My stepfather Joe died last night.
Category: Angst
I’m starting to think of my friend Yale as less a single person and more a state of mind.
Or a syndrome.
I’ve talked about syndicated comics versus webcomics before. I am excited and pleased by the accelerating collapse of comic strip syndication; like Matt Boyd (whom I quoted in that post, and whose writing makes me doodle our names together on my binder), I am interested in watching it die.
So it’s very, very funny to me that today, I received an unsolicited mass email–yes! spam!–asking me to “help save The Norm,” a syndicated comic strip whose creator just cut himself loose from King Features. It’s also kind of conflicting.
On the one hand, Michael Jantze is doing what I believe all syndicated comics should and will do to survive and prosper–taking back his rights from a syndicate and using the web as his primary distributor. I want to laud that kind of behavior. On the other hand, Jantze is the same guy who infamously took the syndicates’ side in the “Is Print Dead” forum at last summer’s Comic Con, so seeing him thrash the way Penny Arcade did a few years ago fills me with vicious glee.
I should add that the spam email did not appear to be sent to me by anybody directly associated with thenorm.com, but rather by a fan named Adam who probably shouldn’t be abusing his company address like that. I think this only makes the situation more pathetic.
Anyway, as I and a great many other people knew would happen, PvP is now being published for free five times a week in the Philadelphia Evening Standard. Penny Arcade, a strip which once nearly died in its aforementioned thrashings (at the hands of a kind of neosyndicate), is on track to raise more than $300,000 for this year’s Child’s Play. On the subject of who’s winning, for once, Websnark and I are in complete agreement.
Things of which I am tired
- No money
- Not finishing projects I start
- School
- The damn backspace key acting like the Back button on every browser whenever you accidentally defocus a text box, dammit, who the fuck thought that up you assholes
At least I’m done with school as of last night. One more semester, I hope, if I passed Performance Evaluation (yes, yes, course title replete with irony &c).
Issues of concern to people who ride TARC a lot
I need to write about the three locally available tabloid-style free newsweeklies in Louisville (LEO, Snitch and Velocity) one of these days. I don’t have time right now. But in case you need a quick way to figure out which is by far the worst and most vapid, I pose this question:
Of LEO, Snitch and Velocity, which would bald-facedly publish the sentence
“Think precious, not pompous: The 36-page books, which sell for $12, teach values and lessons and record special moments, which is exactly the purpose of literature.”
?
(That’s right. Exactly the purpose of literature.)
If you live in Louisville, of course, you’ve already guessed the answer.
Metasnark
I guess I should finally talk about Websnark. I’m not a big fan of Websnark; I think Mr. Burns’s writing is self-important and sometimes really pretentious. He writes about webcomics the way college sophomores talk about politics. There are things about his style and tone–neither of which ever really drops from the surface–that really rub me the wrong way. And some of what he does is exactly what Checkerboard Nightmare, my favorite webcomic, has been doing for four years. But not as bitingly funny.
That said, he’s not a bad writer, and he knows what he’s talking about. He’s also managed to do what nobody else has done, which is establish himself as a guy who just blogs about webcomics every day, and people like it. Other people have tried to fill that niche, but Websnark is the first to really get tacit approval from the webcomics community in general. And he did it by just writing what he knew, and writing a lot, and spelling stuff right and everything. That isn’t nothing.
So I read Websnark, because everybody else reads it (even Sumana!), and because I like to read things by people with whom I disagree.
Now, I write an anacrusis every day, and I dislike applying the term “blog” to everything that’s written on the Interweb, and anyway I still want to think of myself as a webcomic artist. For those reasons, I privately think of Anacrusis as my current webcomic, because it’s more like a webcomic than anything else.
Mr. Burns has expressed before his belief that a comic well written is superior to a comic well drawn–that, in fact, the art in a comic is irrelevant if the writing is good (see Dinosaur Comics). So I’ve been tempted to email him and ask him to write about Anacrusis before; what would he make of a webcomic without any pictures at all? But I never did, because I have an intense distaste for self-promotion, among other reasons.
Then today he linked to Pulp Decameron, a “microfiction experiment” that doesn’t really qualify as microfiction under any definition I’ve heard, but whatever. It’s pretty good, if uneven as any daily fiction exercise, and I guess I know now how Mr. Burns reacts to a webcomic without pictures.
Okay, I’m done talking about Websnark now.
Bus Ride Epiphany
Thinking about the Zappa quote from Leonard and the yesterday’s brilliant perspective-shift post at the iPAC blog brought me to a conclusion this morning, and I think it’s an important one. Just as printer manufacturers are actually in the business of selling toner cartridges, and just as FM radio and broadcast TV are in the business of selling your attention to advertisers, the record industry (like its tagalong, the movie industry) is not in the business of selling records. Their business has nothing to do with sales.
Think of the constituents of the RIAA as a group of investment brokers. Their customers are musicians, from whom they obtain capital in three forms: new music, the rights to that music, and promissory notes on the advances that constitute most of any musician’s pay.
You and I are the stocks in which they invest that capital, by means of advertising, radio and television play, and physical or electronic distribution. Even for the least successful major-label musicians, that investment typically yields a profit in the multi-hundred percentage range. For the most successful, it’s orders of magnitude greater–all the millions of $17.95s people pay for the big names.
Of that profit, the record company takes an eighty-nine percent commission.
Then it gives the remaining two bucks back to its investor, the artist–if it gives anything at all. Most of the time, the artist never even sees that two bucks, because it goes toward paying for the advance they got from the record company (more capital). You’re probably already familiar with this part of the story: it’s often years before the artist begins to see the royalty checks start to trickle in. Meanwhile, he or she is living off the advances with very little actual money to his or her name, and the record company is applying pressure to spend that money to create another, more lavish album (yet more capital).
This model actually helps me better understand the RIAA’s position on their thousands of lawsuits. They know that suing their customers is bad business, but they don’t believe they’re doing that: they’re suing us, the entities from whom they buy money with music, because it seems like we’re taking their capital and giving no return on investment.
Remember, when you “buy” a CD, you aren’t actually purchasing anything. You’re leasing from the record company the right to listen to a certain selection of music in a strictly specified manner of their choosing. The actual piece of plastic itself is basically a perk, with which you are not allowed to do as you please–you can make exactly one copy of it, which you can’t give to anyone else, and they’d rather you not be allowed to make that copy at all. They still want the rights of the lease to be attached to that piece of plastic, though. If you break it, they’re not going to send you a replacement, and you’re not allowed to download another copy of it from someone else (even though you still ought to have those listening rights).
In essence, they want contractual control over their capital after they’ve invested it, just as shareholders have to some degree. When they file lawsuits, they see themselves taking class action against negligent publicly-held corporations who spent their share prices in Bimini instead of running profitable businesses. They feel wronged, and justified for it.
I hope this makes clear how completely insane and backwards the music business model is. Forgive me, but I want to go over the big points again:
- The RIAA is a group of brokers with their pick of clients, most of whom are willing to do anything to be allowed to invest with them.
- They take capital from the investors whom they deem worthy, invest it, and reap huge profits.
- From those profits, they exact a commission of eighty-nine to a hundred percent.
- They’re well aware that their business model is incredibly shaky, and that they suddenly have a deadly competitor–the Internet–who is providing all their services, better than they can do so, for free.
- Just as monopolies have done again and again over the course of American history, they are trying to legislate and sue it out of existence.
This is why they have no qualms about suing grandmothers and Girl Scouts. This is why they are scared to death of Downhill Battle and everything it represents. They’ve already been pushed off the ledge, and bad law is the strawberry plant to which they’re clinging.
You probably already know that when you’re hanging from a strawberry plant with tigers above and tigers below, there’s only one thing to do: eat the strawberries. If the members of the RIAA were smart, they’d do so, by embracing and promoting voluntary collective licensing. But they’re scared, and fear makes people stupid.
It’s silly to assign agency to “the market,” to speak as if it were an active governor of what works and what doesn’t. But it’s useful, nonetheless, to think of it as a force that will eventually flatten any bad business model and replace it with a better one. This is what is happening with the record industry right now. This is why they’re going to fall, and we’re going to win.
Leonard says that it was in fact Zappa, and offers further quotage:
“In every language, the first word after ‘Mama!’ that every kid learns to say is ‘Mine!’ A system that doesn’t allow ownership, that doesn’t allow you to say ‘Mine!’ when you grow up, has — to put it mildly — a fatal design flaw.”
Maria notes that in fact it’s usually more like “no,” then “mine,” then “mama.” I think that only makes the quote more interesting, as does the fact that it relates not at all to free culture, and very well to the MPAA/RIAA model of purchasing and licensing. To quote Leonard himself, “‘own’ ‘it’ ‘on’ ‘DVD!'”
Update 12.09.2004 1615 hrs: Maria wishes me to state that though she has studied development, she is not in fact a developmental psychology student, and that I have never stated any facts about her or quoted her accurately, and also that I should be dragged out in the street and shot.
See? I did it again!