Mel's bedtime story

Jeeni Blog

Helping the next generation of talent to build a global fanbase

Mel's bedtime story

Once upon a time, I created a platform called jeeni.com which is where independent artists perform their music in front of new fans, and get rewarded for their efforts. On a Saturday night we ran a live global music festival featuring 18 acts from both sides of the Atlantic. The oldest performer was over 70, the youngest was under 10. They were brilliant, each in their own way. We broadcast over social media and websites. There were no adverts, there were no fakes, there was no hype. It didn't cost us a penny to run. Everyone had a ball. We are part of a revolutionary process that is killing a corrupt and rotting music industry which has held both audience and performer to ransom since the 1890s. So if you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you how, and why ...

I'm an old hoarder, I hoard old music recordings, and when I say old I mean really old. Upstairs, in what was once a studio but has turned into an Irish Setter leisure lounge, there are several hundred wax cylinders from the 1890s. Each cylinder is a unique recording from an age before duplication was possible. If Miss Florrie Forde wanted to sell a hundred copies of Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy to her adoring public, then she had to keep lubricated and trill the bloody thing into a brass horn a hundred times and record it onto wax in real time. But to me the beauty of these cylinders is not that each one is a unique recording, but that each one is mercifully short, rotating at 120 revolutions a minute and lasting a meagre two minutes, because that's all a wax cylinder can hold. And so the two minute pop single was born. At the start of the twentieth century discs replaced cylinders, but not a lot changed. I have another room full of shellac discs that spin at 78 revolutions a minute. When it came to pop singles from artists bringing joy to the world throughout the first half of the twentieth century, they had just under three minutes to do it in. And if they were any good, just under three minutes was plenty.

I feel personally to blame for what happened next, because in the hour of my birth in 1948, the microgroove vinyl disc hit the market, spinning at what my Irish chums call dirty tree and a turd revolutions per minute. I have an entire wall of vinyl albums, with their glorious covers and sleeve notes. And yes, they are arranged in alphabetical order by artist and date-order of release. Their storage capacity is approximately twenty-five minutes a side, which is usually twenty-two minutes too long. And on the opposite wall is where all my CDs sulk, each one capable of storing seventy-four minutes of audio, and not one of them played since the turn of this century. Why? Because a hacker called SoloH went and ripped the source code of something called the Fraunhofer MP3 encoder and spread it all over the internet for free. Thanks to SoloH, I can not only digitise my entire collection of recorded music without any restrictions on playing time, I can access the entire library of everything that has ever been recorded, for ever.

My phone weighs exactly the same as my 78rpm copy of Little Richard's single Tutti Frutti, which runs for two minutes 28 seconds of total perfection. My phone holds 21,417 tracks in MP3 format, some of them complete symphonies, which are pretty good, some of them prog-rock drum solos, as used by Viet Cong torturers to break the spirit of the enemy. My desktop hard drive and cloud-accounts contain too many tracks to keep track of. I declare that my motivation for amassing this ludicrous collection of music was that one day it would bring me comfort in my old age, when my body and brain become enfeebled and I feel the need to keep hold of past pleasures while dying. As it turns out, I started playing my collection early, during lockdown, and wished I was dead by the end of day three. The singles were great, but the albums were mostly insufferable. Which is when I realised that the music album is stone dead, and the nightmare of a lifetime of audio padding is finally over. Then the real truth hit me. The recorded music industry is dead too. Thanks to COVID19 there has been an explosion of new creativity. Everyone is now a record producer, anyone can run a broadcast music channel, and that's exactly what everyone and anyone seems to be doing, including me. The spongers and leeches and shysters have been exposed as completely unnecessary, as have most of the agents, publicists and managers. They are no longer able to milk performers in our new world of social distancing, because they have lost their power. It's the remote audience that now has the power, and this audience wants instant gratification, not a load of overhyped, overwrought, overlong, flimflam.

Jeeni.com is my final project in a very long career. I'm giving my artists three minutes per track to nail it, because that's what my old hoard tells me is right. And I hope you agree that in order to shine, three minutes is all that anyone should ever need.

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03
Sep

Mel's World

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! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

08
Jul

Zed, The Dreamer – ‘I died too’ Single Review

Charming, layered and dreamy, the latest single from this starry-eyed balladeer might be his most impactful yet. With a rich roster of influential artists like Bon Iver, Michael Kiwanuka and Matt Corby, Zed, The Dreamer has a wide and varied well from which he draws inspiration and these influences reveal themselves quite clearly across Zed's young, bright discography. The style of the previously mentioned muses can essentially be reduced to an initial representation of the broad genre of folk music, however, they all individually decide to expand beyond that folk core by enriching it with their own individual styles, experiences and personalities. This is a skill that Zed has adopted in full-effect. A notable element of Zed’s style is his subtle embrace of lo-fi aesthetics. Before, this has materalised as some unfiltered-out background fuzz in tracks like ‘Comfort (Not Love)’, but Zed's latest track takes this raw, casual sentiment to a further level as he uses it to almost reinforce the heart aching messages that he displays in ‘i died too’. The track whirs to life like a tape machine accelerating to the right speed, instantly giving off a warm, analogue tone to the track. The sudden click to silence after just a second of guitar also contributes to a feeling that this is an impromptu recording, straight from the heart, to the microphone. As more elements are introduced, this nonchalant façade crumbles and Zed’s ballad blossoms into a polished and astonishing chorus of love. Intricate and symbolic lyrics aren't needed for the confessional “Baby, I love you” chorus, because the verse has already provided poetic details into the relationship. Interestingly, after the first chorus, Zed doesn’t use its natural momentum to maintain the energy, but instead, he brings the composition back down to where we began with an interlude of radio-effect conversational samples and background ambience that replaces the full, lush textures that we just heard over the chorus. Once back down to the ground, Zed’s forlorn vocals begin to slowly levitate the piece once more with the next verse. The second verse consists of simple guitar-tapped percussion, rumbling bass and shimmering chords, all ornamenting Zed’s gentle acoustic guitar and crooning vocals which creates the folk centre of the piece. The second verse much more seamlessly feeds into the second chorus which now professes the title of the piece, “I died too” in replace of “I love you”. This heartbreaking variation to the chorus is such a clever story-telling device. It’s not often that a chorus is altered to reveal an entirely different side to an emotive narrative, it adds a stunning amount of weight behind an already compelling single. The piece winds down one final time as a more distant and mournful "Baby, I love you" is heard underneath auto-tuned vocalisations and a self-comforting "It's alright, now" repetition. This extended ending at almost a minute long is a beautiful finish to an already unorthodox song structure. A final, pensive guitar chord rings out to finish the piece with one last poignant resignation. Zed, The Dreamer will be performing at Victorious festival this August (26th-28th) so be sure to check him out if you have tickets!

07
Dec

Streaming Revenues - a tipping point?

At Jeeni, this is a subject we are following closely, being a platform set up to address this very subject. The balance of revenue on most platforms, is tipped far too heavily away from the artists, performers and writers, in favour of the suits and pen-pushers. Quite frankly, it's a disgrace! Jeeni's ethos is to ensure any performing members receive 100% of the revenue they generate. Should all streaming services work the same way? Journalist Dylan Smith, from Digital Music News has written the article below, updating how far the DCMS Committee has got with their fact finding and the issues to be presented on 11 December. Digital, Culture, Media and Sport Committee Chair Julian Knight. Photo Credit: David Woolfall British lawmakers have stated that artists are hesitant to participate in the ongoing investigation into streaming royalties “because they fear action may be taken against them” if they do so. The House of Commons’ Digital, Culture, Media and Sport Committee (DCMS Committee) announced the high-profile probe of streaming royalties last month. The comprehensive analysis aims to identify streaming’s impact on all relevant stakeholders, including labels and artists, as well as its long-term effects concerning “the sustainability of the wider music industry.” Last week, singer-songwriter Nadine Shah, Radiohead guitarist Ed O’Brien, and Elbow frontman Guy Garvey spoke before the DCMS Committee to address the contemporary music landscape. Of particular note was Shah’s statement that she doesn’t “make enough money from streaming” to cover her rent, despite having north of 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify. Possibly in response to the abundance of information that the investigation has turned up thus far, the DCMS Committee also announced last week that it had extended the window for artists and others to submit written testimonials regarding royalties. From the original deadline of Monday, November 16th, members of the music industry now have until Friday, December 11th, to express their opinions. The probe’s upcoming oral testimony, for its part, is slated to take place next Tuesday, December 8th, with Maria Forte Music Services’ namesake owner, Ferocious Talent owner Kwame Kwaten, and José Luis Sevillano, director general at Spain’s AIE, set to participate via livestream. Ahead of the formal sitdown, DCMS Committee Chair Julian Knight has relayed that many would-be witnesses are opting not to come forward due to their fear of the potential professional consequences associated with speaking out against streaming royalties. “We have been told from many different sources that some of the people interested in speaking to us, in relation to this inquiry, have become reluctant to do so because they fear action may be taken against them if they speak in public,” said the Solihull MP, who became the DCMS Committee’s chair in January of this year. “I would like to say on behalf of the Committee that we would take a very dim view indeed if we had any evidence of anyone interfering with witnesses to one of our inquiries. … This Committee will brook no such interference and will not hesitate to name and shame anyone proven to be involved in such activity,” continued Knight. And in concluding his statement on the matter, the lawmaker emphasized that others who reach out to the DCMS Committee with information or insight pertaining to streaming royalties “will be treated in confidence.”

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