Wish I could think of something funny for this month, but I’m about to get on a plane for my first proper vacation in over a decade and am also six days behind deadline, so this is what you get, reader (and editor-in-chief…sorry).
I touched on this analogy in a previous piece, but I’m also in the middle of packing and don’t have time to find it. Trust me—it exists. Basically, something to the effect of how the only people who made money during the gold rush (any gold rush, there are multiple) were the folks selling shovels.
Stay with me.
The lesson here is that while, yes, there was gold in them there mountains, and if you knew where to find it, you would be rich, the chances of your expensive, desperate efforts paying off, and you striking it rich, were next to none. There were a lot more people looking for gold than there were actual gold nuggets to be found.
Sounding familiar?
Hang tight.
I have ancestors who were around during the California and Klondike Gold Rushes, and the anecdotes about them are always the same. They made pretty good money. Not from getting a pan and a mule and sitting by a river, but by selling shit to the poor saps looking for gold. Not just shovels, but sometimes just opening up a bar or a general store in a high-traffic area. I have not one single story of someone who struck gold, but an abundance of stories of folks who saw the influx of rubes and made bank on their hopes and dreams.
Switch gold for the dream of making it in music. See who the rubes are now? It’s the many sad, delusional dudes that have flocked to Portland (or any major coastal city in America, for that matter) to strike it rich with their totally awesome and original songs.
I’m not here to dash your hopes and dreams, if you are one of these deluded—(cough)—determined prospectors. Some people did find gold in them there mountains. No one I knew or was related to, but it did happen. However, before you sell all you own and strike out to those cold and wet, dismal Pacific Northwest environs, maybe take a breath and think for a second of the sheer number of super special, talented musician types who have the exact same idea as you. What is the real likelihood that you’ll be the one who happens to play the show where that A&R rep just happens to be hanging out? What is the actual percentage of non-nepo babies that strike gold with a TikTok viral hit?
Why not sell shovels instead?
‘Cause you know what numbers are good? The number of idiots like you who will spend every last dime they have at a chance to be the next Cameron Winter.
On the real, that costs two thousand dollars a month, just ask Chaotic Good.
The thing is, there is money to be made in the music industry. Just like there was money to be made during the gold rush. By selling stuff to the people looking to make it in music/gold. Here are some things you can sell to the starry-eyed prospectors who’re convinced they’re going to strike it rich
Photography/Videography
I need it to be clear, I am not here to complain about folks charging for their services that do indeed provide value. To those of you charging $100 or $200 for a set of photos or some videography for a shitty bar band—get yours, fam! Sell them shovels to these damn rubes. Because here’s the thing, no one is more narcissistic than a broke-ass musician trying to make it—especially in Portland. They will gladly pay your jacked-up—(cough)—fair prices. I kid, I kid. Unlike music, your art is valuable.
Seriously, think about it. Even with rent climbing to about $2K for a one-bedroom in Portland, you only need to film ten to twenty bands in a month to make rent. I hope you did a spit take after reading that, ‘cause when you put it in perspective, it really is shooting fish in a bucket. There are more bands than there are microbreweries and weed stores combined in this town. While there may be gold in the mountain, there’s definitely a million idiots on the mountain looking for it.
Engineering/Mixing/Mastering
Despite what these unwashed hopefuls try to convince themselves of, home recordings sound like ass. For every Kevin Parker, there are ten thousand assholes who think their home recordings sound like Tame Impala, but really they sound like Daniel Johnston, minus the talent. Studios definitely still have value. After these sad saps realize no one is buying their dogshit home recordings, they’ll shell out money to get a proper recording. Start interning at a studio now, learn the shit, and you’ll be rolling in these wannabe rock stars’ saved tips in no time.
Merchandise
This one has perhaps the lowest barrier to entry of anything listed here—the cheapest shovel you can sell. All you need to do is invest in some infrastructure. A heat press, a button maker, a screen printer. This is all stuff these lazy musicians could do themselves, but believe me, they often don’t. They’re too busy arguing with their bandmates about the order of the setlist or sending their shitty home-recorded demo to Sub Pop or Kill Rock Stars. It’s easy money. All these poor saps need wares to peddle at their shows. They’re gonna buy it from someone. Might as well be you!
Tits & Ass
One thing I’ve noticed in the ghost towns I’ve visited in Oregon and Washington is that there is always, always—without exception—a brothel. If there’s one thing these gold-seeking fools need more than a shovel, it’s some hairy frontier snatch. It’s been documented, and I’ve mentioned in some pieces before, that Portland has more strip clubs per capita than any other city in America. Even fucking Las Vegas. I think I understand why now. Who is lonelier and more pathetic than a young musician trying to make it? And one that moves to Portland to make it, since they couldn’t afford to live in Seattle?! No wonder the flesh peddler scene exploded in this city. I mean…if you’re reading this, you are more than likely a young musician who just spent what few dollars you have on a photo set, studio time, and a run of t-shirts. And where are you now spending the last of your dollars? Put down the guitar and put on some pleasers!
