“When I die,” the lyrics wafted out of my stereo hooked to the 486, “you can’t have my organs, though you think that you will need them ...” If I’d had the right software on my machine, I could have heard several minutes’ worth. The song was good even if, with my primitive sound software, it wasn’t even AM in audio quality. My rather untrained ears picked up a Loudon Wainwright-ish edge to the music. I made a mental note to myself. When I was off my book deadline, I’d do what I should have done in the first place and install the MPEG software whose existence had helped make IUMA possible. I had heard only a little cut in another format With MPEG I could have enjoyed three minutes’ worth, and in better fidelity.
In the IUMA area Brookman said, “Organs” was “from my latest cassette release, ‘They’ll Nickel and Dime You to Death.’” He thought of his music “as a bizarre mix of stylistic parody, satire, self-referential, and meta-songs, full of clever guitar riffs and daring vocal harmonies. I write about personal heroes, local history, teenage memories, bits of folklore, and sometimes I make fun of rock music (lovingly, of course). Usually the result is intentionally funny ...”
Brookman’s inevitable pitch for money was reasonable enough. “I hope you enjoy the song, and I really think you should get yourself a copy of ‘They’ll Nickel and Dime You to Death.’ Send a check for five bucks (no charge cards) made payable to Loser Records. That’s a full 60 minutes of awesome music for only $5. Where else, other than a used record store, can you find that kind of entertainment bargain? Here’s our address: Loser Records, P.O. Box 14719, Richmond, Virginia 23221.” Hey, I’d already enjoyed a bargain, his delightful little fan area. I would remember the name Brookman.
People could leave feedback and I brought up some. “My colleagues and I agree—what a scream!!” read a note from Virginia, where Brookman lived. “I think we’re going to track down your CD. Congrats on a nifty tune! It’s good to hear a local band ‘make it big.’” An Australian wrote in: “Heheheheh. Nice sense of humour.” None other than Jon Luini, Raiser of IUMA, said of “Organs”: “I cannot get this song out of my head! The sincerity around this song is a great combination with the odd nature of the lyrics, especially when combined with the folk feel of the music. It makes me feel like it should be included whenever people first get their driver’s license.”
Brookman’s electronic mail address was online, of course, together with those of listeners who had offered feedback. Anyone wanting to start a fan list focused on him would already have some names and e-mail addresses handy.
This was what the Net was so good for—not displaying Canteresque spam on behalf of Green Cards or pitches from CBS to join its fan club.
Small business actually enjoyed an advantage here. To CBS, fan mail must have been a nice a way of gauging the market. But the Brookmans of this world could go far beyond that and establish good rapport with fans, one by one—something for which the people at the CBS site would never have had time, given its volume. Small worked in other ways for Brookman. He or Loser Records (were they the same?) could do a short run of CDs and spread the news with minimum investment. Pressing a thousand CDs costs less than $2,000 nowadays. Combine that with the Net, and the music world just might be a little kinder to a young performer than it was in the days when Lord and Patterson were toiling away in the record stores back in Valencia.
Granted, a place in the IUMA archives was hardly a guarantee of success. A musician with the band Black Watch told me that she and her colleagues normally heard only from a fan or so a week. IUMA would not make a band instantly rich. On the other hand, she loved the feedback and encouragement that arrived from all over the world; and, we both thought, wasn’t that important, too—not just the money? The music was finding its way to those who loved it. Besides, in the end, all the small fry might add up. Lord said that instead of one Madonna there might be fifty—“Maybe it will no longer make sense to have even one.”[[3.2]] Perhaps, I hoped, the money instead would reach the Black Watches.
Once Lord had predicted that in several years IUMA might be “a one- or two-digit percentage of the $9 billion music industry.”[[3.3]] I didn’t know what would happen. Major record companies would surely be doing plenty on their own. And when I talked to Lord in April 1995, IUMA’s annual revenues were still in the low six figures. But that could change, quickly. No matter what happened, IUMA was brilliant for a niched world in which millions were rebelling against the any-color-if-it’s-black mindset.
We want just the right friends and spouse; the right home; the right coffee; the right newsgroups, now that they existed for all; and, yes, just the right music.