The art of asking | Amanda Palmer
Summary
TLDRIn this engaging talk, Amanda Palmer shares her journey from being an 'Eight-Foot Bride' living statue to a successful musician, emphasizing the power of direct connection with her audience. She recounts her experiences with couchsurfing, crowdsourcing, and crowdfunding, illustrating the profound impact of trust and community on her career. Palmer challenges the traditional music industry model, advocating for a more personal and supportive relationship with fans, and encouraging artists to embrace vulnerability and ask for help without shame.
Takeaways
- 🎨 The speaker, Amanda Palmer, initially made a living as a living statue called the Eight-Foot Bride, which allowed her profound encounters with people, especially the lonely.
- 👀 Through her statue performances, she experienced a deep connection with passersby, exchanging eye contact that conveyed gratitude and recognition.
- 💸 Despite the unconventional nature of her job, Amanda made a consistent income, which surprised her given the unpredictability of street performance.
- 🎼 Amanda's music career began with local performances and eventually led to signing with a major label, highlighting her journey from street performer to professional musician.
- 🤝 She valued the direct connection with her audience and made efforts to maintain this connection, even as her band, the Dresden Dolls, gained popularity.
- 🌐 The advent of Twitter allowed Amanda to strengthen her connection with fans, enabling instant requests for help and support, which often led to heartwarming interactions.
- 🏡 Amanda embraced couchsurfing, which brought her into close contact with fans and locals, fostering a sense of community and shared experiences.
- 🎉 She experimented with crowdsourcing and crowdfunding, ultimately raising over $1.2 million for her project with the Grand Theft Orchestra, demonstrating the power of community support.
- 🤔 Amanda faced criticism for her crowdsourcing practices, which some viewed as begging, but she defended the mutual benefits and fair exchange between her and her fans.
- 💬 She emphasizes the importance of asking for help without shame, arguing that it is through asking that artists can truly connect with their audience and receive the support they need.
- 🔄 The speaker suggests that the music industry should focus on how to let people pay for music, rather than how to make them pay, reflecting a shift towards a more open and trusting relationship with fans.
Q & A
What was Amanda Palmer's day job before she became a full-time musician?
-Before becoming a full-time musician, Amanda Palmer worked as a self-employed living statue called the Eight-Foot Bride.
How did Amanda Palmer describe her experience as a living statue?
-Amanda Palmer described her experience as a living statue as profound, especially in encounters with lonely people, where she would have moments of prolonged eye contact and connection.
What was the consistent income Amanda Palmer made as a living statue?
-Amanda Palmer made a predictable income as a living statue, earning about 60 dollars on a Tuesday and 90 dollars on a Friday.
How did Amanda Palmer's experience as a living statue prepare her for the music business?
-Amanda Palmer's experience as a living statue taught her about direct connection with people, which she valued and maintained even as her music career grew.
What was the name of Amanda Palmer's band, and what was her role in it?
-Amanda Palmer's band was called the Dresden Dolls, and she played the piano, wrote songs, and was part of the duo with a genius drummer.
How did Amanda Palmer maintain a direct connection with her fans after becoming a musician?
-Amanda Palmer maintained a direct connection with her fans by signing autographs, hugging fans, hanging out, and talking to people after shows, and by involving local musicians and artists in her performances.
How did social media, like Twitter, enhance Amanda Palmer's connection with her fans?
-Social media platforms allowed Amanda Palmer to instantly ask for anything anywhere, which led to fans providing her with resources like pianos to practice on, home-cooked meals, and even hosting last-minute gigs.
What was Amanda Palmer's reaction to her record label considering the sale of 25,000 copies as a failure?
-Amanda Palmer was surprised and disagreed with her record label's assessment of 25,000 copies sold as a failure, leading her to reconsider the traditional music industry model.
Why did Amanda Palmer decide to give away her music for free online?
-Amanda Palmer decided to give away her music for free online to maintain a direct connection with her fans and to allow them to access her music, inspired by the support she received on the street.
What was the outcome of Amanda Palmer's crowdfunding campaign for her project with the Grand Theft Orchestra?
-Amanda Palmer's crowdfunding campaign for her project with the Grand Theft Orchestra was highly successful, raising nearly 1.2 million dollars, which was the largest music crowdfunding project at the time.
How did Amanda Palmer respond to criticism about her crowdsourcing practices after her Kickstarter campaign?
-Amanda Palmer defended her crowdsourcing practices, arguing that the connection and trust she had built with her fans made the exchange fair and valuable to both parties.
What is Amanda Palmer's perspective on the role of artists and musicians in the community?
-Amanda Palmer believes that artists and musicians should be part of the community as connectors and openers, not as untouchable stars, and that the internet is helping to facilitate this closer connection.
What question does Amanda Palmer propose we should ask instead of 'How do we make people pay for music?'
-Amanda Palmer suggests we should ask 'How do we let people pay for music?', emphasizing the importance of allowing and enabling fans to support artists in ways that are meaningful to them.
Outlines
🎭 Life as a Living Statue and Early Music Career
The speaker, Amanda Palmer, recounts her unique experience as a self-employed living statue called the Eight-Foot Bride. She describes the profound human connections she made, especially with lonely individuals, through the art of eye contact and small gestures. Despite facing criticism and feeling shame for her unconventional job, she discovered it was a valuable education for her music career. She also talks about her early days of performing with her band, the Dresden Dolls, and the importance of maintaining a direct connection with the audience.
🤝 The Power of Connection and Crowdfunding Success
Amanda Palmer discusses the evolution of her relationship with her fans, from signing autographs after shows to utilizing social media platforms like Twitter to engage with her audience directly. She shares anecdotes of fans providing support in various forms, such as offering accommodations, food, and even spontaneous performances. Palmer's decision to give away her music for free online and her subsequent use of crowdfunding for her project with the Grand Theft Orchestra are highlighted, demonstrating the success of her approach to asking for help and the strong support from her fanbase, which resulted in the biggest music crowdfunding project at the time.
🚫 Controversy and the Importance of Asking for Help
The speaker addresses the criticism she received for her crowdsourcing practices, including asking fans to join her on stage and for other forms of support. She draws parallels between this criticism and the earlier disdain she faced as a living statue. Palmer emphasizes the importance of trust and the act of asking for help without shame, which she believes is essential for building genuine connections with her audience. She argues that the music industry should focus on how to let people pay for music, rather than how to make them pay, suggesting a shift in perspective that values the relationship with the audience over traditional revenue models.
Mindmap
Keywords
💡Living Statue
💡Crowdsourcing
💡Connection
💡Couchsurfing
💡Crowdfunding
💡Vulnerability
💡Piracy
💡Community
💡Trust
💡Artistic Expression
💡Label
Highlights
The speaker, Amanda Palmer, describes her unique experience as a 'living statue' performer, which provided profound human connections.
As the 'Eight-Foot Bride', Palmer engaged with passersby through eye contact and the exchange of flowers, creating moments of connection.
Palmer's living statue performances were a form of street art that allowed her to interact with lonely individuals, offering a sense of visibility and connection.
Despite facing criticism and being told to 'get a job', Palmer found value and an education in her unconventional job.
Palmer's income as a living statue was surprisingly consistent, averaging around $60 on a Tuesday and $90 on a Friday.
The Dresden Dolls, Palmer's band, started making enough money for her to leave her living statue job and focus on music.
Palmer valued the direct connection with her audience and continued to engage with fans after shows, fostering a sense of community.
Utilizing social media, Palmer was able to instantly ask for help or resources from her fans, exemplifying the power of online connection.
Palmer's fans provided support in various ways, from offering places to stay to bringing food, showcasing the depth of fan artist relationships.
Couchsurfing experiences, such as staying with an 18-year-old girl's family of undocumented immigrants, humanized Palmer and deepened her connection with fans.
Despite signing with a major label, Palmer's album sales were considered a failure by the industry, prompting a reevaluation of her approach to music distribution.
Palmer decided to give away her music for free online, encouraging sharing and torrenting, as a way to maintain connection with her audience.
Crowdfunding for her next project with the Grand Theft Orchestra was a massive success, raising nearly 1.2 million dollars from fans.
Palmer emphasizes the importance of asking for help and support from her audience, which is counterintuitive for many artists but crucial for connection.
Criticism of Palmer's crowdsourcing practices highlighted the tension between traditional views on art and the new models of fan support.
Palmer suggests that the music industry should focus on how to let people pay for music, rather than how to make them pay, fostering a more supportive relationship with fans.
Transcripts
Translator: Joseph Geni Reviewer: Morton Bast
(Breathes in)
(Breathes out)
So, I didn't always make my living from music.
For about the five years after graduating
from an upstanding liberal arts university,
this was my day job.
(Laughter)
I was a self-employed living statue called the Eight-Foot Bride,
and I love telling people I did this for a job,
because everybody always wants to know,
who are these freaks in real life.
(Laughter)
Hello.
I painted myself white one day, stood on a box,
put a hat or a can at my feet,
and when someone came by and dropped in money,
I handed them a flower --
and some intense eye contact.
And if they didn't take the flower,
I threw in a gesture of sadness and longing --
as they walked away.
(Laughter)
So I had the most profound encounters with people,
especially lonely people
who looked like they hadn't talked to anyone in weeks,
and we would get this beautiful moment of prolonged eye contact
being allowed in a city street,
and we would sort of fall in love a little bit.
And my eyes would say --
"Thank you.
I see you."
And their eyes would say --
"Nobody ever sees me.
Thank you."
I would get harassed sometimes.
People would yell at me from their cars.
"Get a job!"
(Laughing) And I'd be, like,
"This is my job."
But it hurt, because it made me fear
that I was somehow doing something un-joblike
and unfair, shameful.
I had no idea how perfect a real education I was getting
for the music business on this box.
And for the economists out there,
you may be interested to know I actually made a pretty predictable income,
which was shocking to me, given I had no regular customers,
but pretty much 60 bucks on a Tuesday, 90 bucks on a Friday.
It was consistent.
And meanwhile, I was touring locally and playing in nightclubs
with my band, the Dresden Dolls.
This was me on piano, a genius drummer.
I wrote the songs, and eventually
we started making enough money that I could quit being a statue,
and as we started touring,
I really didn't want to lose this sense
of direct connection with people, because I loved it.
So after all of our shows, we would sign autographs
and hug fans and hang out and talk to people,
and we made an art out of asking people to help us and join us,
and I would track down local musicians and artists
and they would set up outside of our shows,
and they would pass the hat,
and then they would come in and join us onstage,
so we had this rotating smorgasbord of weird, random circus guests.
And then Twitter came along,
and made things even more magic,
because I could ask instantly for anything anywhere.
So I would need a piano to practice on,
and an hour later I would be at a fan's house.
This is in London.
People would bring home-cooked food to us
all over the world backstage and feed us and eat with us.
This is in Seattle.
Fans who worked in museums and stores
and any kind of public space would wave their hands
if I would decide to do a last-minute, spontaneous, free gig.
This is a library in Auckland.
On Saturday I tweeted for this crate and hat,
because I did not want to schlep them from the East Coast,
and they showed up care of this dude, Chris, from Newport Beach,
who says hello.
I once tweeted, "Where in Melbourne can I buy a neti pot?"
And a nurse from a hospital drove one
right at that moment to the cafe I was in,
and I bought her a smoothie
and we sat there talking about nursing and death.
And I love this kind of random closeness,
which is lucky, because I do a lot of couchsurfing.
In mansions where everyone in my crew gets their own room
but there's no wireless,
and in punk squats,
everyone on the floor in one room with no toilets
but with wireless, clearly making it the better option.
(Laughter)
My crew once pulled our van up to a really poor Miami neighborhood
and we found out that our couchsurfing host for the night
was an 18-year-old girl, still living at home,
and her family were all undocumented immigrants from Honduras.
And that night, her whole family
took the couches and she slept together with her mom
so that we could take their beds.
And I lay there thinking,
these people have so little.
Is this fair?
And in the morning,
her mom taught us how to try to make tortillas
and wanted to give me a Bible,
and she took me aside and she said to me in her broken English,
"Your music has helped my daughter so much.
Thank you for staying here. We're all so grateful."
And I thought, this is fair.
This is this.
A couple of months later, I was in Manhattan,
and I tweeted for a crash pad, and at midnight,
I'm on the Lower East Side,
and it occurs to me I've never actually done this alone.
I've always been with my band or my crew.
Is this what stupid people do?
(Laughter)
Is this how stupid people die?
And before I can change my mind, the door busts open.
She's an artist.
He's a financial blogger for Reuters,
and they're pouring me a glass of red wine
and offering me a bath,
and I have had thousands of nights like that and like that.
So I couchsurf a lot. I also crowdsurf a lot.
I maintain couchsurfing and crowdsurfing
are basically the same thing.
You're falling into the audience
and you're trusting each other.
I once asked an opening band of mine
if they wanted to go out into the crowd and pass the hat
to get some extra money, something that I did a lot.
And as usual, the band was psyched,
but there was this one guy in the band
who told me he just couldn't bring himself to go out there.
It felt too much like begging to stand there with the hat.
And I recognized his fear
of "Is this fair?"
and "Get a job."
And meanwhile, my band is becoming bigger and bigger.
We sign with a major label.
And our music is a cross between punk and cabaret.
It's not for everybody.
Well, maybe it's for you.
(Laughter)
We sign, and there's all this hype leading up to our next record.
And it comes out and it sells about 25,000 copies
in the first few weeks,
and the label considers this a failure.
I was like, "25,000, isn't that a lot?"
They said, "No, the sales are going down.
It's a failure."
And they walk off.
Right at this same time, I'm signing and hugging after a gig,
and a guy comes up to me
and hands me a $10 bill,
and he says,
"I'm sorry, I burned your CD from a friend."
(Laughter)
"But I read your blog, I know you hate your label.
I just want you to have this money."
And this starts happening all the time.
I become the hat after my own gigs,
but I have to physically stand there and take the help from people,
and unlike the guy in the opening band,
I've actually had a lot of practice standing there.
Thank you.
And this is the moment I decide
I'm just going to give away my music for free
online whenever possible,
so it's like Metallica over here, Napster, bad;
Amanda Palmer over here,
and I'm going to encourage torrenting, downloading, sharing,
but I'm going to ask for help,
because I saw it work on the street.
So I fought my way off my label, and for my next project
with my new band, the Grand Theft Orchestra,
I turned to crowdfunding.
And I fell into those thousands of connections that I'd made,
and I asked my crowd to catch me.
And the goal was 100,000 dollars.
My fans backed me at nearly 1.2 million,
which was the biggest music crowdfunding project to date.
(Applause)
And you can see how many people it is.
It's about 25,000 people.
And the media asked,
"Amanda, the music business is tanking and you encourage piracy.
How did you make all these people pay for music?"
And the real answer is, I didn't make them.
I asked them.
And through the very act of asking people,
I'd connected with them,
and when you connect with them, people want to help you.
It's kind of counterintuitive for a lot of artists.
They don't want to ask for things.
But it's not easy.
It's not easy to ask.
And a lot of artists have a problem with this.
Asking makes you vulnerable.
And I got a lot of criticism online,
after my Kickstarter went big,
for continuing my crazy crowdsourcing practices,
specifically for asking musicians
who are fans if they wanted to join us on stage
for a few songs in exchange for love and tickets and beer,
and this was a doctored image that went up of me on a website.
And this hurt in a really familiar way.
And people saying,
"You're not allowed anymore to ask for that kind of help,"
really reminded me of the people in their cars yelling, "Get a job."
Because they weren't with us on the sidewalk,
and they couldn't see the exchange
that was happening between me and my crowd,
an exchange that was very fair to us but alien to them.
So this is slightly not safe for work.
This is my Kickstarter backer party in Berlin.
At the end of the night, I stripped and let everyone draw on me.
Now let me tell you, if you want to experience
the visceral feeling of trusting strangers --
(Laughter)
I recommend this,
especially if those strangers are drunk German people.
(Laughter)
This was a ninja master-level fan connection,
because what I was really saying here was,
I trust you this much.
Should I?
Show me.
For most of human history,
musicians, artists, they've been part of the community.
Connectors and openers, not untouchable stars.
Celebrity is about a lot of people loving you from a distance,
but the Internet
and the content that we're freely able to share on it
are taking us back.
It's about a few people loving you up close
and about those people being enough.
So a lot of people are confused by the idea
of no hard sticker price.
They see it as an unpredictable risk, but the things I've done,
the Kickstarter, the street, the doorbell,
I don't see these things as risk.
I see them as trust.
Now, the online tools
to make the exchange as easy and as instinctive as the street,
they're getting there.
But the perfect tools aren't going to help us
if we can't face each other
and give and receive fearlessly,
but, more important --
to ask without shame.
My music career has been spent
trying to encounter people on the Internet the way I could on the box.
So blogging and tweeting not just about my tour dates
and my new video but about our work and our art
and our fears and our hangovers,
our mistakes,
and we see each other.
And I think when we really see each other,
we want to help each other.
I think people have been obsessed with the wrong question,
which is, "How do we make people pay for music?"
What if we started asking,
"How do we let people pay for music?"
Thank you.
(Applause)
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