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Women buy most of the music, more specifically, women between the ages of 18 and 55 are responsible for more than seventy percent of cash purchases for music - both through online services such as iTunes and Rhapsody, and off line purchases at Walmart, Best Buy and Sam Goody, to name a few.

Male persons, I am sorry to say, are more likely to use file sharing services and bootleg sources for their music - probably because they are more computer savvy than their female counterparts.

I recently spent a very expensive week in Key West at the Songwriters Festival. I wasn’t at all surprised to see that most of the non-industry attendees were middle aged women, most of whom came with girlfriends and husbands or boyfriends who weren’t nearly as interested in the music as the beer.

What makes a woman buy an album rather than a single cut?

It’s not rocket science. It’s all about love and laughter. Those of you who heard Bobby Pinson sing his alternate version of She’s a Hottie know the man could make more on his irreverent tale of shopping the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly than Toby made from the mainstream radio play.

Women want a ballad or three. Cut twelve tracks, make sure two of them are filled with the promise of neverending love and lust and one makes a girl laugh, and you’ve got a hit album, regardless of the single hitting the air waves.

Millions of people remember a ballad called More than Words - and the video sung by a band called Extreme. Ninety percent of them couldn’t tell you the name of any other track they cut.

Acoustic love, hot young men pouring out their guts to their own true love. What could be hotter?

Speaking of acoustics - how about Billy Joel’s sidewalk style crooning - The Longest Time?

You don’t need a forty piece orchestra to make big bucks in the music industry. You don’t need more than a guitar and a voice filled with passion - and it doesn’t have to be a great voice, just one that cares.

Dont’ forget the duet

Sing a duet with someone you like, slap that baby into iTunes however you can get the job done, and you have the potential for a hit, AND a tidy income.

Men might not buy the music, but they listen to it when mama puts the stereo on. A smart man knows he stands a damned fine chance of getting lucky if he just hums along to the ballads, and if he knows the male part to the duet, well… the chance for a steamy night ratchets up a bit.

In todays uncertain world, there are still a few things free - or almost free. A 99 cent iTunes download, cold beer, and hot kisses are some of life’s greatest pleasures - beating the hell out of champagne and caviar every time.

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There were a number of beautiful young women in Key West for the Songwriter’s Festival last week, all of similar age, wearing similar clothes, with similar haircuts.

If you didn’t know who they were, you might assume they were college girls on Spring Break, probably driving the cars Daddy bought them.

You might have thought they spent their days shopping and applying makeup - in between waxing, manicures, and tanning bed appointments.

You would have been wrong. They weren’t Tri-Delts, they were singers and songwriters, chasing a top ten hit.

Little bitty Lucie Silvas has been on a stage in a war zone or three, and not only does she write the songs, she has a BIG voice for such a tiny person.

Natalie Hemby writes the most surprising songs and sings with a joy that astonishes.

Connie Harrington has had so many hits, it’s hard to keep track, and she owns a music publishing company.

In Nashville, pretty often equals brilliant - in more ways than one.

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One of the most interesting things I noticed in the face of hundreds of hopeful songwriters I met in Key West last week was that at least twenty percent of those I interacted with were never going to be successful, no matter how fabulous their songs happen to be.

Those of you chasing the brass ring need to take a hint from David Byrnes - who is not just a talented songwriter, he’s a nice person. I told him I liked his new song and when he thanked me, he paused to LOOK at me and he smiled.

The entire exchange lasted less than twenty seconds - but I predict he will go far on the basis of one very genuine smile.

Some songwriters spent too much time sucking up to executives and other songwriters and ignored the folks who spent an ungodly amount of money to make the trip for one reason - to hear the music.

What does a smile cost? Can the two seconds it takes for eye contact be so hard?

On the day I arrived, I met a woman who had worked overtime for a year to afford the trip to Key West. She was a huge fan of a particular singer/songwriter and was beside herself with excitement before the first show.

Three days later, I ran into her again on Duval Street. She told me she was going to trash every CD the songwriter had a track on as soon as she returned home.

She tried to talk to her songwriter at the first show, tried again during a bar venue, and finally, caught up with this person somewhere else, the hotel, I think she said.

When she tried to say whatever it was she wanted to say, not only did they not listen, they wouldn’t even look her in the face. “A nod,” she said. “I used my entire vacation and all of my savings and all I wanted was for them to take a picture with me.”

She was crushed, but her boyfriend was pissed as hell. “What an asshole,” the boyfriend said.

I wasn’t there, I didn’t see the exchange between the fan and her songwriter. I don’t know the woman or her boyfriend, but I guarantee you I am not the only person to whom she relayed her disappointment.

Successful people learn to treat everyone as if they might be the key to fame and fortune. You never really know who you’re speaking to unless you ask.

Any public relations person can tell you that an unhappy customer will tell a hundred people the details of their unhappiness as loudly and soon as possible.

Smile - and mean it - fame and fortune might depend on it.

Tags: Friends, Life, Music, Travel // Add Comment »

Rocking Chairs and Lemonade

We stayed in a bed and breakfast inn while we were in Key West this past week for the Songwriter’s Festival.

It was not all I had hoped - at least for the price, but I did meet a nice young man while we were there, a songwriter from Wales named James Fox - take a visit to his website http://www.officialjamesfox.com and then go to iTunes and download his new album - Rocking Chairs and Lemonade.

I met zillions of songwriters and hopefuls while we were there and heard all sorts of songs, good and bad and mediocre while we were there. The nice thing about the Key West experience was meeting the people behind the music.

I meet a lot of people and I talk to most of them, some have what I like to call a gentle heart - James is one of those few blessed with one and his music reflects it.

Here’s the funny thing - he was so reticent about his music during a convo by the pool, I suggested he write something about what he loved - football (Soccer) - and he never said he’d already done so - having written Bluebirds Flying High for the Cardiff team.

My face would be red if I had the ability to be embarrassed.

Tags: Life, Travel // Add Comment »

A few months ago, I gave a chance to a young man who wanted to do some yard work for me. He was going to put in some topsoil, move my rose bushes, and lay down bricks and mulch.

He asked me for forty dollars up front to buy supplies, which I gave him, not expecting to ever hear from him again.  I knew it wouldn’t cover the cost of the dirt and mulch, never mind the bricks.

A few days later, he came by without the promised supplies and told me some lame story about not being able to borrow a truck. I’d have blown him off completely and let the forty bucks be a lesson to me… except…

He phoned me and asked if he could come by and talk to me that same evening. My biological father was a low-life grifter and there was something in his phone demeanor I recognized from childhood.

I told him to tell me what he wanted on the phone. The story was that he’d lost the money I gave him, along with $85 belonging to his girlfriend.

“Lost? No, I don’t think so, kid. Cut the crap and tell me what really happened. Did you gamble it away? Drink it up? Buy beer for your buddies? Spend it on dope?”

He was sticking by the lost story, and said his girlfriend had thrown him out. Since I knew the girlfriend was young and raising a child on her own, I called her.

She was upset, which is an understatement. She works as a waitress to support her child and works hard, having stayed at the same job for two years. Rent was due in a week and he’d taken twice what he admitted to me from her bank account using her debit card.

I told her if he came over and moved the rose bushes and cleaned up the area around the tree I would pay him the same wage I pay the other guy who works on my yard.

Two days later he called and said he was ready to work. I pushed him for the truth and he said he was addicted to painkillers from a back injury. I call Narcotics Anonymous and got the information for him to get to a meeting, and agreed to let him come do the work if he brought his girlfriend and the child with him.

When they showed up, and he did the work, I wrote HER a check for deposit only and handed it to her when she wasn’t looking. It was twice what I had agreed to pay.

I gave him $20 in cash and told him not to call or come by again until he’d done thirty meetings in thirty days, and gave him the phone number of a guy who agreed to walk him through the process.

The girlfriend confided in me he had a court date for driving on a suspended license. Yesterday, I surfed the court docket to see what happened. The driving infraction was held over for another month.

At the bottom of the page, a domestic violence with injury report noted a new court date. I called the girlfriend.

An old story, and too sad. He’d taken money from her again, and had stopped trying to find work, spending his days at her house while she worked and finally, she learned he was cheating on her with his ex - and doing all kinds of dope.

She told him to leave. He grabbed her cellphone to keep her from calling for help and body-slammed her to the floor. She was terrified for her life. When she filed the report, the police told her he had six previous domestic violence convictions filed by his ex - the one he’s seeing on the side now.

She says she loves him, but she’s not stupid, she’s filing a protection order in the morning. I told her she was too smart, pretty, and sweet to allow any man in her life who wasn’t going to worship her. She seems to think she’s not all that.  She is.

I’ve wanted grandkids so long. Now I’m sort of glad I don’t have them. I’m going to help this girl if I can. Say a prayer for her. She needs it.

Tags: Life, Love, Relationships // Add Comment »

The internet is always touted as such a big place, but like the real world, it consists of neighborhoods.

There was a time when families lived within the walls of one big house, from grandma to the young married grandchild with spouse and great-grandbaby on the way.

As fortunes grew, the single house gave way to several, but all in the same town, and then all in the same state, and finally, mostly in the same country.

Once the web was born, new kinds of communities sprang up, and it was inevitable that multiple generations would join similar sites. Myspace and Facebook are recent entries into the social networking sites, built with an eye toward millions of members.

Before they came, there were others, and I was a participant in several of these until a couple of years ago, when I was asked to go away on the grounds of space invasion.

Or maybe not. Maybe the person who felt I was encroaching was just the messenger. Maybe all of the other members requested the message be delivered. Maybe they hated me, or what I had to say, or my age, or just decided I wasn’t worthy.

I was, in a word, devastated. I don’t think I realized how much until I revisited the site a few months ago and remembered how much I loved the interaction.

You always knew that, whatever you wrote, there would be someone along to question every thought. It made you think about your motives, the words you chose, and the very meaning of life.

I reread many of the articles I’ve written over the years and have decided that I used to be a better writer. Nowadays, I write things here that I hope won’t embarrass my family and friends.

Maybe it’s time to write without considering those people, to write what I think, or maybe not. Maybe life hasn’t changed so much after all.

In those long ago times when generations shared one house, the mantra of every family was “what will the neighbors say?”

Perhaps not saying what you really think on the web is not unlike those times when Grandma kept her lips thinned and zipped on every topic except the weather.

Tags: Family, Internet, Relationships, Writing // Add Comment »

A few hours after I spoke with the young woman, a young man called me with the same request. The woman told me her name was Terry Falconi.

When I spoke to the young man, I advised him I’d already discussed the issue with both his co-worker and the bank. Out of curiosity, I asked him his name.

He told me he was Terry Falconi. I laughed. “Well, Terry, old boy, I spoke with the female with whom you appear to share a name this morning. How about finding me a supervisor?”

“We have no supervisor available at the moment. I really need to speak to the primary account holder. Have him contact us as soon as possible.”

Like his female name sharer, this Terry Falconi also neglected to give me a number where my husband might contact him.

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 Three times a week I receive the same call

8:01 AM -  Computer activated voice announces: “We’re calling to verify activity on your debit card, Please hold for the next available representative.”

Blaring symphony music ensues for ten minutes as I drift back to sleep, cursing bank, finally followed by person’s voice. Live person, yay!

“May I please speak to <husband’s name>?”

“This is his wife. He’s in Afghanistan.” I know the drill by now, as this is the tenth phone call in as many weeks. “If the activity is from a base in Afghanistan, the debits are valid.”

“I can’t divulge that information to anyone but the primary account holder, I need to speak to him.”

Grouchy from lack of sleep me foolishly tries to insert logic and common sense into dialogue. “He’s not here, he’s in Afghanistan.”

Idiot on other end says, and I am sure by now she hasn’t got a frigging clue about the frigging WAR in frigging Afghanistan, or she would not reply with, “Please ask him to call us at his earliest opportunity.”

“He can’t call you, he’s in Afghanistan.” I am now becoming more than a little irritated.

Illiterate teenaged booby head on the other end insists, “He must call us as soon as possible.”

I try again. “He’s in Afghanistan,he can’t call you. Why don’t I fax you a copy of my power of attorney?”

“I must speak to the primary account holder in person. I cannot accept a power of attorney.”

Last nerve reached, I try one more time. “There’s a federal law that says you have to accept a power of attorney,  go ask your supervisor about the Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act. It was invented for this very Catch 22 situation. Better yet, let me speak to your supervisor.”

“I am the supervisor,ma’am.”

At this point I erupt, “Do not close my husband’s debit card. If you do, he won’t have access to cash, his cash, and I’ll be forced to call my congressman, every sleazy tabloid who needs a filler, and the most ruthless ambulance chasing attorney I can find to sue your company. I’ll be giving them your name, and then I’ll use Ancestry.com to trace your family tree, at which time I will locate your mother and call her at eight o’clock in the morning and ask her to please explain to you that there is a frigging WAR in Afghanistan.”

Long silence. “Oh.” Another long silence, “I still need to verify the purchases with the primary account holder. Please ask your husband to contact us as soon as possible.”

I hang up and call the bank, and once I unleash my sleep deprived venom on the hapless woman in card services and hang up the phone, I realize the illiterate booby never gave me a contact number.

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I can’t be the only one who has noticed the mysterious changing due dates of their credit cards. One of my cards was due on Jan 11th last month, and then again on on February 4th. Yesterday I learned that the same card has a due date of February 17th - the second payment due during this calendar month.

If you’re late - they raise your interest rate. Oh wait, they raised their interest rates already -  up to 23.9 percent over the prime rate - plus there’s that nasty $39 late fee.

Someone told me the other day their bank charges $50 for an overdraft. A discussion among the other people waiting in line with me elicited complaints from a woman living on social security that her credit card was paid by automatic draft.

A year ago, the change in payment dates caused her to bounce 3 checks. Another woman said her water heater blew up and she used her credit card to buy a new one - only to find she was going to have to pay 26% interest on the balance after she was one day late on her “new” payment date.

It’s a scam. The banks want our tax money to bail them - bank officers who live a life of unheard of luxury have been doing so for years on the backs of working people who are no longer making a living wage - forced to use credit cards to obtain vital things like food after massive layoffs.

Now the fees have raised, the tricky payment dates have sent more and more people already living on the edge into panic.  With no hope of paying, many give up - just as so many people have given up on ever paying the doubling of mortgage payments on homes now worth as little as thirty percent of what they paid for them.

Despair - the lack of hope to EVER get ahead - has led to a national depression - not just fiscal - but physical and emotional.

Nationalize the banks and let the PEOPLE regulate the fees. Nationalize the banks and let the PEOPLE regulate salaries and benefits of those who run them.

Nationalize the banks and let the PEOPLE decide fair interest rates.

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My husband gave me a Kindle for Christmas, which I opened early, of course. I was surprised by how much I like it, although disappointed by some of the lacking features the next one will probably have.

He has made several rather pointed comments about how much it costs to feed the thing, unfortunately.

Should any of my readers wish to contribute to the voracious appetite of the thing, do send me a five dollar Amazon gift certificate, unless of course, you have recently won the powerball, in which case I hope you will be a bit more generous.

Tags: Books // Add Comment »