Jeeni Blog

Helping the next generation of talent to build a global fanbase

Kissing the Flint – ‘100 Or Less’ Single Review

/ By Doug Phillips
Kissing the Flint – ‘100 Or Less’ Single Review

Australian singer songwriter, Leah Chynoweth-Tidy takes a break from the bohemian, Celtic-inspired tracks with her group’s newest single, ‘100 Or Less’ taking the form of a rebellious alt-rock track with attitude, passion and a clear message. As they put it themselves, “100 Or Less is a music mission to rock the foundations of a bureaucratic lack of support for the undervalued Arts”.

The track opens with a fiery guitar performance, reminiscent of the great Neil Young, specifically tracks like ‘Cowgirl in the Sand’ that feature powerful, striking guitar solos with plenty of distortion and fuzz. Add to the mix a rolling bassline and a heavy beat in with Leah’s feisty vocals and you have Kissing the Flint’s lively new single, ‘100 Or Less’. 

Kissing the Flint release a pent-up frustration in the prolonged pandemic and various restrictions and choices made by the government. This frustration seems to come as a result of a clear and evident passion for performing the music that they love for the people who love it.  

The single ends with an almost hopeless and exasperated “Why won’t you let us play?” which holds an emotional and pained impact for the final moment of the track. Despite such a heart-aching close, electric and powerful tracks like ‘100 Or Less’ certainly helps those that miss the thrill and fun of live music. 

Check out ‘100 Or Less’ and the dynamic music video now on Jeeni: https://jeeni.com/100-or-less-kissing-the-flint-official-music-video/ 

How can Jeeni support artists like Kissing the Flint?  

JEENI is a multi-channel platform for original entertainment on demand. We’re a direct service between creatives and the global audience.  

• We give creatives, independent artists and performers a showcase for their talent and services. And they keep 100% of everything they make.  
• We empower our audience and reward them every step of the way.  
• We promise to treat our members ethically, fairly, honestly and with respect.  
• Access to artist liaison and a supportive marketing team. 

Check out Kissing the Flint’s Jeeni page: https://jeeni.com/?s=kissing+the+flint 

19
May

Five Great Songs About Real Places, by Wendy King

  A songwriter finds many things to write about; emotions, events, people, and even places. Some of the finest songs of all time have been written with somewhere in mind, a place that touches the soul of the person with the pen.Mull of Kintyre, written by former Beatle Paul McCartney, is an example of this. It’s written about a part of Scotland the singer had a home and is a reference to feeling at home when he’s there. West Coast punk band Rancid, perhaps at the other end of the songwriting scale, had a song called Olympia WA on their album and Out Come The Wolves, written as much about New York as the Washington state capital.Those songs might not immediately trip off the tongue, but they are strong efforts in terms of writing about places. It isn’t always cities either – Gainsville resident Bacon James recently won a songwriting competition for a song about the Santa Fe river, called Lost and Found (At the Santa Fe). It drew emotions he experienced from the river with an actual place, in much the same way as McCartney did, and as many others have done about different places. Often, it isn't the place that is the full subject of the song, but how that place made the writer feel.This is a theme you’ll see running through some of the entries in our round-up of five great songs about places. Christie Road – Green Day (click to play) Green Day might be a global phenomenon now, a rock band that sells out arenas, but in 1994, pre-Dookie, they were just three angry, disaffected kids looking for an outlet. Back then, Bille-Jo Armstrong and bassist Mike Dirnt used to hang out at a place called Christie Road, doing what a band named after marijuana would be expected to do. Christie Road is an ode to their wasted days, their safe place before stardom came calling. Ewan MacColl - Dirty Old Town (click to play) The first song on our list made famous by another artist is Dirty Old Town by Ewan MacColl. It’s written about Salford in England, an industrial town that was once in the shadow of towers belching out smoke thanks to its place on the Manchester Ship Canal. MacColl wrote about his life there and finding love and an oasis of tranquillity, amongst the smoke and dirt. The song was later recorded by The Pogues, to critical acclaim. The White Stripes - Hotel Yorba (click to play) When you think of songs about Detroit and locations in Motor City, you most likely think of Kid Rock or Eminem, but the duo The White Stripes produced an iconic two-minute ode to a hotel along the I-75, the Hotel Yorba. It is now subsidized housing, but Jack wrote the song after hearing, incorrectly, that the Beatles once stayed there. Whilst there’s not a lot of emotion behind the location, it is a demonstration that a song doesn’t have to be written about a famous place at all. Billy Edd Wheeler - Jackson (click to play) Johnny Cash was a great storyteller, and whilst one of his most famous songs is a story about a place, he didn’t write it. Jackson, possibly written about Jackson, Tennessee, was actually penned by Billy Edd Wheeler and performed by the Kingston Trio. Cash made it his own, singing as a duo with June Carter. Jackson serves as a place of sin and iniquity, offering the married protagonist respite from what feels like a loveless marriage, the exact opposite of Johnny’s lifelong union with June. Lynyrd Skynyrd - Sweet Home Alabama (click to play) We’ve mentioned Kid Rock already in this article, and he’s going to get a mention again, but not for songwriting. He helped catapult Sweet Home Alabama, a rock classic, back up the charts in 2007 when he dropped All Summer Long, his tribute to growing up in Michigan, that borrowed the Lynyrd Skynyrd song’s structure. As for the original, it is rather more controversial than even the infamous Robert James Ritchie – it’s written as a retort to Neil Young’s anti-slavery song, Alabama, and seeks to defend the state’s people from being tarnished by the darkness of its history. Now that is a little more contentious than signing about a hotel! Have you written a great song about a place that's significant to you? Then upload it on Jeeni for everyone to enjoy. Who knows, you might just have a solid-gold hit on your hands! Several of Jeeni's most popular artists have done exactly that, including the award-winning Richard Murray. (click to play) This item was written by Wendy King for jeeni.com  

06
Jun

Mel Croucher - Multimedia Entertainment - Ahead of his Time.

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! I produced my first multi-media entertainment at the age of eight. It was a birthday gift for my mum. I called it Smellyvision. TV sets had begun to appear in the cleaner homes down my street, but my family was still years away from owning one of those magic boxes with their nine-inch screens. So I made my own. I took a cardboard box and cut a porthole in it, and used my mum's crank-handle mangle to scroll up the storyline that I drew on the reverse of a yard of wallpaper. The soundtrack lasted just under three minutes, which determined the length of my entertainment. It was a recording by the singing cowboy Roy Rogers, played on a shellac disc that spun at 78 revolutions a minute, also driven by a manual crank. But the best bits of my Smellyvision show were the different pongs that accompanied each segment of the story. I can still feel the sting of my mum's flattened hand because I had used her special perfume to enhance the production. The scent was called Evening In Paris, and had been maturing in a little blue bottle too precious to use since the 1930s. I sourced the smell of horses after the coalman's wagon had passed by, and that didn't go down well with my mum either. But how can you have a multimedia show about cowgirls and cowboys without perfume and horseshit? Capcom had exactly the same idea for their videogame Resident Evil 7, and I was not in the least surprised to discover that it too was horseshit. It was marketed as a "4D candle smelling of old timber and blood", with the brand name Blood, Sweat And Fears, and a burning time of 18 hours. The idea was to fire up the stinking candle to enhance gameplay, having handed over fifteen dollars for the privilege. As I have already said, it was crap, unless of course you managed to knock over the candle during your gaming frenzy, and emulate the zombies in the game by setting fire to your face. It wasn’t the first time that Resident Evil had been used to extort money for idiotic multimedia ideas. Back in 2005, there was a crummy accessory for the Nintendo Game Cube device called the Resident Evil 4 Chainsaw Controller. It was nothing more than a standard Game Cube handset with a vibrator unit and a "realistic chainsaw roar", that sounded like a wasp trapped in a jam jar. But gamers seemed to be willing to lay out fifty dollars for the privilege of acting like dorks, so what do I know. In fact Nintendo are serial abusers when it comes to dopey add-ons. Who can forget their Super Scope wireless light gun? Well, just about everybody, it turns out. It was a truly dreadful lump of overpriced plastic that only worked with a handful of games, and devoured AA batteries at the rate of six every four hours. And how about the Nintendo Power Pad which cost anything up to two hundred bucks way back in the 1980s. This was nothing more than a little shiny mat with a dozen or so pressure sensors in it. The idea was to jump around its red and blue squishy bits in order to trigger actions during video gameplay, and break your ankles in doing so. That's why most players resorted to cheating, by going down on all fours and using their fists to bash it into submission, My favourite Nintendo multimedia device is the DK Bongo. It's a totally stupid pair of miniature bongo drums, which suits me just fine. There's a built-in microphone to monitor my bongo-playing skills, and help track my progress as I play along to some of the worst music tracks in recorded history. To be honest, it works just as well if I clap my hands or produce fart noises, but sometimes honesty is not the best policy. After years of misuse, my DK Bongo still works fine and gives me innocent pleasure. Which brings me back to Resident Evil. Since its launch, the Resident Evil series has generated just over one billion dollars, making it the most profitable videogame spin-off in history. The only reward I ever got for my Smellyvision efforts was a sore arse. But I have never claimed to be a profiteer in these matters, only that when it comes to multi-media innovation I have always been way ahead of my time. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

06
Jun

Jeeni - the ethical alternative in streaming services, where artists can make a living.

This article by Andy Cush shows why Jeeni is needed more than ever. Jeeni.com is a streaming global platform where musicians and performers keep 100% of their sales, merchandise, tickets, donations and payments. No rip-offs, no fakes, no hype, no ads. Jeeni is the ethical alternative and will provide musicians and performers with a streaming platform where they can really make a living. How Musicians Are Fighting for Streaming Pay During the Pandemic. By Andy Cush With concerts on hold, it’s abundantly clear that most musicians can’t live off streaming income alone. How could the system be fixed? Indie rockers Stolen Jars are not exactly Coldplay or U2, but they’re not a garage band either. They tour regularly and have been covered by NPR and The New York Times. They have a fanbase. They’ve placed one of their off-kilter songs in an iPad commercial. They currently have more than 22,000 monthly listeners on Spotify. Bandleader Cody Fitzgerald estimates he makes about $1,500 to $2,000 every year from streaming services, which is good for about a month’s rent on his New York apartment. That annual streaming income, Fitzgerald is quick to note, is quite high for bands of Stolen Jars’ stature. “Most people are on labels, which means they get, at most, 50 percent of that,” he says. Fitzgerald self-releases Stolen Jars’ albums. He is also the band’s primary songwriter and performs many of the instruments on the recordings himself, all of which entitles him to an unusually large share of the total payments from services like Spotify and Apple Music. Musicians with different label and publishing situations—even those whose music is more popular—may make significantly less. Tasmin Little, a celebrated classical violinist based in the UK, has received honors including a Classic BRIT award and an Order of the British Empire designation from Queen Elizabeth. She has more than 600,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and her recordings are featured on popular playlists like Classical Essentials, which has 1.9 million followers. Little tweeted last month that she was recently paid £12.34, or around $15.50, for six months of streaming on Spotify, a period in which she would have had over 3.5 million total streams, according to her current statistics. When the coronavirus pandemic shut down the possibility of touring for the foreseeable future, cash-strapped musicians lost their most reliable way to make money. Revenue from streaming has always been small for many indie musicians, but now it is one of the few income sources available, along with sales of merch, physical records, and downloads on Bandcamp. According to artists, the pandemic is only exacerbating the inequities of a system that is rigged against the people who make it run. Under these dire circumstances, musicians are organizing through unions and other advocacy groups to fight for larger payments from streaming platforms. One such group is the Union of Musicians and Allied Workers (UMAW), a new organization that counts Fitzgerald as a member of its steering committee, alongside members of bands like Speedy Ortiz and Downtown Boys. Another is the Keep Music Alive alliance, a partnership between the UK’s Musicians Union and songwriters association the Ivors Academy, which joined forces after the pandemic’s onset, aiming to remedy the “woefully insufficient” payments made from streaming services, according to a mission statement. These organizations differ in approach, location, and scale—the Musicians’ Union was formed in the 19th century and represents 30,000 people; UMAW was formed in May and its current membership numbers in the hundreds—but both are responding to the same crisis. “I don’t have any friends who don’t have some kind of financial worries right now,” says Sadie Dupuis, UMAW founding member and guitarist-songwriter of Speedy Ortiz. “For most musicians I know who are touring full-time, the work they have outside of that is all based in the service industry, and they can’t get back into that either.” According to Mark Taylor, communications director of the Ivors Academy, the situation represents nothing less than an existential crisis over the future of music itself. “We really just want to keep music alive,” he says. “It’s good for us, it’s good for our souls, it’s good for the economy, it’s good for culture.” In the UK, the Keep Music Alive campaign is pushing for a government review of the streaming industry, which it hopes will result in additional regulations over the way payments are doled out. The UMAW, as a new organization aimed at a host of issues including streaming, has not yet formalized a set of demands for changes. Both groups acknowledge that the process of fixing streaming will be as complicated as the recognition of its brokenness is simple.How do streaming payments work? Artists receive, on average, a small fraction of a cent for each time one of their songs is streamed on a major platform. A seemingly obvious fix would be for the platforms to simply increase this number. But while these tiny per-stream payments are a useful concept for identifying the problem, they’re not particularly useful for solving it, because they don’t reflect the mechanism by which the platforms actually distribute money. According to a detailed survey of streaming payments by the music industry analytics company Soundcharts, streaming platforms pay out roughly 60 to 70 percent of their annual revenue to “rightsholders,” a group that includes musicians, record labels, songwriters, publishers—anyone who has a financial stake in the sales of a given record. Spotify, the most popular platform in the U.S. and globally, projected a total revenue between roughly $9 and $9.5 billion for 2020 in a recent letter to shareholders, which would make the total rightsholders’ take something like $6 billion for this year. That huge pile of money is then divvied up to artists (and their associated labels and so on) according to their stream counts as a fraction of the total streams on the platform for a given period. A single stream does not entitle a musician to a payment of some fixed amount; it entitles them to a slightly larger piece of the total rightsholders’ pie. To understand why per-stream payments can be an unrepresentative metric, imagine no one streamed anything on Spotify for all of 2020, except for a single person who played, say, 100 gecs’ “Money Machine” a single time. As long as those hypothetical non-listeners didn’t cancel their subscriptions, and money kept rolling in to Spotify, that one play could earn 100 gecs millions of dollars, because it would entitle them to the whole pie. Soundcharts offers another way of looking at it. Each time Spotify introduces a new feature aimed at keeping people listening for longer, like autoplaying similar artists after you finish an album, it sends the average per-stream figure down. That’s not because Spotify is suddenly skimping on payments, but because people are streaming more songs—and when people stream more songs, a single stream is equivalent to a smaller pie slice. That’s fine for established artists whose music is regularly recommended by these listener-retention features, because the dilution in value of a single stream is offset by an increase in streams. But for artists who aren’t being recommended, it means their streams are worth less.How could platforms make payments bigger? Though making streaming services work better for musicians is not as straightforward as demanding a higher payment per stream, there are several ways the system could theoretically be changed to get more money into artists’ pockets. Most obviously, companies like Spotify could increase the 60 to 70 percent share of their revenue that they pay out to rightsholders. But if recent history is any indication, that number is likely to go down before it goes up. Spotify renegotiated its deals with labels in 2017; before that, the payout number was more like 80 percent. At the time, the labels agreed to have their payments cut—thereby reducing musicians’ payments as well—because they believed they needed Spotify in order to ensure their own survival. With streaming accounting for an ever-increasing majority share of the recording industry’s revenue each year, the labels probably won’t be changing their minds about that anytime soon. But even if Spotify and the labels reverted back to the old deals, it doesn’t seem like it would do much for the average musician; it’s not as though indie bands were rolling in dough from streaming back in 2015. Groups advocating for bigger streaming payments could demand that Spotify give up an even larger revenue share—90 percent, say—but it’s hard to imagine Spotify would agree to it. Even the labels, who would have to sign off on such a deal and would be its chief beneficiaries, seem more inclined to accept Spotify’s word that they’re better off making less money so that Spotify can thrive. Another option would be to advocate for the platforms to increase their subscription price. Higher monthly fees means more revenue; more revenue increases the size of the overall pie given out to rightsholders; a bigger pie means bigger slices for all musicians. But while most music fans likely agree that artists deserve more money, asking listeners to pay up themselves is trickier. “It’s interesting, the price of a subscription has stayed static for a number of years,” says Taylor of the Keep Music Alive alliance. “But frankly, given where we are economically right now, and pressure on peoples’ wallets, that’s probably not the route to go down as a campaign.” Instead, Keep Music Alive advocates for overhauling the payment system entirely, toward what’s known as a user-centric model, which would apportion the subscription fee from each user to the artists they actually listened to that month. If I only listen to 100 gecs, my $9.99—minus Spotify’s take—goes directly to 100 gecs and their label. The current system, known as pro rata, gives more financial weight to the preferences of users who stream more songs, whereas user-centric payments would treat the preferences of all users equally. Taylor says the user-centric model is a better reflection of how listeners interact with the artists they love outside of the streaming realm: “We choose to go to gigs, to buy merchandise, and part of that exchange is, ‘I want my money to go to this artist, so they can make a living, and do more of what they do.’ That is a very distinct relationship that currently doesn’t work, really, in streaming.” A user-centric model is appealing in the abstract, and there is reason to believe it could financially benefit some smaller artists in the long run. According to a 2017 study by the Finnish Music Publishers Association, 10 percent of all streaming revenue flows to the top .4 percent of artists under the pro rata system. The study found that a user-centric system would cut the revenue to that top tier nearly in half and increase the overall flow of money to less popular artists. However, some individual small artists ended up receiving less money under a user-centric system in the study’s simulation. The French streaming platform Deezer announced a switch to user-centric payments last year, but for now there is little real-world data showing its effects one way or the other.What about labels? Streaming platforms do not make payments directly to musicians, but rather to labels, distributors, publishers, and copyright collection societies, all of whom take their own cuts before passing the money along. The share of revenue that ends up in a performing artist’s pocket also depends on factors that have more to do with these other parties than the streaming services themselves: chiefly, whether the artists are performing their own compositions or someone else’s, and the size of the splits they’ve negotiated with their label over revenue from their recordings. These factors may help explain why a songwriter with no label like Stolen Jars’ Cody Fitzgerald makes more money from streaming than a signed artist who mostly performs works by other composers like Tasmin Little, despite the greater popularity of Little’s recordings. The label’s cut of an artist’s streaming revenue varies from artist to artist and label to label, and the contracts that govern it aren’t generally made public. But several experts estimate that labels get anywhere from 50 to 85 percent. Fifty-fifty splits are common to indie labels; majors generally take a larger share. The Keep Music Alive campaign broadly presents itself as a critique of the streaming industry, but its specific platform focuses equally on the role of labels. According to Taylor, the 85 percent a major label might take from an artist’s revenue is no longer justified in the streaming era. “A lot of that is a hangup from when they had larger overheads, from when they had to store and ship CDs,” he says. “There was a cost to all of that, which is now largely being reduced. We’re basing this new system on outdated models.”What’s next? For musicians facing an undeniably appealing and increasingly dominant technology that threatens to usurp their livelihood, resistance can seem futile. It would be foolish to pretend that streaming isn’t an amazing service from a listener’s perspective, or that it will go away just because it doesn’t seem fair. Talk to enough musicians and you’ll find plenty who are vocal critics of streaming, but still host their albums on streaming services and are subscribers themselves. “It would be great to strike a new balance, because these streaming services are really helpful in terms of music discovery—I buy more records than I used to, because I can get psyched up on something new without having to go to the listening station at the Virgin Megastore,” says Dupuis. “But the discrepancy between what mega-corporations are pulling in off artists’ music and what we’re pulling in is pretty gross.” An individual musician who’s inclined to protest that discrepancy has limited options. They could pull their catalog from the platforms, but that seems doomed to fail as anything other than an act of symbolism.“Unless there’s a big collective action to do that, that will not do anything,” Fitzgerald says. “If you do it by yourself, it will just make it so you can’t grow your fanbase, so you can’t be a band.” Spotify’s problems with paying musicians may be inextricable from its value proposition to subscribers: $9.99 per month is an incredibly small price to pay for push-button access to nearly the entire history of recorded music. Practically every musician on Earth is vying for their piece of the pie, and there just may not be enough to go around. Spotify understandably wants to make money, and probably deserves something for its development of the technology itself. But even if it conceded to pay 100 percent of its revenue to rightsholders, and somehow managed to continue operating, the payouts under the current system would still be paltry for many musicians. Take Tasmin Little’s $15.50 for six months of streaming. Multiply that by 10—a factor which would far exceed Spotify’s total revenue if it were applied to its entire catalog—and it’s still only $155. Recognizing the futility of the situation doesn’t inure musicians to its indignities, which have continued rolling in as the pandemic pause stretches into an epoch of its own. First, there was the virtual “tip jar” that Spotify rolled out as an optional add-on to artist pages, which allowed listeners to donate money to musicians directly—an apparently well-intentioned gesture that nonetheless served as a tacit admission that streaming revenue could never keep most artists afloat on its own, even as Spotify subscriptions and revenue surged during the early weeks of the outbreak. Then, there was the news that Spotify had paid the wildly popular podcaster Joe Rogan over $100 million for exclusive rights to his show, the latest indicator of a larger priority shift toward podcasts for the company. Ted Gioia, a music historian and jazz pianist, summed up musicians’ frustrations with a tweet: “A musician would need to generate 23 billion streams on Spotify to earn what they’re paying Joe Rogan for his podcast rights… In other words, Spotify values Rogan more than any musician in the history of the world. Sound fair to you?” I emailed Gioia, who has written a celebrated book on music’s power to subvert existing orders, to ask if there’s any way that musicians, and the listeners who love them, can change the streaming system for the better. In a thoughtful and lengthy response, he chastised the record industry for failing to keep up with technological innovations on its own, allowing tech companies like Spotify to swoop in and set the negotiating terms. He pointed out that individual musicians have little to no leverage in their dealings with streaming platforms, despite the fact that their music makes those platforms run. He called the prospect of convincing platforms to pay musicians more a “pipe dream.” Despite all this, he ended his message with a faint note of hope. One way to fix things, he wrote, “would involve musicians taking control of their own destiny,” and walking away from streaming en masse to start something new. “Make no mistake, musicians could run their own streaming and distribution platforms, and reallocate the cash toward the people who create the songs,” he continued. “No, I don’t expect any of these things to happen. I’m just saying they could happen.” Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com