How to Make it in America: The Music Journalist Unit

At some time last week, I received this question from the Tumblr Ask feature:

About two years ago, I (like you) decided to go back to school after an extended absence. An absence of six years to be exact. During that period, I came to the realization that I wanted to pursue a career in (music) journalism. Which doesn’t seem like a great idea right now, but I digress. My question is: As someone who was a music journalist, do you have any words of wisdom or advice for someone like me?

Thanks for your time,
Michael

I wasn’t sure I wanted to tackle this question on my own, so in the spirit of internet collaboration, I sent an instant message to my friend Trevor Kelley and tried to hash out a real-time reply. Trevor, like myself, is a recovering music writer whose work has appeared in Alternative Press, Spin, Paste, and others; these days, he is one of the editors for MySpace Music. He’s also one of my best friends whose opinion I greatly respect. Here’s how we covered — and veered — from the topic.

Norman: So hey Trevor. I chose you to talk about music journalism with — mostly because you seem to be going back and forth with it.

Trevor: Ehhh… I wouldn’t say I am going back and forth with it. I am not a music journalist currently. I am an Editor of content for an online music portal. That’s my job now.

Norman: So, more or less, what you’re saying is that music journalism is a hobby in 2010.

Trevor: For me? Yeah, it actually is.

Norman: Well let’s go back to the question for a second to start.

Trevor: Sure.

Norman: Do you think a career in music journalism is viable anymore? Was it ever?

Trevor: Was it ever a career? Yeah, I would say it was. I mean, I feel wholeheartedly that I had a career as a music journalist. It wasn’t a career that particularly paid well. But when I filed my taxes, that was my occupation. It did exist. But that was a long time ago. I mean, we’re talking 2005 here!

Norman: Well, like remember that Rolling Stone reality show no one watched?

Trevor: Yes, the show that literally only you and I watched?

Norman: Yes, that one. I still get the impression that people think of music journalism as a job with offices and computers and receptionists and lunches with Gwen Stefani, but for me, it was a job that was 50% about writing and 50% about calling people up for your money. Although I did have dinner with Gwen once.

Trevor: I’d say that was the right equation. But the truth is, now there are very few people to even take your call about the money they owe you. It would be impossible to deny that the opportunities are shrinking.

Norman: OK, right. That’s the other thing. I had a great conversation with Jenny Eliscu the other day, and we were talking about how when we started writing, there were so many print options available it was crazy. Like, you almost took it for granted. But now, the math is skewed: There are less magazines and there is less money, but there are more bands and writers than ever before. Like, literally, everyone is in a band or has a blog. Everyone.

Trevor: Yeah, it’s true. I think what’s happening to the print industry is what happened to the record industry. In the way that Napster came along in 1999 and flipped everything upside down, about five years ago MySpace and blogs did the same for disseminating information about music. It’s like when, in 1999, you realized you would never have to pay for an Air song again. You could just download it.

Norman: That was the year I spent $17,000 on records. No lie. I had to file it on my tax return.

Trevor: Wow, 1999: Your baller year.

Norman: I was kind of ballin’, actually.

Trevor: It’s a shame I met you in 2000. I would have made you buy me a grill!

Norman: What are you talking about? We met in 1995!

Trevor: That’s true. You certainly were not ballin’ then.

Norman: I could have got you free Converse at least. I was sponsored back then.

Trevor: Ha! You also had that Vibe money rolling in! And A&R reps still had expense accounts. Man, I think I am gonna cry.

Norman: Those were the days. It’s all fucked up now… I thought we were gonna talk about music journalism but now I’m about to kill myself.

Trevor: Close that window.

Norman: OK, so here’s the thing: In 1994, I would have told Michael that if he wanted to write about music, he should just write about music. School was pointless.

Trevor: Right, I would have said the same thing.

Norman: But do you see a point to it now?

Trevor: To write about music? Sure, I still see a point in it. But I think your intentions have to be really pure.

Norman: I only see a point to school in that you’re gonna need a back-up plan!

Trevor: If you are getting into it for a paycheck or a dinner with Gwen Stefani, you should forget about it. But I think the audience for music writing, much like music itself, is larger than ever. It’s just that no one feels the need to pay for it anymore.

Norman: OK, that’s actually an excellent point. I agree with that.

Trevor: With Michael, I do think I would encourage him to go forward with it. Because it is some of the most gratifying work he will ever be able to do. But I would also say to him that gratification may be all that he actually gets out of it. And really, how bad is that?

Norman: Yeah, all joking aside, some of the most fun I’ve ever had was in writing about the people in these bands. Or like the time Matt from Rancid introduced me to his father by saying, “Norman wrote the best thing ever written about our band.” And knowing he was sincere.

Trevor: You did!

Norman: He actually told me he framed that cover story and gave it to his dad!

Trevor: That AP cover still stands as one of my favorite articles you penned.

Norman: So yeah, that’s still an awesome feeling all these years later.

Trevor: It was great, and not just because it revealed the fact that you don’t know how to drive a car.

Norman: I still don’t. I had to have all these celebrities drive me everywhere.

Trevor: The game changes. Norman does not.

Norman: Can I share an idea with you?

Trevor: Of course.

Norman: I was thinking that since no one is really getting paid to write about music anymore, I wanted to put together a journal of sorts for some of my favorite music writers — maybe a bimonthly thing — where everyone can write an in-depth essay or a feature or whatever they want. The kind of thing we would have pitched if there were anyone left to pitch it to. I just figured we could get back into pure writing again.

Trevor: I would gladly do that. I feel like I am writing for free at this point anyway. Some of the stuff I did for AP last year, I didn’t even charge them for.

Norman: Oh wow. That’s deep.

Trevor: I really embraced the idea that the writing itself is the payoff. You see, now that is deep.

Norman: I mean, that’s the idea I have with Nervous Acid, really. I kind of love the fact that I can write about anything, without a word count, and I can change my mind tomorrow and write something totally different. It’s like an argument with myself.

Trevor: Yeah, totally. I mean, this is why print is dying. I know I am beating the music industry comparison to death, but it’s like that Chappelle’s Show skit where the Internet is a real place. In that sketch, some dude gives Chappelle the option to either go to a relatively abandoned CD store and buy his favorite songs — or a free download store where hundreds of people are rushing out of. Obviously, he picks the free downloads. Why the fuck wouldn’t you? Everyone would. So why wouldn’t you pick — as a writer and a consumer — the free-form media. The one that doesn’t ask you for money if you want to engage in it, and that doesn’t ask you to abide by word counts and guidelines if you want to create within it. There are no laws anymore. We’re living in the Old West, man. Only we’re on laptops.

Norman: OK, so words of advice. I think I have one piece of major advice, but I’ll ask you. What would you tell Michael?

Trevor: It’s tough. I would say pick a career that would inherently be able to coincide with writing. I feel like such an asshole saying, “The jig is up. Ten years ago, we threw a party that you weren’t invited to and it was awesome. But now the cops have pulled up and we’re out on the porch smoking weed. You, Michael, should take your weed elsewhere…”

Norman: I think that deserves a LOL. We are on IM.

Trevor: It’s a good analogy. And at the end of it, I will say this: Michael, you can still smoke weed. But make sure you have a dayjob that supports your habit.

Norman: Good point. If we stick with that analogy, I’d say to make sure your weed is mad unique.

Trevor: Yeah. And here is the thing: If you aren’t a “career” writer, your style will probably be unique. You won’t be affected by a lot of the things that affect most writers. Like word counts. And editors.

Norman: I think that’s the thing I’m finding as I keep doing this. I never wanted this for a career, I just wrote and tried to have my own voice — but more because I needed a fucking voice. I wanted people to listen to me. It was a bit sophomoric back then. But — and I’m trying to figure out how to say this — basically, I think you need to be the kind of writer that people want to read on its own. Like… it’s not like, “I want to read a review of the new Vampire Weekend record,” but, “I want to know how Trevor thinks about the new Vampire Weekend record.” It’s putting the personality back into it, whereas school might tell you to take yourself out.

Trevor: Right, I think that would be the takeaway here: Fuck having a “career” as a writer. Do you.

Norman: Yes. Exactly. Even Russell Simmons has a book called that, so you know that’s the absolute truth.

Trevor: I think that would be my final piece of advice: Get a Wordpress account and start dating Kimora.