the next big sound

I’ve been rocking out to The Format’s catchy-as-hell song “The First Single” pretty much for the past week straight. That’s how I listen to music, on repeat. Ok, so I’m a bit late on getting into The Format. They’ve been on my list to check out for years but I’ve been busy. Deal with it. The Format announced a “hiatus” to their roller-coaster career ten days before Valentine’s day 2008. The manager for the band took the one year anniversary to reflect on the journey with the band via an intelligent and moving blog post. I’ve quoted him liberally below. Quick review. Signed amidst huge buzz, Nate and Sam of The Format were just 18.  Making an album under the thumb of a major label, with multiple producers and huge sums of money spent.  The same record label being bought just after the band’s album was released, practically assuring that it would get lost in the shuffle of commerce.  An ungodly amount of touring.  A slow and steady rise in audience, despite indifference from radio stations and magazines.   And through it all,  just enough money to get them through to the next tour and keep them from giving up. He began managing the band right around the end of the first album’s cycle. We opted to release their second record with only the help of the company that I worked for, a concept which is now gaining popularity but seemed like assisted suicide at the time.  We tricked out the internet, trying almost anything that was invented in any given week, with the band’s newfound freedom allowing us to out-maneuver the clumsy beasts that are known as Major Record Labels. We kept everything together with duct tape and crazy glue, selling about 70,000 albums over the first twelve months.  The band shouldered all of the marketing costs but ultimately saw a lion’s share of the revenue. It’s hard to describe the relationship between a manager and the band. It is no doubt one of the most complicated relationships there is. In my limited experience it seems to resemble everything from brothers playing jokes on each other, to therapist/patient correspondence, from best friend situations to strict parent-child interactions and everything in between. As he tells it: Every manager can pick up on the subtle tones from the artists with whom they work, and “call me” voicemails can go unreturned for at least a few hours if necessary.  “You should call me” is very different.  It often means that the band’s recording session is a complete disaster, that the artist wants to pull off of a tour or that the van’s real axle has inexplicably fallen onto theground. A manager always looks to fix things, since most Total Fucking Freakouts (TFF’s) last exactly 24-36 hours and number 7-10 per year.  The call on February 4th was different. Imagine working for two years, rebuilding a band that was dropped from their label and everyone had given up on. After clawing their way back to relevance and within striking distance of the payoff you’ve been anticipating, your professional efforts collapse due to something totally outside your control. Product managers at P&G never have to deal with their products that they’ve honed and crafted refusing to appear on store shelves. “The First Single” was set to be a mega hit but it was not to be. The lyrics could have been written by the manager himself who felt like their breakup was the equivalent of folding his cards with four aces. “Oh my God I gave my best but for three whole years to end like this…”

I’ve been rocking out to The Format’s catchy-as-hell song “The First Single” pretty much for the past week straight. That’s how I listen to music, on repeat. Ok, so I’m a bit late on getting into The Format. They’ve been on my list to check out for years but I’ve been busy. Deal with it.

The Format announced a “hiatus” to their roller-coaster career ten days before Valentine’s day 2008. The manager for the band took the one year anniversary to reflect on the journey with the band via an intelligent and moving blog post. I’ve quoted him liberally below.

Quick review.

Signed amidst huge buzz, Nate and Sam of The Format were just 18.  Making an album under the thumb of a major label, with multiple producers and huge sums of money spent.  The same record label being bought just after the band’s album was released, practically assuring that it would get lost in the shuffle of commerce.  An ungodly amount of touring.  A slow and steady rise in audience, despite indifference from radio stations and magazines.   And through it all,  just enough money to get them through to the next tour and keep them from giving up.

He began managing the band right around the end of the first album’s cycle.

We opted to release their second record with only the help of the company that I worked for, a concept which is now gaining popularity but seemed like assisted suicide at the time.  We tricked out the internet, trying almost anything that was invented in any given week, with the band’s newfound freedom allowing us to out-maneuver the clumsy beasts that are known as Major Record Labels. We kept everything together with duct tape and crazy glue, selling about 70,000 albums over the first twelve months.  The band shouldered all of the marketing costs but ultimately saw a lion’s share of the revenue.

It’s hard to describe the relationship between a manager and the band. It is no doubt one of the most complicated relationships there is. In my limited experience it seems to resemble everything from brothers playing jokes on each other, to therapist/patient correspondence, from best friend situations to strict parent-child interactions and everything in between. As he tells it:

Every manager can pick up on the subtle tones from the artists with whom they work, and “call me” voicemails can go unreturned for at least a few hours if necessary.  “You should call me” is very different.  It often means that the band’s recording session is a complete disaster, that the artist wants to pull off of a tour or that the van’s real axle has inexplicably fallen onto theground. A manager always looks to fix things, since most Total Fucking Freakouts (TFF’s) last exactly 24-36 hours and number 7-10 per year. 

The call on February 4th was different.

Imagine working for two years, rebuilding a band that was dropped from their label and everyone had given up on. After clawing their way back to relevance and within striking distance of the payoff you’ve been anticipating, your professional efforts collapse due to something totally outside your control. Product managers at P&G never have to deal with their products that they’ve honed and crafted refusing to appear on store shelves. “The First Single” was set to be a mega hit but it was not to be. The lyrics could have been written by the manager himself who felt like their breakup was the equivalent of folding his cards with four aces.

“Oh my God I gave my best but for three whole years to end like this…”