Making It: Then vs. Now

There are so many great things about being in the Modern Age of music-making.  SOOO many great things!!  And yet…there are also lots of things that I think I miss from the "good-old-days" of labels, A&R guys, the works.  Here's a smallish list of the differences between Then and Now, from an Iron Fist standpoint.

Then:

Okay, so you've formed a band.  Way to go, mate!  You write yourself some spiffy tunes and head out to conquer the club circuit.  With any luck, you'll only spend a year or so in crummy little dives before an A&R guy (that's "Artists and Repertoire") catches your act and says he can make you into the next Boston.  Or, whatever.  Point is, this is the guy whose job it is at the record label to go out to said crummy little dives and scout out talent.  He'll rep you to the label, work with you on your artistic development, and hopefully land you a deal at the company he works for.

Now:

Same deal, you've formed a band, yadda yadda. Maybe you're still out playing the clubs. Trouble is, there AIN'T no A&R guy coming to see you.  With the coming of the digital age and the "downfall" of the record labels, these guys were some of the first to go. In the Modern Age, you practically need to be born fully-formed…there just isn't the time (or the patience) to wait for any sort of "artistic development."  And there certainly isn't any brass-ring "record deal" waiting at the end of your rainbow.

Then: 

You need a record deal.  A band might - MIGHT! - be able to self-finance a single to sell at shows, but the only real distribution method that exists is for a record company to sign you, front you the costs of recording your album, and then put you out on tour.  The label sends your record out to the stores (Tower, Camelot, Wherehouse, etc.), and hopefully promotes your album to radio and the buying public.  The A&R guy who discovered you is of inestimable importance during this process: he's the one that went to the label president and said "Their THIRD album is going to go platinum!" Bon Jovi is a great example of this…who, besides me and, like, 10 other people, bought the first Bon Jovi album in 1983?  Same thing with "7800˚ Farenheit."  If anything, that album was WORSE than their self-titled debut.  "Slippery When Wet"?  Beyond successful.

Now: 

Great news!  You don't need a record deal!  In fact, chances are high that you'll NEVER get one.  No one gives a rip about your band except YOU, the members.  It's up to you to promote yourselves, record your album, and make it available on the web (cdbaby, Bandcamp, iTunes, etc.).  The cool thing is that you get instant world-wide exposure for your product.  The bad news: the market is FLOODED with acts doing the exact same thing. These days, there's no room for the 3rd-album-is-platinum scenario.  If you can't jump into the Billboard Top 10 right outta the box, you're dead in the water.  

Then:

When it comes time to record your album, the label pays for studio time.  It's only an advance against future royalties, but you're young and dumb and all you care about is HOLY CRAP WE HAVE A RECORD DEAL AND WE'RE RECORDING AN ALBUM!!  There's a producer, an engineer, a soundboard, and lots of mics and amps recording to analog tape.

Now: 

No A&R guy means no label, and no label means no up-front money, and THAT means no studio.  The best part of this process is…you hardly NEED a studio anymore.  All your instruments can be plugged directly into a laptop, and for the price of $FREE you can record straight into Audacity.  Spend a little money and you get a great soundboard and tons of editing features, right on the screen in front of you.  But, with no engineer and no producer, you have to rely on your own ears to tell you what's what.  Sure, DiskMakers will master the recording for you…for a price.  It takes a LOT of up-front money to do it this way, and again, the only people who give a rip are the band members themselves.

Then:

Hey, you're in luck!  The label released your album, and there's a surprise late-summer hit on it that radio is starting to pick up.  People are trickling in - not flocking, but it's a start! - to buy your album.  BUY.  Your album.

Now:

Buy?  Ha!  You must be JOKING!  All that money you seeded, it's gone, baby.  Gone on the wind.  Sure, you have a product that you KNOW is great, that you KNOW will appeal to a certain kind of audience that's practically built-in…but, someone ripped a copy of the .mp3 that sounds just as crystal-clear as the master mix, and they're emailing it willy-nilly to all their friends.  "Hey, dudes, check out this great new band!"  "Awesome, man, I'll add it to my 'Sitting Around Doing Nothing' playlist!"  Remember when you used to hold a tape recorder up to the speakers…you know, the kind that you pushed down the "Play" and "Record" button simultaneously?  You'd be mad because the damn DJ was still spouting off about the weather, and all you wanted was a copy of "Livin' On A Prayer."  Nowadays, a copy of a copy of a copy to the Nth power still sounds as good as the original.  So, no one is buying your awesome album, and you've got a barn full of new music…that you have to pay for all by yourself, all over again.

Don't get me wrong: in our shoes, today, Iron Fist can do stuff that we'd never have DREAMED of back in '85.  It's simply amazing: we're shoomping files all over the state, working out pre-production, making demos to leak to social media sites, and in some cases basically finalizing tracks that only need mastering in order to be release-ready.  25 years ago, we were working with a Fostex 4-track cassette recorder, making do with a bass that was just piano octaves recorded with a microphone in a coffee can (for the echo).  So, the Modern Age is DEFINITELY where we want to be!  We're making great music…we'll KEEP making great music.  But boy, sometimes it really is a case of the Devil you know…

Gettin' By With A Little Help…

I was originally intending to do a post about how tough it is to "make it" in the modern music scene, but decided instead to do a more positive post about all the help the band has had since our (re)inception.  Simply put: it's amazing to look around your group of friends, your clan, your tribe (if you will) and find out how many people are willing to work on behalf of your dream.

Since Kiss is my big influence, both musically and professionally, it's interesting to call attention to just how MANY people worked to make the band a success.  We like to give credit to Paul, Ace, Gene & Peter, the original foursome, and certainly without their unique chemistry the band never would have taken off.  However, there were a LOT of people working behind the scenes as well.  Bill Aucoin: Kiss' original manager (no disrespect intended to Lew Linet), saw their promise and, certainly in the early days, worked tirelessly to promote them.  His partner (both business and personal) Sean Delaney co-wrote with the band and was instrumental in their onstage look and choreography.  Neil Bogart, president of Casablanca Records, gave them their contract and worked like crazy to push their product.  Their original crew - JR, Moose, Mick, and the rest - were there night after night, behind the scenes, making each show a knockout.  The band itself may have only been four members, but the team behind them was large, and legendary.

Iron Fist is fortunate to have many, many believers in our corner.  When Rebel and I first set out to fill the roster, I suggested my longtime friends Pappy and Scooby Drew, and they stepped up, making room in their busy lives to become a working rock band.  Hans, a sound engineer by degree, came onboard to both run our live sound AND provide invaluable feedback with regards to our overall musical concept.  As we move forward on the first full-length album, we'll be doing basic tracks at his home studio, with him working the board.  You may only see four guys onstage, but we really consider Hans to be an essential part of the group; without him, we wouldn't sound as good as we could.

There are others, plenty of others, and they're all close.  Al, for instance, is at once our head of security (a licensed CPL instructor), a photographer, and a stage tech.  Chris works a bunch of jobs, seemingly simultaneously: when we needed a backdrop, he went out and had our awesome stage sign made.  He serves in the capacity of chef, cooking our meals while we get set up to play.  He's also a tireless promoter: when we played at our annual Fife Lake camping trip, he went around to all the other campsites and invited folks over to watch us.  His wife Colleen works our merch table, organizing t-shirts, buttons, CDs, and all the concert ephemera, keeping all the money in order.  Carson and Donna are our publicists and resident Fistorians, doing interviews with us and keeping a running history of the group.  The two Pauls are excellent stage techs: need a setlist written up, the sign hung, or amps hauled around & plugged in?  They're the guys.  They make life a little easier for the four of us with instruments, allowing us to say "Set that up there," or "This guitar cord is fried, find a new one."  They also usually man our cameras, filming every gig for (ahem) future posterity.

As time rolls on, and the snowball effect turns our group into a juggernaut, I'm sure there will be other people brought onboard: assistants, wardrobe, instrument techs, yadda yadda…and, I'd like to keep those people as in-house as we can.  Because what we've found is that when you have people in your corner, people who are willing to work on your behalf (often for just the thanks and a few after-show beers), then you're ALREADY halfway there.  So, while there WILL be a future post about the difficulties of "making it" in the modern world, right now all of our believers deserve a shout-out "Holla!" for the work they do.  Literally, we could not do this thing without them.

2 + 2 = 22: The Power of Collaboration

Iron Fist is a true collaborative effort.  From the very beginning, Rebel and I have worked closely together to ensure that our band "presence" (so to speak) exists as a single unified force.  This didn't always figure into our look, or our public persona; those things would come later, with age and experience.  But we've always worked together on the music, so that the final version of each song is as tight as it can be.  This kind of collaboration makes the total of what we do MUCH greater than the sum of its parts.

Collaboration is actually kind of tough; it takes a certain mindset, and a few basic ground rules that are inviolate.  Rule #1: leave your ego at the door.  Rule #2: the other guy's ideas are always better.  Rule #3: if there must be clashes, choose them wisely; stand up for what you want, but be willing to compromise for the betterment of the overall vision.  Regarding Rule #1: people who need to feed their own individual egos will always destroy the "product" (in this case, the band) from within.  They are not only their own worst enemy, but the enemy of all their other partners.  Regarding Rule #2: if you start from the standpoint that the other guy's idea is better, it helps keep your OWN ego in check, while simultaneously giving a pat-on-the-back to someone who deserves it.  It's okay to stroke someone ELSE'S ego…just not your own.  Regarding Rule #3: constant clashes make for an unstable relationship, but if you really REALLY are committed to your vision, be able to explain why, without tearing down the other guy.  In the end, be willing to sacrifice your vision if the situation requires it.  The Rules are therefore kind of a circle, each preceding the next, each proceeding FROM the previous.

On my own, I'm an excellent songwriter.  I'll trust you to pardon my saying this with such braggadocio…so far, no one ELSE is saying it, so I guess it's up to me.  (Whoops!  Kinda stroking my own ego, there.  *Ahem.*)  On the other hand, I also freely take ownership of my songwriting deficiencies: I'm killer at the first verse, but often suck at the second.  Too much of a compositional background has made me dependent on complicated harmonies when simpler ones would be more effective.  And on & on.  I've written dozens of songs as a member of Iron Fist, from 1983 - 1986 and again from 2010 forward.  I've written hundreds of songs as an individual, mostly in the interregnum. I never stopped writing songs, but none of the ones for the band exist as "mine and mine alone."  Rebel always has a hand, whether it's just a pinkie nail's worth or a full-on slap to my face.  Take the song "Hey Kelly," which we perform live but is as-yet-unreleased.  I wrote the chorus one day in the car, literally over the top of a chord progression from an old Axe song called Now Or Never.  (For those looking to dig a little, it's from their 1982 LP Offering, at the 2:33 mark.)  Because I used this song as a template, I heard it as an uptempo rocker.  I played/sang the chorus into the computer, sent the .aif to Rebel, and waited.  Without changing a single line of text, he got back to me with a nearly complete song…DONE AS A POWER BALLAD.  I simply had never thought to imagine it that way.  And, it's SO much better.  This song could really be big…but only because he made that one important change.  Viceville, another live staple, is a more involved example:  I explained the concept to him and sent him .aifs of what I envisioned.  He added a second verse, a killer guitar solo, and somehow morphed the song from my AC/DC soundalike version into something that was pure Iron Fist.  

Living in different towns, this is how we work: using the 'puter to send sound files and lyric ideas back and forth, inspecting, correcting, and proofing each other's work.  There are some things we generally stay away from: it's rare that I suggest a different way to play a guitar riff, and I'm not sure I've ever heard him ask me to change a drum pattern or fill.  We acknowledge the other's expertise on our respective instruments.  But we're never afraid to call the other out, to say "Hey, you used that same peculiar word in the last song you sent me," or "I'm not sure this is the direction the song needs to go."  Our working relationship and desire for success eclipses all other considerations.

Going forward, it won't always just be the two of us, either.  At our acoustic set in Caseville this past summer, Rebel and I pressured Mike "Pappy" Passmore to play us the riff HE'D been working on.  He was downplaying his idea, but within minutes Rebel had started to find a lead line to work over top of the riff, and I had a basic drum part going.  Pappy's eyes shone: "Wow, you guys take this simple riff (it's not!) and literally turn it into a song!"  Yup.  That's what we do…ALL of us, because we're so much stronger working TOGETHER.  Drew will be the same way: trying to demonstrate a riff via video file, he kept messing it up, each time saying "Disregard that!" By the fourth or fifth time it was really hilarious, and we later told him "That's the song title…write a lyric that fits it!"  

From simple suggestions, greatness is achieved.

On Songwriting, Part 1: Ideas Into Lyrics

It should be noted here that I'm fascinated by the topic of songwriting.  I love a good song.  I remember Hal David trotting out that line, as he was taking part in a roundtable discussion I attended in Hollywood years ago.  His panel included Bill Withers and J.D. Souther…just a really oddball assemblage of songwriters, and someone in the audience asked how such a disparate bunch ended up doing the same thing.  And Hal looked at the others - Bill's rumpled shabbiness, J.D.'s vintage-Camaro badassedness - and said "Well, we all just love a good song!"  Yes.  That.  I love a good song.  And, as it happens, many of the songs I love aren't written or performed by the BANDS that I love.  I love me some pretty awful bands.  Well, GREAT bands, but, you know…not a lot going on in the songs.  I listen to Poison, Mötley Crüe, AC/DC, Dio, Bon Jovi…you get the idea.  But the great SONGS I love were written by Don Henley.  Burt Bacharach.  Bill Withers.  And older, too: the teams of classic American Pop, like Rogers & Hart, or frequent solo acts like Cole Porter.  Just great, great songs.

So, then: some ideas about what constitutes great songs.  A topic so rich, I'll just cover single aspects over the course of many posts.  Herewith, then: lyrics, and what I think is important about turning words and ideas into lyrics.

For me, words can be prose, or poetry, or lyrics.  Sometimes those three things can intersect, but not often.  The flow of a poem, which might be divided up into regularized stanzas, is too stiff, too unyielding, to accommodate musical accompaniment.  Prose, by its very nature, is irregular and doesn't adapt well to singing.  In my mind, I need to take an idea, perhaps put it into words, and then sort of "chisel" the lyric out of the central concept, not unlike a sculptor chisels his form from a block of marble.

Example #1: a song I wrote in between the old Iron Fist and the re-formation of the band.  The song is called Magic, and what I wanted to address was my nostalgia for the summer I was 10.  The concept was pretty basic:  as a full-on adult, I often feel besieged by the onerous details of daily life.  Ten thousand little things need to be done every day, and it wears on you after awhile.  When I'm feeling particularly worn down by these things, I remember the freedom of turning 10, which for me was the summer of 1978.  And so, the idea was born.

"1978 was a great summer.  Adulthood makes me wish I could revisit it."

This is NOT a great lyric.  But, it's a great idea.  Or, at least a workable idea.  To address it fully, I decided to try to capture the innocence of being 10 in 1978.  Innocence is partly defined by "not-knowing," albeit in a different way from 'ignorance.'  Perhaps innocence is better defined (partly) by "not-yet-having-learned."  And so, I wondered: what did I (and others who turned 10 that summer) NOT know?  Something that was cultural…central to our young society…something like: Darth Vader.  In 1978, we did NOT know that Darth was Luke's father.

When Darth Vader was no one's father

He was just a bad guy dressed in shiny black.

Good, good.  Now, what else was big in 1978?  Well, John Travolta was, in both Welcome Back, Kotter, Grease, and, soon, Saturday Night Fever.

Barbarino turned into Tony

Kenickie soon became a taxi hack.

That's good: that addresses Travolta in his Kotter guise, making way for the much-more-serious Tony Manero from SNF, and also addressing Grease (Jeff Conaway as Kenickie) AND the beginnings of the TV show Taxi, starring Conaway and also coming out in 1978.  And from there, the innocence of that time period just flowed, in the way that really, really awesome songwriting sometimes does:

Remember when your Kool-Aid was a purple potion?

And you could play for hours outside, and never need sun lotion.

When the days would last forever, and the night was full of thrills,

When everything was paid for, 'cause parents got the bills.

When I think of all the time I spent inventing dreams,

Nostalgia takes me in her arms, and once again it seems…

That there is magic.

The second verse continues in the same vein, kind of a roll-call of late-'70s-ness:  the colors of the time (orange, avocado, harvest gold), some politics (the oil embargo), and all the things I loved at the time, from 35¢ comic books to Kiss bubblegum cards.  By the end, I wanted to send out a message of positivity, one that said "Hey, it might be tough to be an adult, but it doesn't ALL have to be dreary!"  And so I closed with this:

Mortgage payments and leaky basements:

This adulthood thing is really for the birds.

Aging wizards: you needn't worry…

The spells all work if you can find the words.

You can't fix the here-and-now by living in the 'then.'

As Thomas Wolfe once pointed out: you can't go home again…

But there's still magic.

So that's how it's done in my head: come up with a concept, maybe write it down in prose, and then use metaphor and allegory to turn that concept into a workable lyric.  It MUST rhyme, a topic I'll address separately.  And the general syllabic flow must be natural and unbroken; the song should feel very easy to sing, without a lot of awkward consonant elision.  It's hard work sometimes, and easy others.  But, after over 30 years of practice, I feel pretty confident that the lyrics you'll get from the band are the best they can be, and they address the subject of each song both believably and honestly.

Band vs. Brand

Make no mistake: Iron Fist is a working BAND, made up of four musicians who are basically looking to conquer the galaxy - and beyond! - with high-octane rock & roll.  However, we also recognize the importance of making ourselves a BRAND, because, of course, half of the "music business" is "business."

I'm "that kind" of Kiss geek who understands perfectly well what branding your band can mean.  On the good side, the legal ramifications of trademarks and copyrights and all the other hoo-hah means that we, the band, own what we do, and can control how our product is used.  On the bad side…well, let's just say that we have no plans in the works for Iron Fist coffins, condoms, or any sort of Hello Kitty! crossover.  40 years of Kiss has taught me that much, if nothing else!

So: what kind of "brand" can Iron Fist fans expect?  Well, in the meta-view, the IF brand is one that emphasizes positivity, belief in the self, and looking forward to a bright and successful future.  We believe that these ideas are cross-generational, meaning that it doesn't matter whether you're 15 or 50, the future should look GOOD.  Keeping a positive outlook is of primary importance.  And, if you're not the first in line to believe in yourself, there won't BE a line at all!

Carrying forward from that idea of cross-generational interest: we want to emphasize a family-friendly atmosphere.  Yes, yes, we're down-&-dirty, dangerous rock stars, of course.  That goes without saying.  (Or, not…since I just said it.  Ahem.)  But, lyrically, you won't find a bunch of needless swearing in our tunes.  Or onstage, for that matter.  We're not prudes: we just don't see the need.  Folks who know me personally are WELL aware that I'm casually foul-mouthed; not to be impressive, or edgy…it's just how I developed after filling my teenage years with the comedy of George Carlin and a stupefying number of low-rent buddy-cop movies.  Whatever.  At this stage of the game, I'm way too mature to feel any need to pepper my onstage banter with f-bombs and crude synonyms for the female genitalia.  I remember seeing Kiss in the '80s, when Paul Stanley began cursing from the stage, and I thought it was silly.  It seemed out-of-character for him, a conscious decision to try to shy away from the kid-friendly crowd the band had attracted with their late-'70s branding.  That's fine.  We'll take the kids…if only because their parents identify with us and bring them to our shows!

We'll also be upfront about our age.  It is, after all, MIDDLE AGE mettle, and we're all solidly there. We're finding a "unified" look onstage that's appropriate for that setting, with an emphasized avoidance of skinny jeans and vest-over-shirtless-torsos.  (We'll let Phil Collen corner the market on middle-aged shirtless rockers.)  Our songs, too, tend to focus on where we are in our lives right now.  A tune like "On Its Way" should be approachable by anyone, but we wrote it from OUR current viewpoint.  Songs about girls are fine, but really, is anyone NOT creeped out by "Christine Sixteen?" "I saw you comin' out of school that day, and I knew…I KNEW…I got to have ya! I GOT to HAVE ya!"  Erm…no.  That's gross, dude.  We like teenage girls - a couple of us are PARENTS to girls who are about to leave their teens - but we don't LIKE them, like them.  We like grown-up girls.  And, that's what the song will be about.

So, then: middle-aged men who are out to rock your sox off, with no hiding who we are.  Looking to control and capitalize on our brand.  Bringing you frequent words that support how great you are, how awesome life is, and the bright future ahead of you.  How's that sound?

What's In A Name?

People are always asking "Where did the band name come from?  Why Iron Fist?".  Truth is…I have no idea.  Or, rather, I have no memory.  My memory is notoriously bad.  I think it's because I have WAY too many song lyrics and movie quotes stuck in my head, and all the actual relevant stuff about my life gets sucked down into a mental garbage disposal.  Whatever.  Let's just say that at a moment's notice I can sing you the entirety of "The Brady Bunch" theme song, or recite innumerable quotes from "If You Could See What I Hear," but the origin of the band name is lost to me.  

If I had to make some intelligent guesses, I'd say that Rebel and I, as teenagers, liked the visual imagery of "Iron Fist."  Authoritative.  In control.  RULING.  And don't think we didn't make much hash of the use of Mike's last name in that equation, either.  It's also a good syllable combination to use as a lyric.  "Iron fist."  HARD-soft-HARD.  Back in the '80s, when the band first formed, we had a whole song titled "Iron Fist (Gonna Rule)," the lyrics to which went: "My iron fist is ready for you/I've got a lot to say, so here's a thing or two/My iron fist is ready for you/I'm wild and I'm crazy and I'm gonna rule."  Cheesy stuff, to be sure, but what else are you gonna write when you're 17 years old, I ask you?  Turning the corner on the present, Mike put the term to good use in our standard concert opener, "Look Out," when, in describing the shadowy character of a woman who is not what she seems to be, he wrote "Iron fist in a velvet glove/Softest touch, but a hardcore love."  Powerful stuff.

Because we're both such big Kiss fans, I also seem to remember fantasizing about what our stage might look like, when we were prone to sketching such things in study hall during our bygone years at Cass City High School.  It seems logical that I would have thought: "Well, if Kiss can have the 4 letters of THEIR name up in lights behind them, WE ought to be able to put EIGHT lighted letters behind US, set at angles off to either side of the stage!"  Perhaps I imagined a platform built behind the letters, so that Mike could run up some steps and lay down a scorching lead guitar solo while standing triumphantly atop our name.  Oh, the vagaries of the teenage mind, obsessed with fame and the daydreams of outpacing our heroes!  Again: powerful stuff.

What I CAN tell you is that the song has nothing to do with the Motörhead song of the same name.  I was never that into Lemmy et. al., their music being heavier than the hook-laden melodic rock I heard in my head.  We're not related to the clothing line, nor to the Norwegian band of the same name…and, we don't want to step on their toes, they've got some good tunes and a nice career going. We're Iron Fist because that's what we always were, and we'll stay Iron Fist without any real regard for what fans and/or critics try to assume about the name.  We thought it up as teenage boys around 1983.  We're grown men seeking a better life through rock-&-roll, and we'll move forward with that name.  We STILL think we're gonna rule.  And, with a lot of perseverance (and just a touch of luck) one day you'll be able to hear the rough demo of that song on an outtakes disc.

Special thanks go out to Mike's kids, Joe Rule and Rachael Rule, for designing our awesome logo.  Y'all rock.