So, this morning I woke up at about 6.30am thinking about the job I was fired from nearly six months ago. This is not an uncommon occurence. For those of you who have been following this blog, this was the post that I wrote shortly after the firing...
Looking at it, I was surprised how calm and reasonable my thoughts were. I suppose I had been in the middle of reading several self-help books at the time and somehow the positivity and reassurance that such books are renowned for was becoming part of my everyday vernacular (not a bad thing I suppose). But I still woke up this morning feeling a little bit like a discarded morning poo. Sure it was a relief at the time, but it was also a pretty shitty experience and one that has had a lasting impact on me emotionally (whether or not it has had a lasting impact on my career remains to be seen). How have I felt about it? I've felt angry, livid, relieved, mildly upset, inadequate, worthless and terribly, terribly sad. Sometimes I've felt all these things at exactly the same time which makes for a rather upset stomach and for a rather confused mind. Sometimes I have wallowed, like a pig in the mud of my own despair. Other times I have risen grandly above it all like a phoenix rising from the ashes of defeat, trumpeting a clarion call of acceptance and transcendence. It's six months on and I haven't figured it out. It'll be six years before I do. THINGS I NOW KNOW... 1. It still hurts. It probably always will. But it hurts less now than it did then. 2.Life goes on. 3. I'm still working, doing what I love. 4. It wasn't all my fault but I had a part to play in it. GOOD THINGS HAVE COME OUT OF IT... 1. One of the demos I wrote for that show have attracted the attention of big producers who I have met as a result which may lead to future work. 2. Some of the musical themes were instrumental in discovering the heart of another song that I was having trouble writing for another project (that's The Wicker Husband for those of you who know about it). 3. I've learnt to ask more questions, to dig deeper into what people really want (or think they want!). 4. I've learnt to find out who is pulling the strings before getting involved in a project. 5. I got an agent. The ultimate blessing, who can take alot of these questions on themselves and who are there to promote my interests. 6. I met some lovely people who I consider to be good friends as a result. BAD THINGS HAVE COME OUT OF IT.... I question my own ability to do my job far more often than I used to. There was always a voice in the back of my head at the start of every new show that used to say: "Maybe you can't do this. Maybe this time you won't be able to come up with any good songs or music. But hey, you always have before, so try not to worry so much!" Now this voice has been replaced by a louder voice which says: "Maybe you can't do this. Maybe this time you won't be able to come up with any good songs or music. But hey, you always have before... oh wait. No you haven't. There was that one time, remember? REMEMBER??!" I have to remind myself that actually the work was good, it just wasn't what they wanted. BUT OUT OF THOSE BAD THINGS OTHER GOOD THINGS HAVE ALSO COME OUT... For a while it affected my other collaborations. I became obsessed with the idea that I needed to have feedback in person in order to avoid misunderstandings etc... problems arising from this obsession resulted in a meeting with two of my dearest collaborators (Rhys Jennings and Charlie Westenra) in which I discovered how deep my insecurities had wormed themselves into my psyche. Essentially, our meeting turned into a tiny therapy session for me about how this particular experience had begun to colour all of my collaborations and that I shouldn't let it. Just because communication didn't work in that situation for whatever reason, it didn't mean that I was doing something wrong in my others (as a matter of fact ALL of my other collobrations have been incredibly successful so I must have been doing something right.) It then turned into a conversation about how we each prefer to communicate in our daily lives. It seems simple, but I would say that this is probably essential for all collaborations. How can you collaborate successfully with someone if you don't know how they like to communicate? Text? Email? In person? At what time? How quickly can you expect a response? Everyone has different answers to these questions and you need to know the answers. For example, Charlie loves to chat through things on the phone. I can't stand the phone. What was happening was Charlie was calling and I wasn't answering and that leads to frustration. Now I know that this is important to Charlie, I make more of an effort on the phone (sometimes I even phone her!). And she makes more of an effort to communicate by text and email. Interestingly I don't mind the phone as much as I used to... simply because the person on the other end of it knows that it isn't really my bag... simple understanding has led to a much happier collaboration. It was a conversation that also made me think about my weaknesses as a collaborator... MY NEMESIS: JASPER MOUNTBATTEN III It turns out, that like most of us, I have a very fragile ego. My girlfriend calls him "Jasper Mountbatten III." He is very demanding and ill prepared to accept criticism. He is a wilful child, prone to tantrums and childish rages. His worth is tied directly to external validation and praise. He gets extreme gratification when he is praised, and he becomes extremely hostile when his work is dismissed. The good thing that I have discovered about Jasper Mountbatten III is that he isn't very bright. Jasper can be tricked, led into the woods, led into a stick and box trap very easily and quickly. He's like a chimp, all instinct and no intelligence. This means that I can control him and over the last few months, as a result of the beating that Jasper has received, I have had the opportunity to practice keeping him under control alot more. I'm much better at it now. I recognise when Jasper is in control or is reaching for the controls and I can stop him before he does any damage. SO HOW DO I FEEL NOW? I'd like to say, I feel great. But I don't. I still feel upset, relieved, angry and terribly, terribly sad at the thought of what happened... but I've begun to wonder, actually... is it me who is feeling these things? ...or is it Jasper Mountbatten III? And anyway, Jasper needs to get in his box. I've got a score to write.
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How much should a composer/lyricist get paid? I thought I would write about this because when I was offered my first professional job as a composer/lyricist, I looked for information on the internet as to what sort of rate I should charge. Unfortunately, the search engines returned entries that were less than useful, only citing writing agreements in percentages of royalties in far flung New York. For a composer/lyricist just starting out, these percentages seemed so far removed from my reality that actually they were less than useless. I’m sure you were hoping (as I was) that this blog would tell you exactly what to charge for your services, how much royalty to demand in percentage, but the truth of the theatrical industry is far more complicated than a set fee. I will give you some examples of some fees that I have received in my career later in this blog which I hope you will find useful. If you do not have an agent then you will be negotiating your own contracts. It is an unfortunate truth that until your work starts coming to wider notice (and earning more substantial fees!) agents will not be interested in representing you. As soon as you can get one I recommend you do. It's nice to have someone who has your back at the negotiating table and in your career because as a writer we spend alot of time alone! The aim of this blog is to give you some tools to be able to negotiate a contract that is FAIR to both yourself and the party that you are working for. I capitalise FAIR because it really is the most important word in this article. An ideal of fairness should be at the heart of all your negotiations, because if people don’t think they are being fairly treated then they will be less inclined to do their best work. So... you’ve just received your first contract through the post and you’ve either thought: 1. Wow! How generous. They really are paying too much, maybe I should say I don’t need so much? 2. What a pile of bullshit! Do they think I can live on peanuts? If the former, then NEVER ask for less because they wouldn't offer it if they couldn't afford it and I guarantee this will offset the jobs where you can't be paid as much. Besides, the person paying you clearly thinks your work is to be highly valued. If you go back and say that you aren’t worth that much, you are effectively saying, ‘My work isn’t that great.’ Which : a) Probably isn’t true. They wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. b) Makes you’re prospective employer worry that they’ve picked the wrong person. If the latter, take a deep breath, count to ten and then consider what is FAIR. To help you consider the fairness of the proposal you should definitely ask yourself, colleagues and trusted friends (and potentially your potential employer) the following questions: 1. What is the workload and if I take this job on the amount offered, will I be able to pay my rent etc. and live to a reasonable standard throughout the working period? This doesn’t necessarily mean that the fee from this particular job should cover all these expenses, but you should have other means by which you can subsidise it, which won’t be affected by this extra work. If the answer to this question is a resounding NO, then you should approach the producer and tell them. It may be that they can find some more money for you. If they are unable to be flexible then you should think seriously about whether you should take the job. I would never recommend the risk of going into personal debt in order to work on a production. The only exception is where the work is your idea, and owned and financed by YOU. 2. What is the current status of the company/producer you will be working for? This is a really important question to consider. A young, exciting company just starting out will not be able to pay you as much as an established producing house. But there can be huge advantages to getting in on the ground floor of a talented, hungry company. Think of companies like Kneehigh, Complicite and Les Enfants Terribles now substantial theatrical powerhouses putting on big budget productions. All started from a small fringe troupe. And in most cases the composer that was with them in the early days is still with them now. I have followed this particular route myself with a few companies that (after years of battling away, touring and making work) receive regular funding. I have been fortunate to receive a considerable amount of work through these companies and their connections. In the case of one, I worked for free as part of a collective ensemble (ALL of whom were under the same agreement) but we quickly moved on to being able to pay ourselves. In the case of others I worked for a fee that I considered to be less than I would have liked to charge but was able to live with the wage because I was making enough money through a day job to cover my expenses (see Question One) and considered the advantages of working with talented newcomers to outweigh any economic difficulties. In both cases this decision has repaid itself countless times over as these companies have grown and continue to hire me to work for them. So consider it carefully. In particular consider the quality of the work a young company is producing, if it excites you as a creative, go for it. If it does not, perhaps let it slide. A larger producing house will be able to offer more in terms of payment, but perhaps less in terms of future opportunity. It may be that they work with you again if you do a great job for them, but remember the pool of composers/lyricists they can offer to is much larger and there are some big name writers out there that they could potentially pull in. So consistency of future work is not something they may be able to offer. What they can offer (in addition to the economics) is the ability to get your work out in front of a huge audience. The larger regional theatres can pack in up to 2000 people per performances. That’s 2000 people hearing your work every night for (perhaps) a lengthy tour. If the work is good then this could be really big for you and could lead to other producing houses seeing/liking your work and offering you jobs as a result. So consider whether the trade off is fair. My advice with larger producing houses however is that if the amount you are being offered is just not workable for you, it will not do you any harm to come back to them and ask for what you believe is a reasonable amount for your time. Remember it’s not about being greedy, it’s about being realistic and FAIR. 3. What are the other creatives being paid? You will need to find out this from the producer, some will be unwilling to tell you, but some will let you know. Once you know this, consider the amount of work you will be doing in comparison to them (essentially in hours put in) then see if you think that is FAIR. If you don’t think it is, go back to the producers with your reasons (often they won’t necessarily understand the amount of work that goes into your material, it’s up to you to explain to them how it works. You will be doing yourself and musical theatre writers everywhere a great service!). In fact this is where it will pay to meet some other creatives and talk to them about what they actually do (lighting designers, sound designers, producers, choreographers, directors, musical directors etc). Because unless you have at least some idea about what amount of work the others are going to be doing you won't be able to figure out what is fair for you. 4. Should I work for a profit-share fringe production? Whilst I have nothing against the profit-share model (it can be a useful way of getting your work seen) the realities of profit-share can be deceptive. In my opinion, the only companies that should be doing profit-share are at the beginning of their life and really, for them to survive, any money that they earn from their show should be poured back into the company so they can continue making better quality work. It is my view that if you work for a profit-share production you should be offered an ongoing and irrevocable stake in the work of the company. The first company I worked with (Paper Balloon Theatre) created our first show on the understanding that any money earned would go towards our next production and as soon as we did a production that allowed us to pay ourselves then we would. Paper Balloon is still working as a company today and I still write all the music and lyrics for our work. It’s also worth considering, if you are the instigator (as many writers are) of a profit-share production, am I being FAIR to those who are giving their time to present my work. Am I keeping them informed of the realities of how much they will be getting? Should I offer them a stake in the company? All important things to consider? It is important to note that of all of my actor friends who have taken part in profit share productions, some have gotten agents off the back of them, some have been seen by casting directors but not one of them has seen a penny of the profit. Usually there is none. But those actors weighed up the advantages and considered it FAIR and that is up to them. 5. Should I work for a flat fee or royalty? Most of the work that I have done has been a mixture of flat commissioning fee alone or flat fee plus royalties. As you get on in your career, ideally you should work for both. I believe you should be paid a fee for your work. Sometimes this will be an advance against royalties (in commercial theatre) sometimes it will be yours to keep on top of royalties. I have been paid fees ranging from £200 through to £20,000 and everywhere in between for a single job. More established composers get paid much more but I am still making a name for myself and the companies I am working with are taking a chance on an unknown composer and are helping my work get out there, therefore I consider it FAIR to me to be paid less. Some people will disagree with me on this and say that I if I’m doing the same quality work then I should be paid the same. They are allowed to disagree, after all it is not them who needs to consider whether it is fair. I’ll give some examples of splits I have done which I have considered fair: a) Early career: £250 flat fee plus 3% perpetual royalty on net profit. I considered this FAIR because the show was by a talented young fellow with a fringe following and two young producers were involved. It was a one man show, easily tourable with small set and one tech guy. It was topical and booked for an Edinburgh Fringe run and a tour afterwards. I considered this fair because it actually was likely to make a profit (and it did) it would have an ongoing life (it has since been seen Off Broadway, in Europe and all over the UK), my work would get alot of attention and press (it has) and it was a young talented group of people with whom I hope to work in the future. And most importantly I was creatively excited by the work. Please note the word PROFIT here, this is an important word, if you can always gor for NET BOX OFFICE. Please note that PROFIT can end up being very little because operating costs in theatre are often high and shows can take a long time to recoup (meaning no profit for quite some time!). b) Mid career: £3000 flat fee plus 1% royalty in net box office. I considered this fair because it was a fairly big show going on a big tour, the royalty was on box office so I would get an earning regardless of profit. The flat fee was reasonable for the amount of work concerned. I would get the chance to work with brilliant creatives at the top of their game so it would be a brilliant learning curve. My work would get seen by a huge range of people and it would get national press coverage. For someone at this stage in my career I considered that to be a FAIR exchange. b) Later career: £20,000 flat fee plus 3.5% royalty in NET BOX OFFICE or 7.5% of Net Weekly Operating Profit. This was for a commercial production running in a commercial theatre for an extensive run. Please note that the big old fee there was not paid out in one lump sum! Rather, it was paid out in a number of installments to help us develop and rewrite the show from it's initial offering and was paid against the potential future 1st class license for the UK and West End. In addition, £6,000 of this was paid as an advance against future royalties. It's important to note that in this case this fee was only toward writing and rewriting time, any workshops, tests etc. were paid at an additional day rate. Royalty wise, in commercial theatre in the UK there are a couple of different standards that should be adhered to: 1. 6% of Net Box Office (NBO) - 2% each for book, music and lyrics (rising after 110% recoupment) 2. 15% of Net Weekly Operating Profit (NWOP) 5% each for book, music and lyrics (rising after 110% recoupment) Of the two, NBO is usually the more favourable by a considerable amount. But depending on the theatre you are in and the risk of the new show, producers often choose to opt for NWOP while they are initially recouping their investment. However, if the producer is insisting on NWOP it is paramount to insist on a Minmum Weekly Guarantee (MWG). What this amount is will depend on the size of the theatre you are going into and also the calculated operating profit potential. 6. Should I charge an hourly/day rate? This is completely up to you. Usually a producing house will pay you what they can. Problems can occur if this doesn’t match up to your hourly rate. If you add to that fact the idea that as a composer/lyricist we are essentially always working (your subconscious will undoubtedly be working on a lyrical problem whenever you are on “holiday”). What has been useful to me is to consider what a minimum daily amount I think is fair. For everyone this will be different according to their expenses. For these purposes I will disclose what my current minimum daily rate is, remembering that this will alter with experience and what you consider to be FAIR. At the moment when I am considering a job I look at it in terms of the number of days it will take me to complete it (essentially to be at the studio actually writing and working). And if the job works out at less than £150 a day (10am - 6pm) with one hour lunch and two fifteen minute breaks. Then I would probably ask for more. Remember that I am fairly new to the game, having had a number of regional tours, won some competitions and written music/lyrics for approximately 30 shows (not full scale musicals). This rate allows me to cover my expenses and to live in a manner which is acceptable to me and is therefore FAIR. Any producers out there, beware that as my experience increases my fee will increase! So... I hope that was at least a little bit useful for some of those just starting out. Of course I would always welcome a lot more discussion on this and also advice, be sure that I will post more as I continue along my merry way and inevitably learn that everything I've just written is wrong. I am living now with a baby, I have been named the official God Bear of the said child. Below are my thoughts so far...
10 reasons why having a baby in your flat can improve your life: 1. It lessens the rent. I'm assuming baby will begin contributing as soon as she can form the word 'flatshare' 2. If you need a hug baby is pretty much always up for it. 3. If you want to make up ridiculous songs that rival the current lyrical heights of the UK Top Ten Official Chart, baby provides an endless source of inspiration: 'Baby, I'm gonna take you out.' 'Baby, don't cry.' 'Baby, baby, baby.' Justin Bieber (or Justin Bieber's more adult songwriters) EAT IT. 4. Baby provides a captive audience for said song material, and it's the only time in a musicians life where the audience falling asleep during one of your efforts actually means that your performance has been right on the money. 5. Baby makes you feel better about eating your entire body weight in take-aways, after all, Baby spends 80% of their time eating. 6. Baby makes you feel better about all that work that you didn't do this morning. They literally haven't worked a day in their lives. 7. Baby reminds you of all the things that your parents must have gone through. Appreciate that shit. 8. Baby reminds you to take your time and look out the window at the world. Parts of it ain't so bad, and we get to live in it. 9. You've always got a friend around. Baby doesn't judge you on what you look like (they can't see well yet), baby doesn't hate you because you haven't called them back (baby cannot yet operate mobile phone), baby will never compare you to other people who are more qualified than you (baby's ability to compare is currently under developed). 10. Now you can talk to the baby and pretend that you're not talking to yourself. A cautionary poem that I have written... enjoy!
FACTory By Darren Clark Thomas Fitzjames used to lie all the time And he is the subject of this little rhyme He lied to his granddad, he lied to his mum, He lied when he stood or when sat on his bum His lies kept on coming until one day you see The CLAWS took Thomas to FACTory. Where children and walls were all dressed in gray And they were made to tell lies all day every day They worked them in shifts, the lying recruits Putting lies into bottles and bottles down chutes Thomas was also a curious boy And finding things out was greatly enjoyed He thought to himself ‘what would happen if I Put a truth in a bottle instead of a lie?’ So Thomas, ever the curious chap Wrote ‘I’m a boy’ and screwed on the cap And he reached out his arm with the bottle… The alarm started going, the FACTory turned red And a searchlight soon pointed at Thomas’ head The CLAWS quickly caught him and took him away He was certain that this would be his final day But the claws dropped him down on a hard metal floor In a dark shadowed room that he’d not seen before Before him there loomed a mouth without tooth And inside it the infamous Tongue of Truth Inside he was put, the tongue started to roll And soon Thomas Fitzjames had been swallowed whole Down, down he tumbled, down cold tubes of glass Now and then slowly and sometimes quite fast In darkness and shadows he then hit the ground And rubbing his eyes he tried looking around “What is this place” said Thomas, alone But himself didn’t answer, instead came a groan “This is the place where truth comes to die And sits gathering dust just like you or like I.” The speaker was ancient and wrinkled and bowed With sagging old legs and a mottled old nose “All of these bottles are filled with what’s true Words from the heart deep inside of you” Thomas Fitzjames followed her through the sea Of discarded bottles and true hopes and dreams Till they came to a house lit with shimmers of light That stood out from encroaching shadows of night “What’s that?” Thomas thought in his mind “That’s the Little House of Truth, won’t you come on inside?” Thomas opened the door to warm yellow hue And inside there were pictures of people he knew His mum and his dad and his brother and sis All of the family he had now come to miss, He held himself back, with tears in his eyes Thinking “What have I lost by telling these lies?” “How will I ever get back to the start?” She said “All that depends on the heart” “In the depths of the FACTory, withered and black Like a barely live corpse of a shriveled black rat Is a heart that’s been shattered and broken as well If it can still live, well no one can tell” “To the heart you must go and sing it awake Though the trip won’t be an easy one to make" So Thomas set off from across the dust bottle sea Determined to set the broken heart free Through canyons and valleys of hard twisted shards He counted the miles and he counted the yards The FACTory was larger than he could have thought Larger by far than what he’d been taught Then after days he reached the black soul A place thick with blackness, a forgotten hole Wires and tubes ran into it’s black pulp A slackened carcass, of battered hulk And Thomas walked up to the broken heart And he could see that it was fairly near falling apart The cracks running deep on it’s hard dry skin Desperate for something other than lies to be in And Thomas stood up, in the prime of his youth Took a deep breath and whispered the truth… The heart started roaring, like a cannon or drum And FACTory shook with a bone shaking hum The CLAWS all collapsed and the children ran free And that was the end of FACTory. And Thomas Fitzjames went home to his mum And he no longer lied when he sat on his bum He told only the truth to his family and friends And promised his heart that he’d not lie again |
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