessly plug the work of some excellent songwriters who are not me. Myself, I don’t listen to much music that was made after about 1975, but I have proverbially spun all of these records til they wore through. Keep in mind that I have a strong bias towards great lyricists, so if that ain’t your thing, you might want to read somebody else’s list of recommendations. Also, keep in mind that all of these artists are even better live, so if you dig their records, sign their mailing lists.

Below are my top 5 not-widely-known-album recommendations, all of which are guaranteed home runs, some of which your music-loving friends and family may not already have.

1) Devon Sproule – Don’t Hurry for Heaven – Buy it here

For fans of: Rickie Lee Jones, Bob Dylan, Gillian Welch, Hoagy Carmichael
Who dig: Outstandingly playful, creative, wry, image-rich lyrics paired with earbogglingly beautiful melodies, presented by Devon’s sweet, young, conversational vocals and skillful, warm jazz guitar.
Note: For the already-avid Devon fan, consider gifting her newest record, I Love You, Go Easy, on vinyl.

2) Milton – Grand Hotel – Buy it here

For fans of: Van Morrison, Randy Newman, John Prine, Nick Lowe
Who dig: Classic tunes (and I mean CLASSIC, like could-have-been-written-in-any-decade-by-any-of-the-aforementioned-greats), simple arrangements with great groove, conversational singing from a disarmingly honest, whip-smart, totally endearing songwriter.
Note: This song is not on this album. Grooveshark lacks the new record, but it’s at least as good.

3) Anais Mitchell - The Brightness – Buy it here

For fans of: Joni Mitchell, Joanna Newsom, Leonard Cohen, Ani DiFranco
Who dig: Expansive, emotive, exuberant, pitch-perfect singing, sparse instrumentation, absolutely masterful wordplay. Topics include Jesus, apples, war in the Middle East, Hades and Persephone.

4) Mark Erelli – Little Vigils – Buy it here

For fans of: Jackson Browne, early Paul Simon, Loudon Wainwright III
Who dig: Incredibly sweet, melodic, totally love-filled songs, delivered with a shockingly adept voice (this dude has a five-octave range, all of which has the texture of warm honey). The songs are simple-but-surprising, honest, and introspective. I especially recommend this album if you’re buying for your sweetheart, or for new parents.
Note: Again, this song is not on this album, but it is my favorite album of his. Damn you, Grooveshark! Also, Mark is touring with me in January as a special guest.

5) Cary Ann Hearst – Lions & Lambs – Buy it here

For fans of: The Band, Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Steve Earle
Who dig: Instant heartbreak, fearless vocals, classic country melodies, totally asskicking drums and harmonies (think The Band with Janis Joplin as frontwoman), songs of death, courage and outlaws.

Five years of doing this thing – and I mean REALLY DOING IT, pouring in all of my time and energy and passion and night-and-daydreams – has given me a whole lot of thoughts, feelings, and surprises. Below are some of my favorites, and the myths that begot them.

Myth #1: Being Good will Make You Successful.

The reality: being good and being successful: no correlation.

This has been the number one biggest shock to me over the past five years, and even though I “get it” now, I still wake up every week or two in a panic/depression/rebellion against this idea. I spent literally ten years of my life, ages 13 to 23, focused on only one musical goal: becoming a great songwriter. On the tail-end of that ten years, just as I started to think I might be reaching my goal, I got a wicked-bad feeling that it might not matter. It reminded me of Joseph Campbell’s description of a midlife crisis: you spend half your life climbing a ladder, you finally get to the top, and you realize it’s up against the wrong wall.

I woke up one day and had this chilling thought: I could be the best songwriter alive, and it wouldn’t guarantee any sort of external success. Not fame, not fortune, not even rent money.

I think the greatness = success myth grew out of a combination of bio-pic mania and the rags-to-riches fairy tales that Americans are particularly fond of. The myth goes something like this: if you’re really good at what you do, someone will come along and “discover” you, make a few phone calls, and before long, you’ll be a star.

I am not saying this to be bitchy, but here’s the stone-cold fact: the people who are most successful in the music business are not always the people who are best at music. Conversely, the people who are best at music are not always successful in the music business.

This principle, unfortunately, trickles down from platinum-selling mega-stars to the street musicians of Manhattan, and seems to be equally prevalent in the other arts, sciences, and even business. Contrary to popular belief, I think it’s been more or less this way for the last hundred years. Yes, Louis Armstrong was incredibly great, and incredibly successful. But have you ever heard of Cleo Brown? How about James Booker? And I won’t go into the less-than-talented artists who have been extremely successful, that would be rude… *COUGH* Rebecca Black *cough, cough*. Excuse me.

The first follow-up question, which I have yet to find a satisfactory answer to, is this: if being good doesn’t make you successful, what does? Some common suggestions are: 1) money 2) good looks 3) dumb luck. A less common but equally probable suggestion: 4) persistence.

The next follow-up question is a doozie. If being good doesn’t make you successful… why be good?

Myth #2: If You’re Not Successful, You Should Probably Stop.

The reality: your success is none of your business.

Before I got out from under this myth, I had to spend many months crying into my cereal about the fact that I had probably wasted ten years of my life honing a skill that the rest of the world considers about as important and interesting as making sculptures out of pencil shavings. So why be good? Why make music at all?

Finally, it dawned on me: success is not the point. Furthermore, it’s none of my business. My business is, in fact, being good.

Little-known fact: the most important and satisfying rewards one gets from being good at something are not external rewards. They don’t always include money or fame or gold stars. For example: nobody ever got a trophy for being in a happy marriage. At best, your spouse will buy you flowers, or do the dishes, occasionally. Does that mean it’s not worth the effort?

Obviously not. My goal of being a great songwriter is partly selfish and partly altruistic: I want to write great songs because doing so makes me happy. And how do I know I’ve written a great song? Because hearing that song makes somebody else happy.

I have to assume, somewhere deep in my heart, that the world will take care of me if I keep on doing what I love, and throwing my pleasure and joy and enthusiasm for it all around me like birdseed at a wedding. I have to assume that, put my head down, and write more songs.

Myth #3: Making Art will Drive You Crazy

The reality: success, or lack thereof, will drive you crazy. Making art may be the only thing that will keep you sane.

I blogged in detail about this a few months back, and here’s a follow-up. People (including me, until recently) seem to think that being an artist is a little like being a paranoid schizophrenic. You’re born that way and there’s nothing you can do about it, but with lots of meds and a decent institution, there’s still hope of an okay life. More likely, you’ll end up ODing at 27 in a basement green room, having spent your twelve illegitimate kids’ inheritance money on hookers and blow.

I’ll be 27 next July, so it seems like the time to take a long, hard look at this one.

I can’t say this will always be the case, but here’s what I’ve found so far: my relationship with my “muse”, that creature/spirit/part of my brain that brings me songs and melody and great performances, is the most satisfying relationship in my life. Creating art is a beautiful, magical, endlessly-gratifying experience.

My relationship with my ego, however, that creature/spirit/part of my brain that brings me fear, bitterness, and endless late-night monologues about my failures as an artist, is by far the most destructive and abusive one in my life. If I ever end up ODing in a basement green room (still looking pretty unlikely, from here): blame my ego, not my muse.

And yes, I blame Robert Johnson’s, Janis Joplin’s, Kurt Cobain’s and Amy Winehouse’s egos, too. Their muses were brilliant and kind and good to them. They didn’t have to die to make those records. Let’s all stop talking that way, for the good of the artists who are still with us.

In Conclusion…

I always hope that my little essays will be interesting to other artists, as well as to computer programmers and doctors and stay-at-home-dads. In case this one is a little too artist-centric, here’s a big-picture summary.

We humans, these days, put way too much emphasis on the kinds of success we can quantify, measure and compare (why? Probably a lot of reasons. I mostly blame the school system. And American Idol). Unfortunately for us, that kind of success has no inherent personal or spiritual value.

The kind of success that we need, that we ought to be concentrating on, cultivating, and encouraging from our kids, is the kind that brings us joy and satisfaction. It’s success that we need to work hard for, but the work makes us feel strong and smart and a little bit giddy. Chances are good that this kind of success brings the people around us joy and satisfaction, too; but how much, and whether they pay/thank/praise us for it, is none of our business.

I think Howard Thurman said it best, when he said…

PS. Actually, all kids already know this.

To reset my ears, between sessions, I’ve been listening to Sam Cooke’s greatest hits. The nights are hot and sultry down here, and after many years of sitting on the fence, I’ve finally settled on my favorite version of “Summertime”.

Liz Gilbert, who has done a lot of very inspired writing, observes in this TED talk (one of my favorite things on the whole internet) that considering an artist responsible for the quality of her own work, rather than leaving that responsibility to the gods/muses/daemons, may be a grave mistake.

This is a tremendously comforting concept for me, and I imagine it’s the same for every creative person (and by that I mean every person). It means that my job is not to create. My job is to remain inspired, so that my heart will be open to the creative force.

For me, remaining inspired requires being honest, growing personally, feeling passionately, and having adventures. It generally requires a deep and vibrant experience of music, poetry, sensuality, and/or love. It absolutely requires continually becoming the person I want to be, at risk of facing fears, disappointing people, and breaking with convention.

By choosing to live a creative life, I have made a commitment to my muse: she is always welcome in my house. That means that I will remain open to inspiration at all times, regardless of what I might have to sacrifice to do so. So far, I have only had to sacrifice money, security, and routine, all of which I am lucky enough to have no taste for.

I believe in muses of the arts, but also of science, childcare, computer programming, baking, dog training, and human relationships. It’s my strong suspicion that everyone has a muse, and that everyone – somewhere deep inside themselves – knows what they have to do to invite her into their lives. What have you done for your muse lately?

Unfortunately, it is absolutely the only way to live a satisfying life.

I just spent two weeks in Atlanta, making my record. We tracked twelve songs in three days, recording drums, bass, guitars and most of the lead vocals live. We spent another ten days arranging and recording overdubs (backup vocals, guitars, percussion, etcetera). Oliver Wood was with me, sharing in the alternating anguish and euphoria, from the first arrangement ideas to the last tambourine. Oliver is a special kind of saint; the kind that tells dirty jokes and plays the guitar like a mofo.

On the day I turned 26, I left Atlanta and drove south to New Orleans, for a week of high octane mojo-renewal. I had my rough mixes in tow.

To tell you the truth, this project has been absolutely grueling. I’ve been crazed and harried since mid-May, waking up in the middle of the night to make notes about drum fills, or record background vocal ideas on my iPhone. During the recording, I’m pretty sure I felt the complete range of human emotion in the course of each day. The release date has been moved to January (following the advice of a radio promotion firm), which means I’ve got another five months of the same to look forward to.

To tell you the truth again, I believe these are the best songs I’ve ever written, many of the best players I’ve ever worked with, and the best singing I’ve ever gotten on tape. This record is going to be outstanding, and I am fiercely proud of it.

I told you all in my previous post about my plan for the making and release of this record. It’s a three-phase process (recording, promotion, and manufacturing). Phase one is now just about complete, and phase two (in which I’ll be hiring a big-shot publicity firm and a radio promoter) starts in September.

I mentioned before that folks interested in investing should contact me. To my surprise and delight, I’ve raised over $20,000 to date in investments from fans. If anyone else is interested in investing in the project, I am open to taking another $10,000 in investments (to be repaid, with interest, over an agreed-upon period after the record is released). Email me (carsie@carsieblanton.com) for details.

If you’d like to contribute in smaller increments, I’m still taking donations as well. Small donations will help A TON by covering unplanned and unpredictable budget items (of which there are always lots).

Thank you, again, for making me crazy.

The Album

In July, Joe and I will head to Atlanta for a week to make a record. It will be produced by the brilliant, talented, heart-squishingly soulful Oliver Wood. Oliver is one half of the Wood Brothers, a band who you may have seen me touring with/raving about on and off for just under three years. In addition to being my favorite living band, these guys have been my friends and advocates, and I feel completely humbled and honored to work with Oliver.

The record is slated to come out in October. As far as I can tell, it will be called ‘Idiot Heart’.

The Release

One question that’s been on my mind a bunch lately (as I’ve mentioned in the past) is this: what does a record label do? What did record labels do in their heyday? What do labels do that I can’t?

The answer to that last one, I’ve decided, is this: very little, possibly nothing.

Thus, I will be releasing my next record with a bigger, bolder, more assertive approach. I will more or less be acting like a record label. I am investing my own money, and that of a few people who are inspired by the project, in not only making the best album I possibly can, but hiring a team of people to help me release it (the same sort of team a label would have in-house). There will be professional marketing, publicity, and radio campaign firms, merchandise, and music videos.

This is not cheap, and is thus not a common approach for an artist like myself. However, I am blessed to have people around to me who believe in the project and have a little cash on hand. After five years of working as an independent artist, my business generates a semi-predictable and growing income, and a few folks have taken notice and are willing to invest in the prospect that it will continue to do so. (If you are interested in being an investor, as opposed to a donor, send me an email.)

In short, I’ve decided that a little thing like money should not dictate the quality or the impact of my work, and I’ve made it my mission to act on that decision.

The Wacky Part

Speaking of money not dictating the impact of art, I’ve come to one more unusual conclusion in all of my scheming. I no longer want to sell my music like a commodity. Music is an activity and an experience; it is not a product, and thus, it’s impossible to quantify its value. From here on out, my method of selling my music will reflect that. I am hereby transitioning my music sales from the traditional model to the pay-what-you-want model.

Many of you have seen the “Quidplayer” on my website, which allows you to download my music for any price you want. A few months ago, some friends (Mark Erelli and Red Molly) inspired me to try this approach with my physical CD at live shows. I have done so, and it’s gone remarkably well.

This model is really inspiring to me, and here’s the best way I can explain it: Songwriting and performing is not just my job. It’s my life, my passion, and the work I was born to do. If I am being honest with myself, it doesn’t matter to me how much money I make doing it. If I was literally starving, I might get a job, but I will never stop making music. My music is a gift to me from somewhere else, and I give it as a gift to anyone who is moved by it.

All of that to say this: whether you pay $5 or $500 for my CD is none of my concern. That is your decision, and whatever choice you make, I want you to have it. Music is made to be shared. A song is not worth $.99 any more than it’s worth $99; it is either completely worthless (if it doesn’t move you), or infinitely valuable (if it does). Who am I to decide what you should pay for it?

Therefore, I will be releasing ‘Idiot Heart’ under the pay-what-you-want model. The digital album will be made available on Quidplayer, and the hard copies will be made available at live shows and through my website in a way that allows you to set your own price. Additionally, I will be asking you to share it with anyone who might be moved by it. The more people hear it, the better it is serving its purpose.

All of the above applies to my three previous releases, as well. Go forth and burn them! If you feel so moved, send me some money via Quidplayer, or better yet, buy some tickets and come to a show.

The Take-Home

The shortest possible version of all this is as follows: I have twelve new songs, and a really exciting team of musicians to help me execute them. I am as committed to these songs as I could possibly be. I am putting my money where my mouth is (and any other money I come across for the next four months), and doing everything within my power to make a great record, and to help it reach a larger audience.

Part of what’s within my power is this: I am giving it, as a gift, to anyone who wants it. If my audience feels so moved, they are free to return the favor by throwing some money my way.

In case you want to contribute to this project, the “ChipIn” widget below will be up on my various and sundry websites until the project is complete (October). Any time you feel moved, toss some cash in the proverbial bucket. Rest assured knowing that it will go directly towards making and promoting my next record, with the help of a way-more-experienced-than-me recording & promotion team.

Thank you for giving me the means to spend my every waking hour thinking, dreaming, obsessing, scheming, and feeling about music. I couldn’t be more blessed.

The magic of the city of New Orleans is that death sits quietly along it, just beyond the levee, like a stone in your back pocket. The only thing to do about it is to live, deeply and viscerally and excruciatingly. Any time something less important tries to grab your attention, the river rises and reminds you: life is here and fleeting, it’s made of dirty music and tugging sorrow and wet, honeysuckle-scented breezes, and if you don’t catch it exactly NOW, it is likely to be too late.