What Were They Thinking?

I watched I’m Trying to Break Your Heart recently, a documentary on the making of Wilco’s album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and it’s left me bothered.

The choice was partly to satisfy curiosity, and partly to offer Wilco another chance.  I’ve never been a fan of the band, and have had a hard time reconciling why they seem to be so critically acclaimed with why they just don’t do it for me.  True: their songs are catchy, sometimes difficult, and sometimes meaningful; true: they are trying new things with their production; and true: I’m probably not in a position to judge, having not heard too much of their music (although I do own Yankee Hotel Foxtrot).  I’ve never felt, though, that the sum of those parts are enough to make the album work.  Somehow they just don’t seem to fit together in a meaningful way for me.

But that disclaimer has nothing to do with my real objection to this movie – an objection that is aimed at what is likely the heart of the film.  Here’s a rundown: Wilco’s a great band, they’re making a record that Reprise records has given them complete control of, and is playing for, they drop the annoying guy from the band (can’t really blame them), finish the record, label doesn’t like it, drops band, band retains ownership of the record they’ve just made, beginning bidding war, band re-signs with another label that happens to be owned by the same parent company as the one that just dropped them.  Simple enough (sorry if I ruined the movie, but you’ll get over it).

What really gets me though, is the insistence on the part of the band and its management that getting dropped from Reprise records is somehow an injustice – or even an act of bad faith.  Sure, it sucks being dropped from anything (just ask the guy who didn’t make it through the movie as part of the band), but no one seems to recognize – or at least openly acknowledge – that the contract signed with Reprise gives them the right to take this action.

The argument that the band should have taken was that the artistic viability of their album was somehow misunderstood, or insulted by a bunch of suits with no idea what’s going on.  I’d accept that.  (True, they kind of did make that argument, but not explicitly [they really didn't have any great argument, really - they seemed really confused/bothered by the idea {which I can't blame them for}].)  Reprise wanted a sure thing from some guys who had since shown “promise”, and were left with a challenging and nuanced album without much to hang a marketing campaign on.  For a modern record company that’s pretty far from a sure thing.  Any kid on a label’s street team can tell you that.

Ultimately, the band laughed all the way to the bank, forging what seems to be a great relationship with Nonesuch records, while Reprise ended up looking pretty stupid.  The band got an album paid for by one label, and purchased by another (that’s about 100% profit if my math’s correct).

So before I let Wilco and their deep, brooding looks castigate Reprise Records to the ranks of record label infamy – not undeservedly – let me take a minute to defend Reprise, in principle.  Remember: when you enter into a contract with someone, and that contract stipulates that they can terminate the agreement any time they like, don’t look surprised when they do.  It may be a stupid decision, and it may suck, but Wilco gave them that weapon in the first place.

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Here’s a great review of Rick Rubin’s time as Columbia Records non-executive.  Rubin’s been a favorite of mine for a while because he’s so enigmatic.  In this case, the article’s insistence that so many at Columbia don’t understand him seems to hinge on the idea that he just won’t “play the game”, which is great on many levels.

I’m not sure what Columbia was expecting, but it should have been plainly clear when he arrived, refused a title, moved the label into a new space, and insisted on using more environmentally friendly packaging, that things would change under Rubin – and likley not for reasons that would appear defensible or logical to a record label.

As the article points out, it’s not musical ability that leads to success as a label executive (with or without title).  The suggestion seems to be that this could turn out to be the Matt Millen/Detroit Lions scenario of the music business.  Let’s hope not.

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Blue Note is turning 70, and to celebrate, the New York Times is asking a tough question: What’s going to happen next?

Among the highlights from this article:

“Branching beyond jazz, it has moved into what Mr. Lundvall calls ‘the adult sophisticated pop area.’”  [What's that?]

“Mr. Charlap, on tour with the Blue Note 7, an anniversary tribute band, added, ‘This is not Blue Note, the small independent record label, anymore; this is Blue Note, the subsidiary of EMI.’” [Why does this seem so troubling?]

“Over the last year Blue Note’s operations have been more fully absorbed into the structure of EMI, which was bought in 2007 by Terra Firma, a private equity firm. Though jarring in some ways — ‘At first I thought I was going to fight it,’ Mr. Lundvall said — the change has opened up new resources for the label.” [Interesting...]

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