Moving into cardboard boxes isn’t as scary as it once seemed.

Money.  I hate what money does to our minds.  It’s an addiction.  And like addicts, we obsess over it, we worry about it, we fret, we consternate, and we make poor life choices to keep a steady supply of money in our lives.  But, as an experienced addict, I know that there’s no use fighting it.  Either I make a clean break, and stop using altogether, or I have to determine some way to become a functioning moneyholic.

Fortunately, I have weened myself off of money to the point that I can survive on very, very little without suffering any significant withdrawals.  But, alas, I do need it.  I need it as much as I need air, and food, and water.   (Mostly to buy air, and food, and water.) And now that I have decided to once again devote myself entirely to music, I am afraid that my supply of money is going to be seriously compromised.   And so, I have decided to do what I always do.  Write songs.  Play songs.  And hope for the best.

On Tuesday, Eric Summer and I will be releasing the long-overdue, barely-anticipated, but highly-satisfying side-project record, Television & Summer.   My hope is that we’ll generate some okay sales.  I mean, the last Get Set Go record, Fury of Your Lonely Heart, to-date has only sold a few hundred albums.  If that.   We have seriously dropped to the merest trickle of album sales.  We are on life-support and I can hear the family whispering in the lobby about pulling the plug.   But, I believe that I, through dint of hard work, significant sweat, a few pints of blood, and perhaps a kidney, can turn all that around.   And that is what I am setting out to do.

So, I intend to perform more live shows, both online and in-person.   I intend to write and record a handful of singles every month and release them, in the hopes of generating a small stream of income.  I intend to look for a publishing deal, something we’ve never before done, despite all of our success with film and television licensing.  I intend to write and record at least three albums a year.  I intend to treat this like a dayjob, where, for the most part, my customers are indifferent, the competition is brutal, and it’s easy to steal our product off the store shelves.  How I turn this into a business, I don’t know.  But I intend to spend every day working on it, until I sort it out.

So, if you’re interested, you can come along for the ride.  I’m gonna be blogging about this whole experience.  I am certain that there are gonna be many, many missteps.  And train-wrecks.  And heart-aches.  And the occasional Godzilla-rampaging-through-my-personal-Tokyo.   And all of that, I will include within this personal narrative.  I will hold nothing back.  I will tell it like it is.  And so, if, in a few months time, I end up on the street, you will, at the very least, know what box I’m living in.

But, strangely enough, I don’t think that’s my future.   Or if it is, it’s gonna be a pretty damn nice box.

 

P.S.  I’m doing a live Internet show tomorrow on a website called StageIt.  It’s another way I’m hoping to create a little revenue.  If  you can join me, I’d really love to see you there.  It’s the first experiment of this sort I’m doing.

2 Replies to “Moving into cardboard boxes isn’t as scary as it once seemed.”

  1. Will be happy to do whatever I can to support your talent. You and your bandmates have a unique way of setting some of the most off-kilter lyrics against some of the sweetest sounding music I’ve heard. Everyone loves the underdog. Fortunately there seems a lot more options available today for creatives to ‘monetize” themselves. Missed your 1st stageit show, but I like the concept. Hope to catch one in the future.

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