Why on EARTH Did I Make a Movie?

Danielle Dubois, Stephen Spielberg, Melantha Blackthorne

I must have been on drugs.

It was at a time when I was curious about the process of producing a film. And I had a little extra money. But my good friend Kevin Woodhouse had a script for a Martial Arts flick. Entitled, “The Order of One”, it would be very much grind house- style (unfortunately a few years before Tarantino made that cool again), low budget…just lots of action with very little plot and some breasts for good measure (breasts…measure…get it? Never mind) It’s about a sacred sword that gives whoever holds it great, unbeatable, super-natural power. Everyone wants it- various criminal factions and a nasty crime lord. Stephen Harper would have wanted it too if only he’d known. I think he was unavailable for the days we were shooting. I am pretty sure. But basically, the film was aimed at 19 year olds who are completely baked in their basements (ok, their mothers’ basements) wanting a laugh between pizza deliveries on a Friday night. Oh, and to see people getting the crap kicked out of them in all sorts of exciting ways. And breasts. Did I mention breasts?

We had a good critical mass of people to work on it. Jason Cavalier, an actor and Montreal-based martial artist and stunt man was keen to direct the action and play the lead role of Sonny, an escaped convict. I was studying Martial Arts in Oakville, Ontario, and had the honour of working with the amazing Grand Master Hung Chul Kim- a 9^th degree Tae Kwon Do Black Belt (I think you can only be awarded 10^th degree posthumously…) and Master Harrison Chan, a stunningly superb martial artist (and 5^th degree Master) who had just finished a 6-week training camp in Korea. He was very buff- and dazzling in his skill. Truly, it’s hard to miss when you do fight sequences with people of this caliber. They were quite happy to be the “bad guys”, and speak in Korean to each other. No martial-arts film would be complete without subtitles. Jason was quite delighted to have these experts to choreograph. Everyone (myself included) had at least a black belt in some kind of Martial Art. I, of course did the suitably-retro soundtrack, which I hope to have out soon. I also did a guest appearance as a drug-addled, perverted, strip-club owner. Frankly, it wasn’t much of a leap for me- although I am always worried about becoming type-cast.

It was tongue in cheek, 70’s retro silly. I bought 2 old clunker cars, goofy fancy-coloured clothing and several thousand dollars worth of fake gunshot hits. When you have no real money to make a movie, you can’t afford to take yourself seriously. Lots of fights, car chases, falling off buildings (nice to have a professional stuntman as your lead actor/action director), fake blood and a cast who were really great sports about it all. Wonderful people, all. Everyone understood what we were making and that it was, in essence, an homage to Sonny Chiba and his tacky 1970’s exploitation flicks- right down to the metal strips in Jason’s armbands. And for good measure, Jason (who edited it along with his scream-queen partner, the bodacious Melantha Blackthorne) added cartoon bubbles over the more memorable executions, such as “skull destruction fist”, or “eyeball destruction”. Kind of like when Batman hit a bad guy and “POW” would come up on the screen. No, “Gone With the Wind” it ain’t. But it’s a lot more fun. And to top it off, part of the fun of doing it was that the production itself something of a family affair- Kevin's wife, Danielle Dubois (pictured above) was a gun-totin' Siren as well as an occasional sound-person, full time makeup, effects and wardrobe person (blame those outfits on her) and craft girl among a zillion other jobs. I have nothing but good things to say about her muffins. Melantha, who filmed most of it,  is Jason's real-life partner. Very incestuous. OK, not really. But sort of.

I travelled extensively to try and sell the thing. I discovered that there are plenty of folks who will take your movie into their stable of films, give you nothing for it and promise you that you won’t make a dime from it.  It’s amazing how many people will actually  still “sell” their film to outfits like this.  And to be fair, the usual distributors of even low-end fare really didn’t know what to make of something like “Order of One”. The ubiquitous presence of Youtube was still a ways off and its populist, folksy mindset had yet to take hold.  Indeed, it was hard to imagine the crazy shit that some people really like to watch-  as we now know thanks to the aforementioned Youtube. Indeed, I thought our crazy shit was no crazier- and a lot more entertaining – than most. We even had a coveted midnight showing at the 2006 Fantasia Film Festival and a number of excellent reviews.  But sadly, our little film fell into the cracks.

Alas, as in every story there is a hero. Julian Grant, a good friend and film maker with more artistic integrity than just about anyone else I have known, called me up and said he had found someone who might put out “Order of One”.  His name was (and still is) Warren Croyle, of Chemical Burn Entertainment, and specializes in selling these kinds of flicks. WARNING OF PIMPAGE!!!! BUY IT HERE: (http://www.chemicalburn.org/comedies_and_docs.html)

So this fall, “Order of One: Kung-Fu Killing Spree” hit the streets. (Yes…marketing required an adjustment to the title) The reviews were generally excellent- particularly by those who “get” this type of film:

I honestly can’t recommend this flick enough. I know I have a reputation for intentionally watching/ loving bad films, but that’s not the case at all with ORDER OF ONE. I legitimately loved the shit out of it. It’s the perfect amount of batshit crazy and over-the-top action.

(That’s from http://dailygrindhouse.com/reviews/order-of-one-2006/)

If you are expecting a multi-million dollar extravaganza, you will be disappointed. One reviewer (and seriously, only one) was scathing in his critique:

This film is nothing more than idiotic, mindless, silly, brain dead exploitation. The direction is shoddy, the script is pathetic, and the production value is non-existent.

We’ll try and be more inclusive and culturally sensitive next time. At least he did say this:

If I have to say something positive about the movie I think I would commend the fair amount of people in the film who obviously had some sort of martial arts experience, as they seemed to know what they were doing

“..some sort of martial arts experience…” You are too kind.  And you, dear reviewer, obviously have an exceptionally small penis.

Anyway, judge for yourself if you wish. (About the film, not that guy’s penis…) This is, indeed, a shameless plug for “Order of One- Kung Fu Killing Spree” and do keep in mind that I still have a kid in college, OK?

12 Times the Charm

This is the 12^th version of my studio.

As I put this place together, I realized that I have connected and disconnected this mess 12 times in 12 different locations including 4 Canadian provinces.

It was longer getting this one going because a) I was too poor to renovate the outbuilding; , b) I had it sort of going in my basement- enough to score a TV show anyway- which I managed to do,  and C) It was summer and we had just moved and I had a lot of wallpaper to hang.

I realized a few things in doing this. The first is that this is the best studio space I have had. And I don’t pay rent because I own the building. That is good. After the financial sodomizing I took in Toronto, it’s sure nice to reduce your overhead- even if you have to spend a few thousand bucks to do it.

The other thing that I realized is that I am now officially fed up plugging all this shit in. I no longer gleefully squeeze behind boxes of equipment and plug in 3 Pro Tools interfaces while lying on my back. 5 minutes of sitting like a pretzel sent jolts of agony through my hips. I needed serious drink to alleviate the pain induced by crawling, slithering, reaching, bending, twisting, lifting and separating.  This was no joy; it was Nazi Yoga. And I, for one, am done with it.

That said, it really is a lovely and flexible space. Indeed, my neighbour and contractor, the lovely and talented Alan Burns, was meticulous in his construction. This part of Nova Scotia has a number of excellent craftsmen- many of whom come from a long tradition of boat builders. They make everything to standards that  can withstand the gales of the Atlantic. And as a bonus, my Kawai grand piano- which has followed me since I was 14 (it’s a good thing it can’t talk because it has seen more of me in the last 38 years that I care to think about) It looks very pretty in there and is a good addition. Digital is nice, but a real instrument like that is a huge asset. 

Now I begin the process of whoring and pimping myself, my facility and my services. I am currently in the middle of my first recording project (with guitarist Bob Ardern) and I am sure I will get a chance to find out which cables I plugged in wrong. Out of the 10 million, there has to be one bad one. One. Two, tops. It’s a good thing Bob is patient.

As well I have named the place “Otitis Media”. It sounds very shi-shi but you medical types will know it’s the official name for an ear infection…you know the one that keeps your kids up all night screaming? Yeah. Well maybe I can do that for you too. At a very reasonable price.

I Got a Move-On

It’s been a while since my last entry. But it’s because I have been very busy moving yet again.

My studio space in Toronto on Charles Street was being turned into condos. Yes, just what Toronto needs: more condos. I actually had fairly cheap space at $17/sq.ft. When I looked around town I realized I was going to get nothing anywhere near that. And, of course, there is the set-up cost. I always figure that would cost at least $10,000- depending on where it is and I’d again be wondering when the building was going to be razed for condos- or when the landlord was going to raise the rent. I am a little sick of being at someone else’s mercy. Besides, I had always had my studio in or near my house and had kept my overhead to a minimum. That is until I moved to Toronto, the land of financial sodomy.

Not that Toronto is a bad place, it’s just that it’s incredibly expensive to live and work there. And if sodomy is your thing, good on you! But I do suspect that the financial kind is nowhere near as fun as the other variety. Not that I would know. Really. But in Toronto no one seems to think twice about raising rents, or condo fees or issuing fabulous new charges, surcharges, levies and, of course, taxes. Everyone just pays them! Oh, maybe they grumble a bit. But ultimately, they pop a Prozac (or a Paxil, Zoloft or Welbutrin) and pay what is asked. Because we are so fucking blessed to live here, I tell you…. (insert anti-depressant-induced beatific smile here……)

On top of it all, the recession has kicked a big hole in business. And it really hasn’t returned to its former state. That which has come back has been more sporadic and closer to the bone. Everyone wants everything cheaper. It’s tough to manage huge increases in costs when business is less than certain and with margins that are barely above cost, if at all. It has become, for many of us, a race to the bottom.

My condo, bless its heart, raised maintenance fees 51% over the 3 years I lived there. They are now so high I don’t think I can sell the place at all. Ever. Who knew you could lose all your money on a fully renovated, beautiful piece of real estate 2 blocks from the St. Lawrence Market! I keep hearing about the “hot” real estate market. You know, the one our politicians keep saying they need to tax more to keep it from overheating?  No, me neither. Five months on the market, lots of traffic and not 1 offer. Not even a skunk offer. Nothing. Of course the standard comment was: “Awesome condo! Too bad the fees are so high…” (Just for those of you who are wondering…they went up to nearly $1,200/month as of August 1, 2011. That is the just the maintenance fees- nearly $1/sq.ft) Even Torontonians, whose rectums are accustomed the repeated collective poundings issued by David Miller, Rob Ford, Dalton McGuinty (and a host of others) find that too much to take.

So I rented it out and it will be, as our politicians like to lie to us, ‘revenue neutral’. But it really will be. Or close anyway.

In May, we loaded up the truck and moved to Beverleeee….(insert banjo music) Actually, we moved to Nova Scotia.  (Insert MORE banjo music….) It is beautiful, cheap (for housing) has a great and vibrant music scene, an active film production scene and some of the nicest people you will ever meet. And it’s only a 2- hour plane ride from the Center of the Universe. Here I will teach a little, play a little, record a little and compose a lot. I am delighted at how approachable production and musical people are here.

It’s been a long time settling, but the new studio is almost ready to be pimped. I am very excited.  In the meantime, I managed to do some voice over work and score a show here in my new house- a few blocks from the harbour- with my gear temporarily stacked up and half-connected in the basement. But all this will move this weekend into the new digs: a fabulous double garage that I have converted. 

 (the last few days of the "basement" collection!)

Stay tuned and I will thrill you with more tales. As Stephen King says, “There are always more tales…”

Almost Famous, Part deux

Sorry to leave you hanging after the last episode. I am sure you were just dying to know what else went on....OK, maybe not so much. But I am back now.

Shortly after the Scottish part of the journey I headed to London. In 1983, the UK was not in a particularly good economic state. Come to think of it, I am trying to remember a time when it wasn't in a bad way...

Upon arriving in London, I went immediately to Abbey Road. This was not the first time I had been there.

I made an attempt a couple of years earlier- 1981, during my graduation trip to Europe. That attempt  was foiled  by a security guard who was wearing a uniform that said "EMI Security" across the lapel. Very impressive. I asked to see the studio, being a young engineer from Canada and all that.

"Nooo. Sorrry. All we get 'ere is people cryin' for 'Beeet-les, blouuudy Beet-les.'  Cawn't let you in. Not without an appointment. Sorry. Good offternoon." I tried my various charm methods.  And, damnit, I  was well-versed in charm; I had just crossed the English channel in the company of a delightful Swedish lady named Ingela. Or Angela. At that point names we not terribly important. I think that's whather name was. Ingela. Very blonde. And Swedish. I just lost my train of thought.

I'm back. Yes you'd think that after being up all night, traveling from France and honing my bullshit skills I'd be at the top of my game. But no. I met my match in a craggy Cockney fellow from EMI Security. It was clear that any more attempts at chatting him him would result in a physical removal: Mine.

Fast forward two years. I walk into Abbey Road as many famous people do. As if I belonged. The smell of the place (mostly old wood), the vibe... thinking John, Paul, George and Ringo had walked these steps many times and.

"Excuse me!...Excuse me! Do you have business here?"

I was so busted.

Undeterred, the next day I went to RAK to see Big Country again. I may have been a a tad skittish given my near brush with Death at Abbey Road just as I was nearing a state of bliss. With crossed fingers I told the girl at reception I was here to see Big Country. No problem. So in I went. It was like old home week. Each of them referred to me in turn as "The c**t from Canada". I was introduced to Steve Lillywhite- whose work I had admired not only with Big Country, but also with Peter Gabriel and Joan Armatrading...A very talented fellow. I was expecting some distinguished gentleman in his 40's, but he turned out to not be much older than I was (he was in fact 4 years older than I, and likely still is).

After much camaraderie and hanging out I announced that I was looking for work in London and where did he think I should go. I was expecting hilarity all around- but no. Lillywhite gave me his number and told me to call him because there maybe something available at the Townhouse. Excellent!

By now I was thinking I was on the road to becoming well-connected.The next day I called as instructed. I was living in a rather gloomy hotel in Earl's Court (yes, those of you who know London are thinking "Ewwwwww"...but it probably was not as bad back then) that had a phone box. The hotel had, unfortunately been missed by the Nazis during the Blitz. Pity. But there was a rather cute girl from Newcastle working there. I toyed with the idea of asking her out, but her accent was so thick I woudn't been sure if she'd said yes or not. It would have been quite the date:

"What would like for dinner?"
 "Foodgy poodgy meself a-poodly piddly"
" Ummm...I'll have what she's having"

I digressed again. Dammit. I hate when I do that.

So I set out to make the big call- to Steve Lillywhite, NOT the hotel girl from Newcastle. We're done with that. British phone boxes of the era required you to push coins in when you heard 'the pips' (no relation to Gladys Knight, sadly). While the pips were pipping the phone call was interrupted until the machine finished counting the money. I only had 10p and 5p coins- which didn't last long. You got maybe 15 seconds of talk time before the thing started pipping and wanted more.

So my job inquiry/interview with Steve Lillywhite went like this:

"Hi Steve it's Dave Findlay. How are you?
"Hi Dave I'm very well, thank you...I.."  PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk...
silence
"Hello?"
"Yes, Steve I'm calling from a phone box in my hotel. Sorry..."
"No worries, You can call the" PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk...
silence
"Hello?"
"Hello?"
"Yes, sorry....should I go to the Townhouse?"
"Yes, do that and make sure you ask for.." PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP PIP...ka-chunk..

I didn't get the job.

I did get some larger coins though. And armed with about 20 quid in coins I called AIR Studios. I told them I was an engineer from Canada (I may have slipped in the Big Country thing and perhaps suggested Steve Lillywhite was a close personal friend of mine. I might have.) and wanted to see the studios. I was told to come in the next morning at 10. Bonus!

At the time they were in Oxford Circus, right above the tube station where about 50 lines of the London Underground intersected.

I was invited in as scheduled and treated very well, I must say. I was told to wait in the reception area- which I did gladly. I noticed that on that particular day, on the "board" they had:  in Studio 1, Madness; Studio 2 ("MPL COMMUNICATIONS" which I knew was McCartney Productions Limited); Studio 3, Dire Straits; Studio 4, The Pretenders. Not a bad lineup. I was told I'd see everything except Studio 2 ("McCartney's in there and he's funny about these things...")

As I waited, desperately pretending to look nonchalant, I heard a deep voice with an upper-class English accent. I looked up and saw a tall man with long gray-white hair chatting with the studio manager. It was George Martin. Himself. In the flesh. Had this been a Six Feet Under episode you'd have seen me run up to him and say "Please let me work for you I'll clean ashtrays I'll do your copying I'll extract parts for you I'll tune your piano I'll wash your car just let me work here for you please please PLEEEASE".

But I didn't. He looked at me. I looked at him. We both smiled politely and I managed to say, "Good morning".  To which he replied, "Yes, good morning!" That was that.

Well not quite. While I was there there was a stream of very young men looking rather awkward coming and going. I asked the studio manager and was told that they were looking to hire an assistant. feeling this was my chance to make my 'elevator speech', I did. And very well too, I might add.

However I was told that I was over-qualified, and a little old- I was 24. Still too young for prostate trouble. But they were looking for kids to live at home and be bottom dwellers to work their way up. Which I was willing to do. Ask the girl from Newcastle. or Ingela...er Angela.  Oh god was I willing! The pay was 25 Pounds a week (even in those days that was nothing) but I was going to call my dad and say "Daaaaaad! I need some supporting!!!!". However, the kicker was that, even though I had a work visa for the UK,,"we have 15% unemployment in this country...and we probably shouldn't hire a Canadian But DO let us know how you make out."

She could ask Ingela. Or Angela. Whatever her name is. She's probably back in Sweden feeding her yak, remembering me fondly.

Almost Famous, Part 1

I was thinking about adventures in music. I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with the fact that I am close to finishing a recording project (Truth Panel) that's been going on for some time now. And it's going to be rather good. If I say so myself.

I finished the classwork for my M.Mus (Tonmeister program) at McGill. Once you're close to done in any degree program the inevitable question is "Now what?" I finished in 1983 and my dream of being the next George Martin burned bright. Note...George Martin, now Sir George Martin is probably the most celebrated, successful and best-known record producer of all time. I probably don't have to tell you that, but just in case. You know. You're welcome)

So, I sent an armful of resumes to Britain- convinced that being Canadian and well-educated would open doors in just about any studio I went in. Yes sireee, I would walk in and they'd say, "Aren't YOU the next George Martin? We've been waiting for you. We are not worthy. Grovel, grovel, cringe....

Not so much.

I did send letters to various London studios. This was before email, don't you know. Abbey Road (my 1st choice): 1 year later I got a letter saying "Vacancies rarely occur here...." I am sure they have had one or two since then given that it was 28 years ago. AIR Studios (no response), Olympic Studios (no response). The Townhouse (no response). Lansdowne Studios, Advision Studios and everywhere else I could think of where my favourite records were recorded.

One place I sent a letter to was a studio in Scotland called Castlesound- I knew of its existence because of a trade magazine ad showing their Amek console. So I sent a letter there too. Sure enough, I got a charming reply (of course, they're Scottish!) saying that they were considering building a 2nd studio on the premises and I was welcome to stop by and visit should I ever come to Scotland.

So I got on a plane. I am not kidding. This was 1983- and I was 24 years old. I have never been one to shy away from an adventure. Not then and not now. Besides, my aunt and uncle lived not too far from the place and so free lodgings were assured. And my aunt is a terrific cook. ..

The engineer/owner, Calum Malcolm, who is unquestionably one of the most brilliant engineers I have ever encountered, played masters of his new project, The Blue Nile's A Walk Across the Rooftops. I had to admit that it was as good as anything I had ever heard. I realized it might take me a while to become George Martin after all. So after a few days of chatting and listening to mixes, and hanging out at the studio- and the pub- and making lots of tea, the inevitable happened.

"I've got Big Country coming in next week. Would you like a job for a week or so? I need a lackey"

I sighed and decided right there and then that the pedicure and facial would just have to wait.
 
A Scottish band, who were #8 on Billboard, the cover of Rolling Stone and a few months away from playing on the Grammy's was nothing to be sneezed at. Calum was also dazzling as he was intent on sending them back to London with a very positive impression of what could be recorded in Scotland.  And I was a pretty good lackey too. Mostly I kept quiet and watched intently. I got to make a tape loop (hey this was 1983 you know...) and do playbacks for the band while Calum went to the bog. It was nice to rub shoulders with a band who had clearly "made it" but in true Celtic fashion, they were very realistic and humble about it too. And I got some fabulous new expressions to use too.  One of them came into the control room after a take and said, "Right, Dave....Gee' it to us louder than FUCK!" I never learned how loud FUCK was at McGill. But I sure found out. It was loud; marvelously loud. Deliciously loud.

It must have gone well, because after the time there the band invited me to come down to London to see them record down at RAK Studios with Steve Lillywhite. I am sure they invite every studio tea boy, but who was I to quibble? Besides, I had applied for a job at RAK- and it's just down the street from Abbey Road.

The adventure continued. And so will I. Don't you hate the teaser?

The Good, The Bad and the Sad

I haven't blogged in a little while because I had my kids staying with me so it was a busy time. But lucky you, I am back- broke, and on the wagon.

This afternoon I just finished a voice over for a corporate video. It was a serious topic (involving death), so I had to sound suitably sombre- kind of like being a mortician. Wait....isn't that what we now call a funeral director? I'll have to look back at one of my Six Feet Under DVD's. Whatever. So this morning I was perfecting my lugubrious look and slightly clammy handshake. I think I got it right- the handshake and the look I mean.

Anyway, I actually did the music for this video- a heartfelt piece of  hopeful sadness (that's where I got the idea for the handshake...) The client wanted to be in on the voice session, which is fine by me. She said, "Oh you're the one who did the music too!" Indeed. And, I went on to tell her, I was the cameraman, the editor, built all the sets and wrote the script too! Laughs all around! I really am so damn funny sometimes!

Seriously, though. it was nice to get to do the VO- and have young Ty (a very talented young man who is becoming quite the jack of all trades) man the board. Usually I have to do that too. Not this time. Just the music and the voice over. The last VO I did was for an Islamic Cartoon (The 99) on which I am a regular character. An evil doctor or something with a slightly mid-atlantic accent. Yes, kids, I can do it all. Call me and I'll make you a deal on music and VO and a mix. Really. I'm not kidding.

So I was reminded of something while doing the session. (I am reminded of things in bizarre ways all the time. Usually something dirty...but not on this occasion) In a studio I once worked in there was a Dolby 5.1 mix being done for a TV special. The mixer was a very talented but extremely taciturn fellow. He had a 'tude probably due to the fact that he has been stoned for most of the last 28 years. Or maybe it's just when he isn't baked that he's an asshole. One never knows. But the guy can mix. Just keep him away from the clients.

The show in question began with a very large airplane coming from behind as it lands. This mixer, whom I will call "Eddie", set up the 5.1 deliciously well. You sensed a rumble and then felt the jet coming from behind you and then over your head. It was fabulous. The room shook and you physically felt the air from the speakers push you as the plane touched the ground. The men in the room- including one of the clients listening to this playback for the first time- collectively exclaimed a chortling  "FUUUUUUUUCK!" (or at least I said that. I'm pretty sure the other guys did too, and we all felt the need to change our underwear right after.) The one woman, notably the other client. turned and said, "I don't like it. It's too loud".

It was as if the air that had been in the room was now completely sucked out. We guys, for whom 5.1 was invented, who grew up genetically pre-disposed to making cool mouth sounds for cars, machine guns, planes, bombs and fast boats were devastated. But my main worry was Eddie. I was waiting for him to erupt in indignation, and it wasn't going to be pretty.  I feared for the woman's safety with her being seated no more than 5 feet from a rapidly simmering engineer. I was praying NOOOO! Don't tell her what you are really thinking! She's the CLIENT!!! To Eddie's credit. He said nothing. or not much anyway. I heard some mumbling; and maybe words like 'fuck', 'douchebag' and 'Chevrolet'.

The remaining playback was an exercise in turning down every cool effect over the course of the 48 minute show. All of them. Every time. The other client tried to explain that it was a good mix- and would play well. But we had all been spanked. And not in a good way. We were done. Eddie left the room, still mumbling ('nosebleed',,,'dickhead'...'republican'...),  leaving me to do the dirty work. Oh yes. I was the hatchet man. And I tried every trick I knew to avoid the inevitable: do nothing and pretend you did and maybe they'll "hear" the non-change as a change. No; Carry on a distracting conversation about the Maple Leafs while you work and not pull things down as much as they wanted. No; Press a button (with great gusto and ceremony) that's not connected to anything. No; We were defeated.

That was then.

So today, humbly, gently and with suitable regret I read the sad words to my sad music. Maybe I can stick a plane in there somewhere...

Do the Hustle

I was sitting in a walk-in clinic yesterday. It wasn't for me, but for my daughter who is visiting. She arrived with yet another throat infection and part of the family fun was to spend an hour (luxury by modern Canadian health care standards) in a dirty, germy waiting room. Perhaps that's why I feel a little "off" today. Sure, go ahead. State the obvious: I am a little off. There feel better now? Vultures....

My point was that while I was catching some bugger's anthrax in the waiting room, I thumbed through a Canadian Business magazine that was all about getting an MBA. The stats were all there: how much money MBA's make, what great business leaders MBA's make (especially if they are from Queen's) and how you can live a better life as an MBA. And I thought, "Golly! Maybe if I had an MBA I'd be able to get those 5 new agency clients that I have been seeking!"

Actually, I didn't think that at all. I thought, "Fuck! All the assholes who precipitated the recent global financial disaster we've been enjoying have MBA's." But at the same time, it seemed like getting an MBA would be a good way to reinvent myself. If I thought it would help business I might.

But the toughest thing about making a living in the music business is not administration. Nor is it about making spreadsheets and running around an office with bits of paper and looking grim. The hardest part is actually finding business. I am on Linkedin- something I recommend for everybody, actually. There are a number of group forums with comment threads on "How to get a start in my career as a ...blah blah blah". Maybe I am wrong, but if I thought getting an MBA would help me in my particular business I would do it in a flash. I already have a bunch of degrees. What's one more?

I am reminded of something I once saw in a magazine. It might have been Playboy or Penthouse, because I only remember the articles:

Q- How do you get to the top?
A- You have to start at the bottom.
Q- How do you start at the bottom?
A- You have to know somebody!

True enough! I got my start in film scoring through a friend and high-school teaching colleague. He had a friend (you seeing a pattern here?) who was making his first, low-budget movie. Since I had done some music with this friend- and I was the school's music teacher- and had a small home studio I was recommended. Highly. So I did the gig and it went well. Then this friend-of-a-friend made another movie. And another. And two other film makers who had worked on one of these films made their own- and had heard what I did on the previous films. I got their business too.

The rest is sort of history. The hard part is that the hustle is never over. Even within the last 10 or 12 years things have changed a great deal. And clients have come and gone. and you have to do a lot of different things- write, produce, record voice-overs, mix. There doesn't seem to be a point at which you ever have "too much" business. The hustle becomes more than a bad 70's tune. (awww damn...I am hearing that in my head now. Thankyouverymuch.)

So if you know anyone who is looking, send them my way. I even do bad 70's knock-offs. Or maybe I will just go and get an MBA. Or not.

Running, Jumping, Standing Still

Writing music for anything is a hurry up and wait kind of thing.

You can find out you have a show to score- and it can be anything- and you wait. And wait. The edit always takes longer than you expect. Much longer. The client wants changes. More changes.

Then finally when it's YOUR turn,  You Have 1 (ONE) Day! OK, maybe that's an exaggeration, but not much. Inevitably, since you are the last cog in the food chain (sorry for the mixed metaphor) you are right up against deadline. Not much time for revisions, introspection or second-guessing. Better pretty much nail it first time.

I must be an adrenaline junky, because I rather like that.

Oh and one more thing- Murphy's Law #74: If you have planned a vacation, family visit or proctologist appointment you can be assured you will finally get presented with the show to score on that day! yes you can plan that European Vacation months in advance, assured there will be a last-minute panic that will almost require you to cancel. Almost. You just learn to work fast. And that, my chickens, is the key.

A number of years ago I was offered a scoring job on a television series. There were 3 other composers who were given an episode to score- on spec. I don't generally like to to do spec work, but this case was different and I would have screwed my grandmother to get a notionally- broadcast and syndicated TV show to score. Thankfully then, as now, both my grandmothers were dead (and they still are) so I didn't have to live up to that part of the bargain. But if I had to...wait.....naaaah.

Anyway....where was I? Oh yes. I got a show to score on the Monday. I had it done by Monday afternoon. Drove it to the production office for the producers to see. They called back with some changes- which I made and delivered a new version by noon on Tuesday. You will note that this was before the era of putting Quicktime files up online for approvals- I had to copy it all to VHS and bring the hard copy to the producers. Over broken glass. During a hurricane.

Anyway, long story short, it was approved and on the air on the following Friday. I was given another one to do....and later another one....and another one. I found out that the other guys hadn't even handed anything in after 3 weeks. Come on, People, it was maybe FOUR minutes of music to write. We're not talking about emulating Mahler here. I guess they just couldn't get the "vibe", Or they couldn't decide on a snare drum sound. Or maybe they weren't as slutty with their grandmothers as I was willing to be. Whatever the case, the gig became mine.

They don't call it 'scoring' for nothing.

The New Frontier

I have been meaning to get on with this for a long time.

Not that I am a procrastinator or anything, it's just that it's taken me a while to get my mind around this kind of marketing. if you have found your way here from Facebook, well good on 'ya. I intend to continue to write a blog on music, recording, film music and all the other groovy things I do on a regular basis. It is the way it's done now it seems.

You may have found the Truth Panel stuff. Well yes, I have been working on that project for about a year and a half now, but it's taken that long to realize that my own instrumental music needs a forum as well. Plus, I was born keen to wake up the next day and hear what I had to say, so here I am.

Truth Panel is almost done- and it's been a fun thing to work on. But this year I have 2 (count 'em TWO) film soundtracks to get out and now that I can market this properly, perhaps another New Age project that's been simmering on the back burner for a while now. I will post the new stuff on Reverb Nation, which seems to be as good a place as any. I seem to recall MySpace was once good for that, but it seems to have turned into another marketing thing. So screw it. I will use this. Eventually it will all be tied up to my website, which will also be re-vamped shortly.

Hope you like it. I will try not to be a boring asshole. That's a promise!