A Hand to the Devil? A Gift to the Masses?
I’m thinking that this might be my last post here on Tumblr. I’m not antiTumblr, necessarily…it was a necessity in 2015 to get up and going as quickly as possible. But it has always felt clunky and now that we have other options: our official page, Medium, Patreon…it’s time to consolidate, I think. I feel like this blog has kind of been out in the wilderness a little and maybe it’s time to give it a better home.
Speaking of Patreon, our page launched last Thursday, and while I was very much looking forward to it, I can’t lie: I lost a number of nights of sleep over it. Why?
It’s the oldest way for artists to exist: through the patronage of people that want to support the artists in making new art. This practice allowed tons of artists do what they did for centuries, and happily. But this practice hasn’t really been a part of the modern world until “crowdfunding” became legal. Even then, it is one thing to ask people to help you pay for one thing. It’s another to ask for people to give part of their monthly income to you, not knowing about the thing, but hoping that a thing happens. So, anxiety.
It is thrilling and feels icky at the same time, to ask for people to be your patrons. On the one hand, why shouldn’t you ask? I want to create things, as an artist. I want to create things for a living, as an artist. Why would those two statements need to be separate thoughts?
I was actually taught that they were separate thoughts. If you are a son of two artists, you learn that money isn’t something that is easy to come by. You go to art school, you are encouraged to wear the “starving artist” badge on your sleeve proudly. Artists are special. They are different. Artists are poor.
Again, why? I don’t know. If you’ve never tried to make a living being a full-time artist, you might don’t know this. It’s hard. When I make money as a web developer, it sometimes makes me angry. Why do I make so much more money building a website for a marketing firm, or an app for a company that sells stocks? These jobs aren’t nearly as difficult or interesting to me as writing a song or acting in a play, but they are far more highly valued by society.
I like writing code. I like getting paid to do so. But I don’t like it as much as being on stage. I can (more easily) support my family writing code, and live a comfortable life, but if that’s all I do, I feel unfulfilled. I could build websites by day and act in plays at night, but that is sort of a drag for me because then I’m in two full-time day jobs and am always sort of strung out and exhausted and can’t give my best to any work I do.
This is just me, by the way. I’m just speaking about my experience as an artist. My fellow developers are very fulfilled being full-time coders. Tons of actors here in Chicago love to have day jobs for money and then put on their “Artist Caps” at night. They have the drive and energy to do that. I am not knocking their choices. I’m just a better person, a better artist, when I am single-tasking: getting paid to do one, fulfilling, creative job.
Jump, Little Children never got “famous”. We were successful for a rock band in that we could hit the road and have between 50 and 5000 people come see us when we played, depending on the location. In some cities we were almost a household name and in others very few people had heard of us. We weren’t as business-savvy and easy to swallow as Guster and we weren’t a sexy two-person band like Shovels and Rope. We just didn’t catch on enough, and there is no big clear reason why. We cannot really blame bad management and record label issues. The truth is that tons of amazing bands don’t catch on, don’t make it to Conan, but love writing and playing and do it for as long as they can financially and emotionally stay afloat. It doesn’t matter “why”. We gave it our all, made some good decisions and some bad ones, and were proud that it was our full-time job for as long as it was.
Of course, by “full-time job” standards, we were way below the poverty level our entire career. It’s expensive to run a business, and Jump was our sexy business, which meant that if there was anyone that was going to get a pay cut when times were tough, it wouldn’t be our manager, tour manager, lawyer, or sound guy. Just us. You keep going in the hopes that you’ll eventually be the ones making the most money; that didn’t happen for us and I have no regrets.
It was amazing to finally get paid a living wage when the band was done in 2005. The first time I made a weekly paycheck I couldn’t believe it. Making $30k a year for the first time was like being fabulously wealthy…and this was in my very late 30s. Being comfortable was intoxicating for a while, but not being a creative person for a living kind of left me with a empty feeling in my chest. My journal entries pre-2015 had a theme: ask after ask for the Universe to bring me something that would both be a fulfilling career and support my family at the same time.
Yet when the Universe brought the Jump reunion in 2015 to me, I was the last person in the band that said “yes”. I assumed that the chapter was closed and I was fine with it. The five of us weren’t that close at the time and I had forgotten what it was like to play music with people that knew you as well as Jay, Johnny, Ward and Evan knew me. I knew that saying “yes” was going to open up a lot of baggage that had been packed away, would be a ton of extra work for me personally, was going to be scary and emotional and possibly a big fucking failure.
It has been some of those things, too. But as you’ve gathered from this blog, it has also been incredible–a great creative lump of plaster putty to fill in my unfulfilled chest hole (gross!). Worth the being away from home, worth the pay cuts again, worth the anxieties and fears and insecurities. Lots and lots of sleepless nights. Worth it.
I’m luckier than the members of the band that don’t live on Facebook and Instagram, I’m luckier than those that don’t stay in the lobbies of rock clubs after every show until the venue kicks us all out. I’m luckier, because I can see the direct impact our saying “yes” to JLC in 2015 made on your lives and therefore on my life. You’re very honest about it, and I don’t take it lightly. The music has gotten you through bad times and good and happy moments and sad. The community has not just been a place to put your love of a rock band, but also a place to put your own dreams and hopes and needs. Every band might be required to say “we couldn’t do it without our fans” but I know more than anyone how true that statement is for Jump. I’m lucky.
So, Patreon.
Man, it is hard. I get it. For those of you that are a little taken aback at our choice to try this out in order to keep our creative little rock and roll world afloat, I feel you. Everyone is asking for your money these days. How can people that don’t have 9 to 5 jobs ask you to help pay for their lifestyle? Especially if you like your 9 to 5 job? I do not have an answer, because it feels a little icky and uncomfortable to me, too.
Cards on table: Jump, Little Children has two options in 2019. We can’t afford to do what we did last year and not get paid for the intense amount of work it takes to be a mostly-full-time band: writing, recording, touring, posting, streaming, marketing. We either try this Patreon thing out, or something like it, to see if it will help us be able to spend more time writing music and creating things, or we spend less time on the band and do more lucrative things to keep food on tables. Realistically, we will still have to do other things anyway, but anything helps. The days (and chances) of a big record label swooping in and paying us to write and record songs are over, and even when our big record label did swoop in, we didn’t get a pay raise anyway.
Friday morning I woke up with an idea to record some Irish music with my friend Amanda Kapousouz in time for St. Pat’s. And I felt a freedom to have that thought that I didn’t have before. Sure, I might have done the recording anyway, but knowing that I could at some point make a creative work like that happen and get paid for it was inspiring. I’ve just spent three hours writing this letter to you. Connecting with you has always been my job and always will be, whether I get paid for it or not, but it does take time, time that I could spend coding, I suppose. I’d rather write these love letters to you.
Patronage isn’t about putting a price on your love. We are putting a price on the pride we take in our work, the time we take to agonize over details, the care we put into everything from a melody, to a sentence, a pixel, a shade of hair dye. It’s not your responsibility to feed us. It’s our responsibility to find the means to feed ourselves. We would like to do that by writing songs and producing new content, and we are attempting to find new and creative ways to do so.
It could be a winning solution for everyone. If this works out for us, the goal is to keep writing music and performing. With something like Patreon, we could possibly have a new album next year. Without it, we might have a new album in 2022. That’s not a huge difference. Either way, it’s OK, right?
Support us on Patreon if you can, but if you cannot: please don’t. Please please don’t. If you like this idea and want to support us, but can’t afford to, let us know how we might help you make that work. Is it to change the tier prices? To put more stuff in the lower tiers? What would make it worth it? We need to have all the data at hand.
And if you can’t, please accept that we are still going to be around and not play games with your hearts? We’ll post to the same social media and do the same silly LIVE chats and tour and hopefully write new music. We are here, we love you just as much, so you can let other people pay while you reap the benefits, OK?
Whew. I feel better getting this off my chest…thank you. I’m gonna go record some flute, now, for fun…and profit?
We love you,
Matt “Overshare” Bivins