If you find someone who doesn't love music, they are an android and not to be trusted. All humans derive joy from the combination of notes and rhythms. It's the wildly disparate way that music's 12 notes and infinite beats are mixed together that provide the sonic resonances that we call our favourite songs. No two people's playlists of top ten songs pirated from the internet will be the same – sure there'll be some commonality amongst people of similar demographics, but very few will be identical.
I know this because when I play the guitar around a camp fire, at a wedding or an impromptu ouija board session, once I have played the songs I like, the audience – often well-liqoured – often starts to fire off requests. Sometimes polite…
'Um, do you mind if I ask you if you can perhaps maybe sort of play something by Sting? - But really not to worry if you don't want to.' For this person I will do my utmost to wrack the recesses of my soundbank and play her what she'd like to hear.
Then there is the more common one - drunk dude, tenth brandy and coke in hand,
'Hey bru, play us that one by Rodriguez!' Note, this is not a request but a command.
'Which one is that?' I reply, retaining a façade of politeness and interest in this gorilla's musical petition.
'The one that goes I wonder how many times you've had sex – that one!' He takes a slug of B and C.
Nine times out of ten if I can play this buffoon his song, he'll have lost interest and wandered off before I reach the first chorus.
Anyway, the musical ignorance of the average brandy-soaked Saffa is not the purpose of this yarn. The point is that we all have our favourites and yet despite the plethora of people who profess their profound love for music and the way it makes them feel, the thought of actually paying for the stuff is as ridiculous as asking them to pay for the air that they breath.
I sometimes get calls from people who want to know if I'd like to play a gig at their wedding, funeral, birthday, druids dress-up party – you know the drill. When we have established that the date is free, its time for the sordid topic of coin. When I quote them there is normally a stunned silence or the sound of cardiac arrest on the other end of the phone. A response laced with ill-disguised contempt follows,
'Um, yes well, I'll get back to you,' which actually means 'bwahahaha, you must be out of your fucking mind.'
Now, I understand the basics of supply and demand. But that don't make it easy to swallow when someone offers you a meal and beer for four hours of music when they'll pay a DJ upwards of 6K to fiddle with an iTunes play list. Consider, if you will, that any guitarist, singer, pianist that is competent enough to play for four hours has probably been honing her skills for upward of eight years. Now consider the money people willingly hand over to lawyers, accountants, chefs, and DJs with that level of experience.
I leave you with the following blog post if you'd like to read a very clever analogy for the phenomenon of 'how come I have to pay for music when I love it so much.'
In other news, its a beautiful early winter's day here in the lowveld! You can see it (and me) live on www.wildsafarilive.com from 15h00.
Have a marvellous day.