Abner and Harper Willis are a pair of brothers who front “the New York City-based indie rock band” Two Lights. Their idea of success includes scoring a worthless “VIP pass” for an unnamed British pop star and then being surprised when the backstage room didn’t look like a P. Diddy White Party, a review in a third-tier NYC free magazine that meaninglessly describes their music as having “the magical power to obliterate wintery thoughts,” and hiring “a manager who’s helped break artists like Blur and the Smashing Pumpkins” — which is code that anyone familiar with the music industry can easily decipher as: “Our manager did some shit at Virgin Records in the ’90s.”
Time Magazine recently gave the floor to the Willis brothers for a slot in their “Entrepreneurial Insights” special, and the thesis came together almost instantly. Abner and Harper want you to know something: Being in an “indie rock” band is hard!
It’s also expensive. By their estimation, a handful of blog reviews and the privilege to work with someone who sent Lenny Kravitz posters to record stores in 1995 has already cost the band upwards of $109,000. I want to write that number again because it’s so absurd, and then pick up a sandwich board and write it again — next to the words YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG — so that I can boycott Two Lights shows around the country with a small, but angry cult called The Church of Rational People. I want to take them into a bank and show them what $109,000 looks like, and then slap them over the head with a fistful of hundreds. I want to drive their equipment into the most dire, economically oppressed neighborhood, sell it all to the local pawn shop, and then donate the proceeds to any number of families that could use a hundred extra dollars to make rent this month. Two Lights are like the Mitt Romney of sad boys with guitars, ambitious and chiseled white men who weren’t asked to release their financials under duress, but did so anyway because their utter lack of self-awareness never tipped them off to the fact that spending $109,000 to play Wednesday nights at the Mercury Lounge is on the same level of crazy as donating $4 million to the Mormon church in one year. Maybe even crazier.
Of course, I would be remiss to simply yell YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG and not explain myself. I played in financially viable bands for years without the money of major labels — or sometimes, for that matter, anyone — and while it certainly wasn’t always a P. Diddy White Party, I made a living in New York City without going bankrupt. Let’s crunch some numbers:
Training: Our folks shelled out for 15 years of piano and guitar lessons (times two of us!). These days, we’re spending $250 to $500 a month on voice lessons. Cost to date: $30,000.
OK, stop. First of all, it’s completely unfair to include your parents’ investment in music lessons into this equation — unless we also plan on adding the grocery receipts, too. (All that basement jamming makes you hungry!) But even if you take that out, there is no reason why these guys should be spending $250 to $500 a month on vocal lessons. (I listened to your single: they’re not working, you guys!) Learn how to breathe, learn how to warm-up your voice, and then treat yourself with an extra session when you’ve got the extra money. Otherwise, just lock yourself in the bathroom for the acoustics and fire up YouTube. Seriously.
As for me, I have a few books about guitar and took a music theory course in college once, but that’s about as much as I’ve ever spent on training. Cost to date since 1991: Maybe $50.
Rehearsal: We rent a space in Brooklyn for $50 per three-hour session. Cost to date: $3,000.
Oh hey, I think I know that practice space! $50 for three hours is great, but it sounds like these guys practice a lot, which means they could (and should) be sharing a monthly space with at least one other band. At the current going rates, you should be able to find a room in Brooklyn that costs the same as a few hourly-rate practices. That their ever-so-useful manager hasn’t filled them in on this point says something about the value of their services.
Technically, I’ve spent a good amount of money on rehearsals, but it’s always been strategic: Hourly practices are saved for upcoming shows or running through a set-list, but writing always takes place somewhere less expensive — like your drummer’s mom’s house in New Jersey, which also comes with free soda and chips. In that sense, I’d probably say I’ve also spent at least $3,000 on rehearsal space — but that’s including every rehearsal I’ve ever booked since 1990, which is, incidentally, the year young Abner was born. Pro-tip: Going on tour is like practice that pays you.
Gear: Our family has invested in dozens of musical instruments and other gear (pianos, guitars, drum sets, keyboards, mandolins, PA systems, amplifiers…). And, oh yeah, it cost more than $500 to move a piano down three flights of stairs and then up to Maine (a story for another time). Cost to date: $25,000.
Again, your family’s investment is not your own. But even if it were, you’re paying too much. I owned just one guitar throughout most of the ’90s — a Gibson SG that I paid $300 for — and a Marshall half-stack that I found at a pawn shop for $500. I spent another $150 on pedals. The only time I’ve ever spent real money on a guitar was after Texas is the Reason sold out two nights at Irving Plaza in 2006. I celebrated by buying a Gibson Les Paul that I’ve always wanted for $2,000. The only other guitar I’ve ever owned is a Fender Telecaster my brother gave me in 1991, and that’s it for my entire career in band gear.
Total cost: $2,950. You do with what you have, and it’s amazing how the creativity will come.
Performing: For gigs here in New York, we hire taxis to lug our keyboards, stands, guitars,basses, amplifiers and drums to and from the venue. Whatever cash we earn beyond that usually goes to our current drummer. And expenses soar when we hit the road. Cost to date: $1,000.
Here’s the thing: You pay for taxis in New York anyway, whether or not you’re carrying a guitar. One time, when I lived on the corner of First Avenue and E. 10th Street, I actually walked my gear around the block to play at (the now-defunct) Brownies. It happens.
Interestingly, a thousand bucks isn’t a lot to spend here, and that’s surprising considering that neither of these guys work day jobs. If they spent as much money going out on tour — and sleeping on floors and eating at gas stations like normal people — as they did on voice lessons, we might actually know who Two Lights is. We probably still won’t like them, but that’s not the point.
My bands have spent lots of money on performance and production, but except for the very first tour I ever went on in 1992, I’ve always recouped. For real. Even when we were playing to a hundred kids on a good night. I’m not even particularly good at math, but I know how to make it work on tour, and a lot of it is about making friends with sofabeds, asking the promoter to make some cheap veggie stew, or making smart merchandise at fair prices. As a result, total cost: $0.
Promotion: Once you have music out, you need to promote it. We pay a guy to send email blasts to databases of hip music blogs. Postcards, demo CDs and other materials are also essential. Cost to date: $1,000.
Actually, none of this is “essential” for a band no one has ever heard of. None of it. Abner and Harper Willis ostensibly have the Internet and access to the Hype Machine; they should be sending out their (tasteful and infrequent) “email blasts.” (Although as a former music writer, I can tell you that there is a very special place in my trash for “email blasts.”) Also, postcards? That’s just fucking gauche.
None of my bands used a publicist of any sort until we were signed to a record label, and truthfully, there is really no reason to have one until you’ve got an honest-to-goodness album to support. The same goes for management. It seems insane to have to explain this to anyone in their early 20s — who should probably be playing music because they have something to say and not because they want to “earn a lot more money than even doctors and lawyers” — but play shows, be nice to people, make friends with other bands, and send free music to anyone who will listen to it. Also, don’t write about how much money you have in Time Magazine. My well-tested strategy will cost you $0.
Lost wages: The two of us each put about 20 hours a week into band-related work. Abner (still in school) could easily make $10 an hour working at a bar on weekends. Harper (a freelance writer) has to turn down writing assignments worth around $400 a week. Cost to date: $25,000.
I’ve been trying hard to refrain from using the word “privileged” here, but come on. I always worked when I played in bands — even when I didn’t technically have to work. I was a freelance writer, a record label owner, a data entry clerk, a record store guy, an executive assistant at a publishing company, whatever. I did it because having a job made the band feel less like a job, and that’s a good thing. (Also, I don’t think it’s particularly noble to be a poor musician.)
So if the Willis brothers have “lost” wages, it’s simply because their privilege allows it and their pride demands it. But since I cannot relate to such nonsense, my “lost wages” to date come to $0.
Living in New York City: Our cousin Abby lives in Atlanta in a house — a house! — with a couple of friends. They pay a third of what we pay for our combined living spaces. New York is absurdly expensive — but the band’s future demands that we live here rather than, say, our hometown in Maine. All told, we estimate that decision costs us an extra $1000 a month. Cost to date: $18,000.
“The band’s future demands that we live here.”
No it doesn’t. Being a band in New York City is prohibitive for a million reasons, and the imagined big-city promise simply does not warrant the sacrifice unless, as it was in my case, this is where you grew up and it’s just home to you. If Two Lights were really good — spoiler: they’re mediocre — then A&R guys would fly out to meet them. Labels would fly them into New York for a showcase. The Internet would discover them immediately. There is no such causal connection between living in New York and “making it,” so if I were these guys, I’d call my cousin Abby and move to Atlanta. Fact: Once you’re in a van, on tour, it really doesn’t matter where you live.
Which brings us to our final tally. Two Lights: $109,000. Me: $6,000 over 20 years.
If I were a name-caller, I’d even call the Beatles fucking stupid if they’d spent that much money before having recorded Please Please Me. But hey, Abner and Harper Willis, I’ll spare you. I just hope we all learned something here.
Exactly
“pro-tip: going on tour is like practice that pays you”
