Gateway to a Captivating, Inspiring, Treacherous and Dynamic Industry.
The Musician’s Business and Legal Guide, compiled and edited by Mark Halloran, Esq., has just been published by Routledge, Taylor, and Francis in a new 5thedition.
I spent the last year producing this new edition for Routledge, a large textbook publisher, and the Beverly Hills Bar Association Committee for the Arts. I also produced all editions that were published since 1991.
Like a record producer, a book producer provides a finished, ready-to-print copy to the publisher. I worked closely with Mark Halloran and other authors, cover and interior designer, editors and indexer and got formal permissions for an extensive quotes.
My goal since 1974, when I quit working for Bill Graham’s Fillmore Management, was to help muscians profit from their art. This book (and others that I wrote) helped accomplish it.
Featured in this Edition
If you are a musician and want to know how the music business works, so that you can profit from your business and protect yourself from adverse contracts and incompetent business people, this is the book to buy.
if you want to work in the music business, this book will help you make some decisions about where you might fit.
If you already work in the music business, this book gives you up-to-date legal information on streaming, social media law, TV talent show contracts, YouTube, independent labels, 360 recording deals, and protecting entertainment group names.
If you teach musicians about current industry practices, this book provide the indispensable information they need to know,
As in previous editions, the book features clause-by-clause contract analyses for 360 record deals, 50/50 recording deal options, music publishing, management, and producer agreements.
Chapters are written by fifteen prominent lawyers currently working in the industry.
Available from Amazon now. http://amzn.to/2nDYy7A
Jerome, Arizona’s ruins are slowly disappearing. In March 2017, the roof of the Cuban Queen fell down, an iconic building that the Jerome Historical Society planned to restore.
The grand hulks that became symbols of the ghost town that it became known for—hospital, elementary school, Daisy Hotel and Douglas Mansion—have been restored and have become, respectively, the Grand Hotel, Town Hall, a private residence and State Historic Park.
The floor of the Bartlett Hotel, the only ruin that remains on Main Street, is filled with coins pitched by tourists at an old outhouse and toilet and rusted mining artifacts. This odd coin toss earns as much as $6500 a year for the Jerome Historical Society. Behind the shop now called Pucifer, the remains of the brick ‘cribs’, home of Jerome’s ladies of the night, were taken down by a previous owner to gain access to the back of the building. The bricks were neatly stacked. Then the bricks slowly disappeared. As Jane Moore commented, it was a ‘crime.’
The Jerome that I moved to in 1979 was still forlorn and decrepit looking, needing rescue. Today, Jerome has become modernized. Spiffed up. Gentrified.
Money flows in from tourist veins that are as rich as any gold mine. Over a million visitors a year come to shop, party in the bars, gawk at the views, and hear tales of bordellos, gunslingers, and ghosts. The shops are full of art, jewelry, and handmade clothing, award-winning wines and exotic olive oils.
The names of many businesses play on the mythology of ghosts: The Haunted Hamburger, Ghost Town Inn, the Spirit Room bar, Ghost Town Tours, and Ghost Town Gear. The Grand Hotel provides ghosts meters to visitors interested in documenting their contacts. The annual Jerome Ghost Walk is one of the most popular events that the Jerome Historical Society produces. It draws many hundreds of people to its re-enactments of historic events.
Many don’t mourn the loss of ruins. Sometimes tourists fell off the old walls. Shopkeepers complained ruins were fire hazards and dubbed them liabilities. Many homes that once went for under a $1000 have sold for over a quarter of a million dollars. In the ghost town years, they were ripe for pickings and vandalism. Up to the 1980’s, residents would find people wandering through their yards, saying, “I thought this was a ghost town.”
I never tired of walking among Jerome’s ruins. The shards of Jerome’s fabulous mining past were embedded in its abandoned buildings, crumbling walls, and collapsed roofs. Ruins shared visible histories of this once powerful and fabled city—“the richest copper mining city” in the West. There were ghosts in those ruins; you could feel them.
Before new mine owners forbid walking down to the 500-level, I loved walking around the foundations of the housing units for mid-level employees (plumbers, carpenters, electricians). I loved sneaking into the old mining building known as the “Dry” with its rows of empty lockers and broken-up shower stalls. I could easily visualize 1500 miners simultaneously showering up after their shifts and hanging their clothes to dry on pulleys that hoisted them high into the rafters. Vaporous ghosts.
For old-timers who return by the hundreds for the annual town reunion called “Spook Days,” ruins were the roots of their powerful attachment to Jerome. “I was only here from 1928-1948, but I feel a strong attachment to Jerome. No other place I’ve ever lived in have I felt that attachment,” said one old Mexican.
Another said, “I was only three years old when I left Jerome, but I remember things. . . I remember my father’s house. I remember the snow. And I remember sitting on my grandmother’s balcony at night, looking down into the valley. I could hear crickets and it was so peaceful.”
Ruins revealed oddities about people who used to live here. One of my favorite ruins was the old homestead where Father John used to live. When he died, he left behind a lot of junk: rusting cars, collections of stoves, and a room full of ladies shoes, singles only. Now what would a priest be doing with so many ladies’ shoes? Father John’s home mysteriously burned the night after he was found collapsed and dehydrated in his bedroom at the Catholic Church and was dragged to the hospital. Years later, the homestead was replaced with the new Gold King Mine, which includes a lot of old pre-fifties trucks, a museum of mining relics and old sawmill from Weed, California. There never was a mine there, much less one that mined gold.
A new town has emerged, full of its own colors and legends, a village of little crime and high spirits. The ghost town is all but gone.
But when the oldtimers die, who will share the memories and secrets of old Jerome? And when the ruins are gone, where will the ghosts hide?
Updated from an earlier blog.
Guest post by Walter Rapaport, my husband of 42 years, continuing my posts about the old music business days of the seventies.
“I’ve done some wrong things,
While livin’ my life
Made some wrong moves
You could criticize …”
(Barbara Mauritz, Lamb, A Sign of Change)
For me, it’s about the emotional sum of words plus music.
Musicals were the start. Classical got to me with or without words. Great NYC DJ’s. Folk music drew me into the club scene in New York. Jazz came along and changed all the relationships in my mind. Then rock ‘n roll codified longings I did not voice until then: Stones. Beatles, and acid pulled me westward!
I was 25 and a hi-fi nut. Worked with Ampex tape recorders in language labs. By then I was a complete stoner, and the straight job was too restricting. Enter Lamb! in San Francisco. My good friend Bob Swanson was a principal in that group and sent me tapes. Needed a sound guy. Called me on the night Nixon was elected and said they had a regular gig and would pay me a share. The Ribeltad Vorden bar paid the band $35 a week. Color me gone.
“When hardly a trace of love could I find.
Was a blind hearted woman.
Almost lost my mind.”
(Barbara Mauritz, Lamb, A Sign of Change)
Bill Douglas on bass, Bob Swanson on git., Barbara Mauritz sings, pianos. and gits. Walt finds a calling. And what a life. No money, but poetry. I entered the universe of poetry and music. Live gig, rehearsal and eventually recording. Producer David Rubinson picked Lamb up for Fillmore Records and got Bill Graham, the godfather of rock ‘n roll, on board at Flllmore Managment. And Walter was still lost in the poetic.
“And I know, yes I know, praying for the light.
Down on my knees, alone in the night
Cryin’ Oh. look down here on me,
That I may see the way, yeah!”
(Barbara Mauritz, Lamb, A Sign of Change)
Lamb’s first album, A Sign of Change was pure jazz, with a dose of mysticism and another of gospel. I co-produced their second album, Cross Between. The gospel of studio recording was handed to me by the great engineer Fred Catero. 45 years later my mind distills the lessons, and when I am fortunate enough to record, I TRY TO FOLLOW THEM.
- Be Positive!
- Listen to each instrument and amp to find the sweet spot—put the mic. there!
- Listen to the control room chatter and filter for meaning and direction.
- Evaluate input for useful ideas.
- When the talk gets to serious band business: disappear—if not recording.
- Be positive and, when required, be funny.
“And it’s in gettin’ down to earth
That we can recognize our worth
We were all put here together
For the worse or for the better
And I believe, and I say I believe
Until my dyin’ day
I just wanna say…yeah
We’re gonna have a party!”
(Barbara Mauritz, Lamb, A Sign of Change)
Just before Lamb’s fourth album, the new producer fired me. Business reality caught up with me. The music went downhill from there. Ego? Not me!
Getting bumped off the poetic caused a hard landing. A lawyer’s letter informed me that I owed a share of partnership losses. I was depressed and out of money. My lawyer said I was responsible for my share. Oy vey! Revelation: Wait, I ain’t got shit! Call Bill Graham in the a.m. to laugh and suggest that I had about $2 and he was welcome to it, to which he replied, “It took you way too long to get it.” Thanks for the lesson, Bill!
Joined a band called Bittersweet as sound guy, road manager. It did not “go.” Eventually got a job as a sound man at a nightclub called the “Orphanage.” Good music by and large. A good time of life. Reconnect with my love Diane, now 42 years married and counting. Have child, what a gas, often being parent at work, often with baby Max.
Became adept at multiple to 2-track mixes (house, stage, sound truck, and for Van Morrison a video feed). Founded White Noise Sound with Barret Bassick. Did live sound and live broadcast, direct to 2-channel to air. And this totally shaped my idea of how one recorded and produced sessions. Get the performance! Go to it if necessary. Walt and his A77 Revox got a surprising amount of work. NPR producer Tim Owens (“Jazz Alive”) kept us working. Found out I was not a good studio engineer.
Tim was promoted to Washington D.C. Barret and I had a falling out. I went to work as production mgr. at FRAP (Flat Response Audio Pickup), the most rewarding job I ever had. I contracted for a year. Company looked like it might go…
Diane was done with the Bay Area. Took my van, my dog and my son to Jerome AZ. Suddenly I needed a complete life change. Returned to work after winter vacation, and found that FRAP product on the shipping table was still there, and knew that I didn’t want to go through the lack of cash that was sure to follow. Joined family in Jerome AZ and decided that house wiring is just a variation on balanced electronics wiring (it is!) and called myself a house wirer. Did whatever recording-live sound work that I could. Katie Lee and Major Lingo stand out. Still with the old A77! Perhaps the most fulfilling tracks came from Katie in the form of a folk opera called Billy, Maude and Mr. D.
She performed the first act flawlessly (23 min) and beautifully. Second act required one edit! This was recorded using a Shure 58 mic for vocal, Shure 53 mic for guitar, both through transformers directly into A77 pre-amps. (The CD is available thru Katydid Books and Music— http://katydoodit.com)
Friends like Katie taught us to enjoy hiking, camping and rafting. This “getting down to earth“ stuff became a solid track of its own, and the poetry continued.
Barbara Blackburn was the reason Walt, Max and I moved to Jerome, Arizona. Greg Driver called today to say she had ‘passed.’
Barbara came to Jerome, AZ when she left San Francisco in the arms of Dean, who was ‘throwing’ tires—vernacular for someone who repaired them. He was a handsome con man who convinced Barbara he was a talented photographer. She sold her home, bought a little travel trailer, some photo equipment for him, and off they went, landing in Sedona some months after, the money gone up their noses in a lot of cocaine.
A Sedona bartender told her she should look into Jerome. The first day in Jerome, Barbara put $15,000, the last of her money, into buying the Old Bakery and adjacent duplex, where she lived while she began to remodel the old Bakery building. It took her another six months or so to get rid of Dean.
We arrived in Jerome at 5 a.m. No cars on Main Street. No people. No sun. No nada. We’re dead-tired, think to catch a ‘motel’ in Clarkdale, which was a empty as Jerome. Turn around to explore Jerome’s ramshackle, twisty streets, for some sign of where Barbara might live. And after about ten minutes we notice a ‘NoTurkeys’ sign in a window.
Barbara greets us with a big smile and a joint. It’s nonstop party for the next three days with the hippies of Jerome. We were enchanted and totally exhausted by the time we left. Barbara invited us to stay with her when we moved.
A Magnanimous Dual Personality
Barbara was the only person I knew who had a dual personality that she successfully kept together for years and years in San Francisco and Jerome: a banker/CEO/financial wizard by day and at night, a hippie that drank, smoke and dropped LSD, only to show up in straight work clothes the next day for whatever job she held. She was magnanimous, welcoming, and inclusive to all she met, ready with a smile, cup of coffee, a joint, a meal.
She became CEO for John McNerney’s Jerome Instrument Corporation, and helped propel it into a four million dollar business. Her special gift was knowing how to make a workplace easy for people to be in
Barbara’s Acid Punch
She had a gift for making instant friends and weaving them into her life. She was a great hostess and her Bakery home became party central, for any occasion, for any friend that visited.
She was known for her acid (LSD) punch, a special for parties. Two very memorable ones were a JIC company party down at the river and a Valentines Party to commemorate a new office Barbara and I shared.
4 cans large Frozen Pink Lemonade
2 quarts gingerale
2 quarts club soda
2 bottles cheap champagne
1/2 gallon raspberry sherbert
100 hits of acid
The Great Outdoors
Many of our friends will tell you about rafting and backpacking with Barbara into many wildernesses. But our personal favorite was a ten-day backpack down Red Canyon in the Grand Canyon, with Walt and Greg Driver, to whom she was married for ten years. We hiked in the early morning hours; found a shaded cubbyholes to hide in during the heat of the day, played bridge, smoked joint after joint, and yes, dropped acid.
Would love if readers of this memorial would share favorite stories in the ‘comments’ section.
The Jerome Defense Fund
Barbara, Sue Kinsella and I formed “The Jerome Defense Fund” association and solicited donations for defendants of the Big Bust of 1985 to help them pay bail bond and legal fees. We held regular meetings, attended by many of those accused and their friends, and it became something between an information conduit and outlet for grief. We held a benefit dance, called Jail House Rock, with the help of 127 volunteers (twenty-seven of them musicians).
The Main Street stores, without exception, and many artists, made contributions for the large raffle that was held at the dance. We raised over $4,500 and split it among the defendants that needed money, including those who did not live in Jerome. Although it made a very small dent in what amounted to more than $75,000 in legal fees, the heart and solidarity behind it meant a great deal to the defendants.
Barbara left Jerome the way she came in to it, in the arms of a con man that she met in a bar in Baja California. He claimed he was wealthy and owned a helicopter company in Tahoe that removed old growth trees. He had a special gift for cutting her off from her friends. John McNerney commented that he didn’t know any wealthy guys who had bad teeth.What was amazing was that Barbara didn’t find out just how strange he was until two years later when she got a phone call from the cops in Colorado who had arrested him with a car stolen from a dealership in Cottonwood, which he presented to her as a gift.
Last Communication: June 2016
“I have changed my life recently – moved from the mountains of Colorado to a more hospitable climate and one I could afford to live in: Albuquerque. The medical services and doctors I can get here are wonderful and I am so in need.
Have had 4 stents placed -2 in femoral arteries and 2 in main aorta but yet have I have pulmonary arterial disease and congestive heart failure- both of which will not be corrected –- “too much damage not enough benefit “- have bought a sweet little home here in the old residential section of Albuquerque – and no snow! Am on oxygen 24/7 and will always be – just trying to get my self strong enough to walk more than ¼ block… it is a different life for me – but as an 82 year old said to me recently “at my age you do one day at a time” ……. damn smoking finally took its toll
It’s been nice remembering the good days in Jerome. Greg Driver called a couple of days ago – just to say hello – that was sweet.
Think of you and Walter often – hope life is still good in Oregon….hugs and kisses to you both.”
In early 1953, speculation ran high that the entire town of Jerome, AZ would be razed. According to a former official of Phelps Dodge, “WITHIN A YEAR – GRASS WILL GROW ON THE MAIN STREET OF JEROME—JEROME IS FINISHED.”
It was an easy time for the mining companies that abandoned Jerome to begin bulldozing town buildings. Phelps Dodge Corporation (PD) and United Verde Exploration (UVX) owned the land underneath Jerome, many lots and buildings on Main Street, the schools and hospital and much of the land surrounding the town for many miles.
In early 1953, bulldozing began. First to go was the T.F. Miller company store, which held sentinel at the top of town, facing down Main Street, a handsome four-story building, with its brick and sandstone façade. The building was the lifeblood of the mining community—a symbol of the dominant place it occupied in the lives of its residents. William Andrews Clark, founder of the United Verde Mine, built it in 1899 at a cost of $100,000, a grand price in those days. The large fire of 1899 caused only some warping of the I-Beams on the fourth floor and these were quickly repaired. It had been handsomely maintained. Jerome resident Joe Selna was still operating the commissary in the first part of 1953.
By the end of 1953, only rubble remained.
In October, Phelps Dodge Corporation sold the building to Joel Baldwin, Yavapai County Assessor in Prescott, AZ, for fifty dollars with the agreement that he tear it down. PD said the building was a ‘fire trap’ and that the Con OKeefe building next to was pushing dangerously against it. The Town of Jerome granted Baldwin a demolition permit with the agreement that he clean up the lot after the building was torn down and asked for $200 check as a guarantee. Baldwin sold the materials at salvage prices to a company in Los Angeles.
Baldwin also demolished the Ewing Transfer Building on Lower Main Street. Verde Exploration Ltd. pulled down The Con O’Keefe Building . It looked like the gloomy prophecy about uptown Jerome turning to grass might be coming to pass.
Although the O’Keefe building lot was cleaned up to the satisfaction of the town, Baldwin left a large rubble at the site of the T.F. Miller and Ewing buildings. Town letters of complaint to Baldwin and PD were stonewalled and the Town had to eventually clean up the rubble. To add insult to injury, Baldwin’s cleanup guarantee check bounced.
Robert Sandoval, who was born in Jerome, had this to say in an interview with me: “When the Miller building was demolished, my brother Jesse and me cleaned bricks. They were stacked on pallets, 500 per pallet. We got a penny a brick. We’d use a small hatchet to get the mortar off. We got so we could clean a pallet of bricks an hour. I remember ten to fifteen kids cleaning bricks., even some girls. Everyone had their own pallet
The demolition of those buildings served as a wakeup call for the Jerome Historical Society. During the Society’s December 5 meeting, “Mr. McMillan moved that the secretary write the Verde Exploration and the Phelps Dodge Corporation asking that we be given a chance to discuss the sale of any building that may be put up for sale in Jerome. We don’t want to remove them, but will assume taxation and liability for any damage.” The society also appointed a committee to investigate acquiring buildings in Jerome.
In February 1954, The Society wrote to Verde Exploration asking if they could purchase the Mine Museum building, which they had been renting for fifteen dollars a month. Verde Exploration Manager, Clarence J. Beale wrote that the company would be willing to sell the building at a salvage price of seventy-five dollars and the paid-up rentals would be considered as payment for the lot. The Society voted to send $150.00 to purchase the building.
For the first time, Society took a giant step towards leveraging itself into becoming stewards of Main Street buildings. Board members worked closely together in signage, repairs, promotion, welded together strongly by a single goal— community building on a scale they hardly imagined when they began the society. Night after night, members met to rescue a shipwreck of a town and, at the same time, sail themselves out of the doldrums.
The Society began to replace PD’s threat of grass growing on Main Street with their motto, “The Past is our Future.”
In those days, neither money nor power drove their dreams forward, particularly remarkable when you look at a very wealthy town whose values today seem to be solely defined by money and power.
Excerpts from Home Sweet Jerome: Death and Rebirth of Arizona’s Richest Copper Mining City by Diane Sward Rapaport
 News Bulletin, Jerome Historical Society newsletter, 1955.
 The Jerome Chronicle, Summer 1987, ‘The T.F. Miller company Building; Margaret Heyer Mason, “The 1950’s, “Jerome in Transition”, paper presented for the Jerome Historical Society Symposium, 1982.
(Posted many months ago, but apropos post election)
Once again, history began at breakfast. A new world. Four horsemen trumpet apocalypse: conquest, war, famine and death. Yesterday’s news has already been eclipsed. Shocking surprises; the potential for disillusion. “Life is changing fast,” I say to myself. “Can’t keep up.”
Months ago, at a vista in Canyonlands National Park, the slow changes that sculpted this wilderness of pinnacles, canyons and rivers occured long before the creation of the four horsemen from the last book of the New Testament. The rocks I stood on were once ocean.
In this scale, whatever legacies that ancient races left behind are lost in the detritus of petroglyphs and ruins—symbols of greatness and transience. Here, whatever news is brought to me at breakfast disappears into the breath of the wind.
On these pinnacles, I start the slow movements of tai chi. The roots of the juniper and pinon coil downwards, forging pathways into sandstone. In the chalky dirt, I move carefully around the petrified logs of a pine forest that existed some 200 million years ago. The cataclysm that buried it happened quickly; yet the processes that mineralized the wood occurred particularly slowly.
Tai chi slows down my internal rhythms and grounds me into this present moment. The twin forests of death and rebirth at my feet remind me about the yin and yang cycles of change and the rhythms of fast and slow time. These will continue beyond any future I can project and any fears of apocalypse that bring knots to my stomach
If this wilderness, in its pristine and natural disarray, had not been preserved so that I could visit and quiet myself down, it would be more difficult not to give in to primal bewilderment. History would always begin at breakfast with visits of the four horsemen to fill me with dread. I would protect myself by hoarding my treasures, arming myself with guns, and guarding my larders full of food and water. Greed and loneliness would become constant companions.
Instead, tai chi purges me of meanness; restores my enthusiasm and curiosity; helps me recover equilibrium in times of strong changes.
This afternoon in Hines, Oregon, students and I practiced tai chi, with the tall pines and yellow leafed aspens for companions. It helped quell anxiety; reminded us to try and follow a path of peace, compassion and balance.
It’s what I can do.