This past week, I finally had the chance to see Kraftwerk perform. I attended the second night at the United Palace Theatre, a restored movie palace that serve as a church and occasional concert venue. In its ornate lobby is a massive, four manual organ console. One could easily imagine it being part of the encore, but Kraftwerk have moved on from such low-tech methods of sound. There is something old world about Kraftwerk that is suited to such an ornate space, but all the retro glitz of the palace fell away once the lights dimmed. All there was to see were the four podiums, their operators, and the movie-theater sized projection screen displaying a 3D wonderland of visuals.

The visuals, like much of Kraftwerk’s music, are often subtle and simple: Kraftwerk’s robotic doppelgängers performing their calisthenics routine, a sheet of iridescent green undulating numbers, a virtual drive on the Autobahn, a ghostly TEE train traveling on rails of light, and occasionally key phrases from the song lyrics. The performers were secondary to the visuals, and by design. Even before co-founder Florian Schneider left the group, the platonic ideal of a Kraftwerk show was for robots to perform the songs via telepresence. The closest they ever came was having their robots dance on stage during their titular song, while the band performed the song backstage (or just played a recording) while enjoying a schnapps. As long as it sounds right, it could be anyone up there: man as machine, as replaceable components.

Which leads to the dark undercurrent that many miss when discussing the music of Kraftwerk. There’s an undertone of ambivalence to their oft-celebrated songs about technology. The altered lyrics to “Computer World” which they started using in the 90s bring this ambivalence to the forefront, resonating all the more in the post-Snowden era:

Interpol and Deutsche Bank
FBI and Scotland Yard
CIA and KGB
Control the data, memory [1]

There’s a double-edged sword cutting through their technological songs. “Computerlove” wistfully calls to mind the potential of connection from the information age, and the loneliness of staring into our screens. In concert, the tripped out glitch visuals of “It’s More Fun to Compute / Home Computer” are as overwhelming as spiraling into an Internet K-Hole. Then, there’s “Radioactivity,” originally a paen to broadcast radio, recast in the 90s as an Anti-Nuclear anthem. The most recent iteration adds lyrics in Japanese about the Fukushima disaster. It’s a stark contrast between the joy of Kraftwerk’s songs about motion and travel. “Autobahn,” “Trans-Europe Express,” and (of course) “Tour De France” are bouncy and ebullient. They relish in the freedom and expansive nature of travel and motion, and their accompanying 3D visuals drove the contrast home.

Kraftwerk’s live shows prove the concept of “multimedia” as performance. The visuals, the music, and the lyrics all play off each other. Their interaction is calculated and controlled, right down to the occasional 3D trick to amaze the audience—the needle tip of a space probe poking into the room caused the whole theater to gasp. While the music stands up on its own, adding the live experience only helps communicate the ideas in Kraftwerk’s vision. A Man-Machine may be a super-human being, but what are they giving up in the process? Are they depersonalized like “The Model”? Kraftwerk provides no answers, except perhaps riding a bike. They don’t need to. They just need to provide music to feed your head. If you can dance to it (and you can), all the better.

The former CEO of eMusic thinks the price of music is too high. David Pakman has some stats on his side, and it's worth checking them out. The numbers make an almost convincing case, but the conclusion he draws reads as “We'll make it up in volume.” That scares me as a music fan. The cost of streaming services is a huge problem. After my screed against streaming music, I've decided to give music streaming one more chance to impress me. While it's early days in the experiment yet, I can't say any of the services I've tried give me a compelling value proposition for $10 a month. Half of that might sway me. It's a fraction of the $60 to $100 I spend per month on music in one form or another. ¹

There are three things that worry me. First is that streaming royalties, and streaming profits are borderline non-existent. While digital distribution of music as download is almost free for labels and indies, alike, streaming has serious overhead costs, and the more people who use it, the more it will cost unless they can pony up for a sweetheart deal à la Netflix and Comcast. If they can barely afford to keep the music playing, and barely afford to pay the artists, cutting the price in half isn't going to help, even if the labels allow it.

Second, it's the people on the technology side, not the creative side, who are leading the charge about music being overpriced. I'm reminded of ex-Indie Rocker Tim Quirk, now with Google Music, who claimed “[Y]ou can't devalue music”. He's out of the music-making game, not recording, performing, or worrying about whether he'll be ever see a royalty check because his album hasn't made back the advance. The technology people make money when the company they work for makes money. They make money when more people give them money to use the service, or at least to buy ads. The last person to see the last of the money is the artist.

This isn't new. The artist typically got a pittance even when music was sold on Big Black Discs. Unless they became a Top 40 sensation, multiple times running, or at least managed to build a large enough fan base to sustain them, most music acts keep the money coming in through performance or licensing deals. And the label will take a cut of that, too. David Pakman talks a lot about consumers, but the word “artist” or “band” does not appear a single time in his piece. The supply of music is taken as a given, and unfortunately, he really can get away with that line of thinking. People aren't going to stop making music if the money dries up. It still comes off as callous.

What worries me most is that the streaming services and the download services alike are competing against free. Free is very dangerous to compete with. YouTube is an insanely popular way to listen to music, and while it does do revenue sharing for ads, it's not everywhere and for all artists. Unless you're Psy, you're probably not getting anything more than the price of a cup of coffee. Naturally, YouTube is popular among the teenage demographic, the ones who typically don't have much money to spend on music anyway. Even the ad-supported free tiers on the various music streaming services are competition to the paid version, and I don't even think that stopping users from skipping songs, and inserting one minute ads after each track would drive paid growth.

Music, like every other form of art, is an inelastic good. The demand is perpetual, and constant. It's just that music consumers have so many ways to get what they want, and many of those ways are a lot cheaper than $9.99 a month. Because of this, it behaves in an elastic manner, but an artist who is willing to play the game can still find a way to make money. That's the foundation of the relationship between labels and artists—if the independent hustle is too much, a label can take over some, or all, of the business aspects for a price. Part of why labels set streaming rights prices so high is to cover their expenses and provide their end of the bargain with their artists. (Though a lot of it is, yes, gratuitous pocket-lining.)

Something will have to break before we see things level out again, and it looks like streaming music might be it, if it can't start making money. Downloads may be losing ground to streams, but only because of price. Somewhere a balance is tipping, and I don't know what it will take to right it again. I worry that when it finally tips, it's going to take a lot of the artists I admire with it. That's why I'm doing what I can to support them with my money, directly when possible. Unfortunately, most people don't have that much of a connection to the music they listen to. If whatever way people opt to get their music in the future can forge that connection, we may be in business.

And that is a tough row to hoe.

Unlike an increasing number of people, I don’t subscribe to any streaming music services. I’ve tried them from time to time, but the idea of paying for music I don’t get to keep does not appeal to me in the slightest. If I wanted to be a freeloader and listen to ads between songs, I’d just tune in to any streaming terrestrial radio station I can get online. It’s going to sound better than turning on any of the crappy AM/FM radios around me. Still, so many people I know, passionate music lovers, are streaming for most of their music listening. Buying albums (even digital albums) is feeling somewhat anacronistic.

Talk of shitty streaming royalties aside, it’s that streaming doesn’t fit with my music consumption habits. I’m the sort of music fan who, nine times out of ten, would prefer to listen to an album in full, rather than just disparate songs. While you can listen to full albums with many streaming services, it’s clear that they’re geared more for a casual, radio-like method of music consumption. I’d rather spend time in iTunes, making sure I have the right albums on my phone than burn through a data plan, or hog the wifi at the office. Besides, streaming doesn’t help me when I’m on the subway and can’t get a signal anyway. Sure, you could download stuff if you think to do it ahead of time, but it’s a kludge.

Ownership of my music library, is important to me. It gives me control. Even the digital files that comprise the vast, and growing, majority of my music collection are my files. Apple can’t take away all the music I’ve bought, at least not since dropping DRM for music in 2009. I could still lose my files in a hard drive crash, fire, or other disaster, but they’re no more fragile than LPs or CDs. They’re certainly less fragile than cassette tapes. And I back up my digital music library religiously. I’d probably save money, since I’ve been known to buy anywhere from $20 to $50 worth of iTunes music per month, but I feel like I’d get less for my money.

What are people seeing that I’m not? I’ve discussed the issue with Andrew Marvin on multiple episodes of Crush On Radio. For him, streaming is convenient and a great way to discover new music. I’ve already outlined how the convenience of streaming is inconvenient for me, but discovery is an interesting problem. I tend to find new music through either seeing bands open at shows, browsing music review sites, or hearing about it directly from friends. Streaming might make life easier.

Problem is, when I last experimented with streaming music, I wasn’t terribly impressed with the discovery aspect. This was because discovering new music relied on using streaming like a radio station or jukebox, and not in the album-oriented way I listen to music. A streaming service could be a good backup for when I’m bored of what’s on my phone, or interested in dipping my toe into a new artist without putting out the cost of an album. I just don’t see that happening terribly often, and if I was going to stream with this use case in mind, iTunes Radio would be all I need.

I’m certain that I’m an outlier in how I get my music. Streaming music services fit the consumption patterns of the majority. That’s their strength, but their weaknesses overlap neatly with how I choose to listen to music. I’ll stick with paying $9.99 or so for albums of digital files, scrounging through the stacks at used record stores, and spending hours rebuilding the playlists on my iPhone so I have a regular selection of fresh music and evergreen favorites to choose from when I need something to listen to. So be it. The kids can have their streams, just keep them off my lawn.

It seems like yesterday when I wrote about the passing of Alan Myers, DEVO’s Human Metronome, though it was only eight months ago. Alan’s passing was a shock, but it paled in comparison to the news that broke last week. Bob Casale, better known as “Bob 2,” suddenly died from heart failure. In many ways, Bob 2 is often the forgotten member of the band. He’s not the face of the band like Mark, or the mouthpiece like his brother Jerry. He doesn’t get the spotlight like lead guitarist Bob Mothersbaugh (Bob 1). Yet, he was integral to the DEVO sound, whether creating the iconic, geometric riff to DEVO’s cover of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” providing the synth textures in DEVO’s electronic-focused songs, or his occasional vocal roles.

Ten years ago this summer will be my anniversary of seeing DEVO in concert for the first time. I considered it to be a lucky break, then—my favorite band on a rare reunion show. Even as old men, they put on a better show than most bands I’d seen before or since, and they only got better with each subsequent show. I saw DEVO six times in all, six more times than I ever expected. At the last two shows: a complete performance of their 1980 album Freedom of Choice, and a show to promote their new album Something for Everybody, Bob 2 had a chance to take the spotlight. In the former show, he delivered the blistering vocal bridge to “Mr. B’s Ballroom,” and in the latter, a solo line in the new song “What We Do.” Each moment was a highlight of the show, but there are more wonderful moments: Bob bouncing in time to Jerry’s bass opening to “Mongoloid,” his speedy switch from keys to guitar in a performance of “Shrivel-Up,” the key change at the end of “Going Under…”

I met Bob 2 briefly after a show in New York City, sheepishly handing him my copy of In The Beginning Was The End, the bizarre pseudoscientific book that was an early influence on DEVO. He was surprised. “Oh, wow! You have the book,” he said, taking my Sharpie and signing an understated “Bob 2” on the reflective cover. On the inside, his brother and his bandmates had each signed their names years before. After he signed, I took the book back, shook his hand, and walked away star-struck to wrap the book back up and put it in my backpack. It’s sitting in a box, in storage, with a scrap of yellow suit from Bob 2’s pant leg that I got ahold of at my second ever DEVO show in 2005.

Though I was at work on that terrible Tuesday, my mind was not. I spent most of the day listening to the DEVO discography, and commiserating with other DEVO fans in various places online. In August, there are plans for a DEVO fan convention in Cleveland, the first one since 2010. I attended in 2008, but in 2009, the organizers brought out Bob 2, who not only did a Q/A session, but was gracious enough to cook lunch for a small army of DEVO fans. How many members of how many bands would cook for their fans?

Jerry mentioned in Bob’s LA Times obituary that DEVO was planning a 40th anniversary Summer tour, performing songs from what fans call the “Hardcore” era, songs written from 1974 to 1977, before DEVO had a record contract. There were other things happening under the DEVO banner too, but all of that might be over now. I’ve lost a hero, a key part of my favorite band, the band that changed my life. More importantly, Mark and Bob 1 have lost a friend and a band-mate. Jerry lost a brother. And all this loss has come too soon. I’m still trying to process it.

Michael Pilmer, DEVO’s archivist, is collecting donations for Bob’s funeral expenses. Please give.

Those who listen to Crush On Radio may know that I am somewhat meticulous about the metadata in my iTunes library. I make sure dates, artist names, and song titles are 100% correct. I try to get album art that’s at least 500×500 pixels. For titles in non-Roman writing system, I make sure to use the correct text. I use sort tags so that artists are sorted last name first (e.g.: David Bowie is under “B”). Even when I buy albums from iTunes, I still find myself tweaking the metadata just to get everything how I like it. The only part of my library that’s out of whack are my genre tags, and I doubt I’m the only one.

Part of this is a weakness of the ID3 metadata specification. The original specification limited you to a choice of only 80 pre-programmed genres, with an additional 46 in a later revision. Some of those pre-assigned genres weren’t even ones you’d be likely to use, except as a joke. ID3v2 changed the genre tag from a numeric value to a free-form text field, which is a blessing and a curse because of the second part of the problem. That is, music genres are exceedingly difficult to pin down.

Ask any passionate music fan about their favorite genre or genres of music, and you’ll be in for a graduate-level course in their passion. And that’s before you dive in to the various subgenres of music, in details that would overwhelm any sort of systematic organization in a store. For a passionate music fan, it’s not nearly as simple. Just look at this list of subgenres for Heavy Metal, itself a sub-genre of Rock music. And forget about using the iTunes genre images if you get really specific. And, if it’s not easily classifiable, odds are, in the iTunes Store it’s classified as “Alternative”. This is a limitation by design.

The latest version of the ID3v2 specification allows for any free text field, including Genre, to contain multiple values. However, player support for multiple genres is non-existent. Any solution is unlikely to come from the top down. Neither Apple, or the record labels are going to put a lot of thought into a detailed classification system, largely because it doesn’t affect how they do business. Even the MusicBrainz database doesn’t bother with Genre tags. It’s just up to us as music fans to decide what genre criteria we want to use—or if we even want to bother.