The Doctor is In

The problem is not that here is a friend yet again yanking my chain; the gut blow is that a fellow composer begged to score this full-length feature film — one with a substantial budget, by the way — for free, and throw in his studio.

Last night I emailed a musician bud about this, hoping he’d have some insight. “What would Session Sensei do?” I wondered. He reminded me of advice Session Sensei once gave: Don’t talk too much about money, do seize opportunities, and yes, work for free to get your foot in the door. That sounds right, but wait a minute! Joe Schmoe composer already did the last movie for free. I know because I was up for that one too! They were out of money and desperate, and Mr. Schmoe was a friend of the music supervisor. His foot was now well through the door. He should be collecting on this second scoring gig, at least some expenses and a small fee. But instead, here he goes again, donating his full creative fee and performance, and perhaps coming out of pocket to pay outside players, or worse, talking them into working for free too.

Hence, my confusion. On the one hand, I myself do tons of freebies — charity performances, quick editing jobs for friends, composing for local musicians and ensembles, spec deals producing and playing where I expect never to see a dime. Some of these pro bono projects are for the love of the craft of making music, while some are admittedly for self-promotion. On the other hand, like many of you, I am a professional.

Could it be that the process of composing and producing music, which, having gotten easier in recent years, is really a new and highly competitive service industry? Music used to be a product assembled by a team of highly-skilled workers. The final creation had a clearly defined value, and a life of its own, and a price based on its cost. Now composers are like Walmart: full service, high-quality one-stop shopping. The guy or gal with a keyboard, a mic, and a computer provides all related services: demos, writing, arranging and orchestrating, performing and recording, even editing and mastering. We buy our own equipment, pay rent on our studio space, and consider ourselves professional. To donate our services is, in effect, paying for the privilege of having our music used. Lines are blurred, grey areas emerge, and we lose our way.

I’m not angry at my fellow composers who are more liberal with their fees than I. Moreover, I surmise that perhaps my friend Mr. Producer isn’t exactly dying to work with me, having turned me down twice.

Ironically, I had planned another column this month, about an indie film freebie gone sour when a simple misunderstanding about the product vs. service duality and ownership turned into an unpleasant negotiation. I’ll discuss that next month, but in the meantime please read The Future of Music by David Kusek and Gerd Leonhard and you’ll see from where I lifted the whole product/service idea. I guarantee you’ll be calling your therapist.