Radiohead’s new album “In Rainbows” available for free*! - Marketing in the New (new new) Digital Age

(*Well actually, 45p, but who’s counting)

If there’s anyone in the world right now who seems to completely understand the power of digital distribution, apart from Apple, it’s Radiohead. Practically speaking, what a brilliant marketing move.

This sort of story has its own legs. It promotes furious debate and discussion. It transcends the internet into the real world. It allows, nay, necessitates, the collection of a massive email mailing list - plausibly millions of fans and potential fans. Many people are going to be new to Radiohead but because the album’s free, will of course give it a whirl.

In short, there is no need for Radiohead to spend money to advertise, promote or do any of the things that normally need to happen in the real (or virtual) world to move units. And the in-store sales appear almost an afterthought for these guys nowadays.

Furthermore, record companies usually take a massive percentage of any normally signed artist’s sales, often leaving them with only a small percentage (I’ve heard 1 or 2% sometimes ) of the proceeds anyway. 45p might actually be more than Radiohead previously got from Parlophone. Again - a wise move.

They didn’t even need to (or appear to) go to much effort making the website look super (or even mildly) professional. As a huge fan of Radiohead’s music I’ve visited their pages from time to time particularly during the ”Kid A” phase, so I’m familiar with the idiosyncratic syntax and curious code that graces their website, but the page they used to accept my order for the new Radiohead album was still slightly odd and felt unofficial!

Anyway… no way that’s going to get in the way of new Radiohead music pouring into my eager ears. I downloaded it. I only paid £1.45 – yes as a fan I feel slightly ashamed, but to offset this I did tell a lot of mates to go and download it, many of whom have, so as I look at it, I did quite a lot of free promotion for Radiohead, because they are such nice chaps. Plus Thom Yorke downloaded it for free too ;).

That’s the practicalities for now.

From a philosophical point of view it brings into question the value of music to the listener and seriously highlights the over-pricing that I believe iTunes has promoted. Who says 79p (in the UK) for one song is the right price? Apparently the consumer, according to iTunes sales figures. It’s too much, I believe, even in comparison to physical CD units which are already overpriced. New chart-topping CDs usually sell for about £8, for on average 10-12 songs. Less than 79p per song. But you also get a CD that’s playable in most devices, CD quality music, a CD case and importantly, artwork. Plus sometimes there’s quite substantial bonuses such as DVDs. Granted, unless you’re talking about high-quality artists, a lot of songs can be “fillers”.

Back to the new Radiohead album, ”In Rainbows”. I believe, having not heard the second CD, that some of the first, “free” CD, is filler. Not easily said, because as I’ve mentioned I’m a massive fan. The album feels incomplete, too soft and mellow, uneventful even, and unbalanced. Radiohead, I believe, know what they’re doing. Usually they will put together a kick-ass combination to make an album feel complete. I suspect the non-free stuff on CD 2 has a few more rocking tunes like 15 Step and Bodysnatchers, the introductory 1-2 punch which account for my favourites from “In Rainbows”.

There’s some nice tunes, catchy melodies, interesting lyrics, but of all their albums except “Pablo Honey” this is the one I’d listen to the least. I remember hearing a replay of Radiohead’s classic Glastonbury set back in 1997 (I think) and then soon afterwards buying “OK Computer” and being so blown away and excited that, despite the time of night (around midnight when I started) I listened to it in total rapture from start to finish, twice. THIS was the music I’d always wanted to hear and had been missing for years. THIS was the future. “In Rainbows” first two tracks captures some of that excitement still (not bad going ten years on mind you) but doesn’t stand up, IMHO. Still, by any other band’s standards, a high-quality bunch of tunes delivered nicely. Though, ah, I feel I should talk about “10,000 Days” and Tool, who are another penultimate band for me, but I’ll save it for another thread. Then there’s my relatively recent attachment to Led Zeppelin… then there’s…

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Federer versus Sampras: He who laughs last...?

As a tennis fan - what did you think of this series of three matches?*
For my part, when I heard about this earlier in the year I was pretty excited. And nervous. Federer is to me the greatest tennis player to have lived. All I had to do to make this decision was watch Sampras and Federer's only professional match - Wimbledon back in 2001, where Federer, a young and incomplete player, faced the master of grass(ter) yet still looked the cooler player all round. Despite Sampras' characteristic nonchalance, Federer out-aced and soundly matched Sampras throughout then beat the Defending Champion in the fifth set.

Actually I think Federer had Sampras beaten earlier in the match - to me he looked like a winner throughout. Sampras was battling like a champ obviously, all credit to him, coming off some bad form earlier in the tournament. What really interested me was the manner that Federer actually beat Pete - i.e. at his own game - this really thrilled me to see. Because he can do it all. I think he actually enjoys emulating the game style of his opponents, that is - as he plays them in real-time! In Roland Garros, Federer looks like a different player - a clay-courter. That he's come acropper against the best ever clay-court player, Nadal, is merely unfortunate timing, just as is Nadal's remaining at number 2 and forever meeting and losing to Federer in Wimbledon. Like Nadal says jokingly but not that modestly - perhaps he is the best Number two player in history! I think both players will win the other's "home grounds" at some point, but I digress.

This Sampras vs Federer series of Asian exhibition matches, money and sponsorship aside, was a great idea for promoting excitement about the sport. I still really have a lot of time to watch the Master at work, but I have to agree that men's tennis in general has become a little bit of a one-man show of "Who can beat Federer?" - obviously when a player's that good, the big news becomes the times when he loses, as recently occurred in two matches in a row against David Nalbandian. That brings to mind - have you heard about the giant billboard of Nalbandian falling down near someone - I need to look that up on YouTube! Again I digress...

From the scorelines, match descriptions and player media briefings in the Asian seris, I can see some proof that the oldies - particularly a great oldie holding the record of Grand Slams, can hang tough with the current tennis generation. And in the case of their final match of the series, beat the world number one Roger Federer. Wow.

I haven't seen the match and shockingly even my tennis mates have failed to deliver on this front with any recordings ;) but as someone who believes Federer the greatest ever, I am surprised whilst at the same time realising that tennis at their level is always a matter of micro-scorelines and very small differences, and that exhibition matches are not in any way the "real thing" I would have thought a little bit of pride and ego creeps in!

For now, perhaps Sampras has the last word. And perhaps, as Federer described being "a bit surprised" he will focus a bit more next time! Slacker! Federer has said "I want to get him back"! Personally, while Sampras can still hold his own, I'd pay to see that!

*This article is based on the evidence I've read throughout the web - I want to actually SEE the evidence for myself - i.e. the whole series of three matches! YouTube here I come...

UPDATED:
Free to watch the Sampras Federer match?

I've not checked this site yet but will definitely be trying it out!: http://www.thetennischannel.com

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The Jarvis Nebulae Files - Part Two (other parts to follow)

© Duncan Wheeler 1997-2007

Here's a poem I wrote to commemorate a special event that happened to me last Sunday night:
The stars, the stars, the cars and the bars,
Twitching under my itchy palms
On the roof while looking afar
I made a fire that blew afar
It went into the highest stars
And made my heart begin to start
The stars, the stars, the cars and the bars,
Ha ha, Ha ha, to squish in a jar - don't laugh
For the stars, the stars, the cars and the bars
Nasty cross-dimensional travellers behind bars
Into the future and into the past - how bizarre
You'll never get me cos I'm Jarvis
I'll fill your craft with rotten tar and laugh Ha Ha!

I'm just a bit worried because, although it rhymes perfectly and in the most subtle and elegant way, the second verse just carried me away so much that I couldn't condense it into six lines to match the first verse. I1m sure you'll appreciate that talent such as mine cannot be defined by conventional writing rules, nor can it be cramped by horrible experiences - indeed, it seems to have blossomed.

You'll note my cleverly obtuse references to the UTUFO I sighted on the sickly underground journey, but they probably disguise the fact that I am still reeling somewhat from the event. I haven1t had a good night's sleep for a week now, and those "No Doze" tablets my caring neighbours keep recommending probably weren1t designed for someone with my superior physiology. Being entirely hairless is a sure sign of advanced evolution in the human species (since we will have clothes, heating and houses to protect us from the cold from now on and into the foreseeable future).

Not that I require the smallest shred of covering to remain warm and comfortable! You see, much to my neverending amazement at the wonder that is me, I discovered another undeveloped talent within myself when I rubbed my hands together on the roof of my house. Might I point out at this conjecture, that my roof is magnificently understated. Just as the house is magnificently understated. Just as I am magnificently understated. So understated is my house that in fact, after the doorbell has rung, I usually find visitors kindly waiting for me in the cellar, which is directly below the minimalist front porch. They often seem to have a quietly impressed and subdued look upon their faces. Indeed, when I offered a baked bean sandwich to the postman last Thursday, he was so awe struck by his surrounds that he ran upstairs, out the front door, and then did it again, twice, before eloping out the back window. Such behaviour is not unusual in my humble but striking abode. I am rather proud of the knife display hanging like a chandelier from the entrance hall ceiling.

To return to my tale of undiscovered talent, however, I was on the roof and as usual I was watching the neighbours dancing around the garden in their underwear. As I dreamed of chateaus, big gates with big black knobs on them, and really cute tea-cosies, the friction caused between my itchy palms set alight the thatched tiling. Fortunately next door were cooking over a bonfire so they didn1t notice my little outburst. I have noticed that cooking dinner for most seems to be an all-engrossing procedure. I personally take little fuss over it, having discovered a fantastic book by an old Antarctic explorer detailing the world's greatest baked beans recipes. You know, my household runs like a smoothly oiled laxative pill, is highly efficient and environmentally friendly - I have no waste because I eat everything. It is a real shame I am not hooked up to the council's sewage and water systems because if I were, my bills would be so small they would have to pay me!

The only disadvantage of not being connected to the Council's services, and the first time one has arisen, was that I could not put out the fire I had started. Not immediately, anyway. I stomped on it, I threw a towel over it, and I poured methylated spirits on it, then even soaked the towel in methylated spirits and threw it down upon the burning tiles in an effort to suppress the mighty flames. It was at that point that I felt the hand of God. Perhaps not God himself, maybe one of his proteges, maybe the aliens I had encountered in the underground envelope. It was remarkable all the same. It began to rain. It rained so hard my pants fell down under the weight of the water they'd absorbed. I wish I had checked out my neighbour's 19 year-old daughter in the garden next door at that point, but I was too busy trying not too slide down onto their woodpile along with my roof tiles and a plastic armchair.

It was with my hands wrapped around my chimney, my bare butt pointing towards the neighbours, and a small fire gradually falling off my roof into the neighbours' garden, that I discovered something incredibly profound about myself. Something that I had never dwelt upon before this absolutely clarifying event was thrust upon my weary shoulders. Something that the neurons firing commonly used pathways in my brain had been planning and coordinating based on years of experience. It had to be true, I realised: I like big breasts.

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The Jarvis Nebulae Files - Part One (other parts to follow)

© Duncan Wheeler 1997-2007

I was on my way back from a solo camping trip in the middle Highlands. I had been on the overland track for three days and somehow I kept passing the same bunch of Americans in their campsite on the shores of a lake. They must have been three steps ahead of me the entire time. I became sick of them laughing at me behind my back whenever I stumbled upon their camp every couple of hours (why they changed camp so often is beyond me) so I decided to head back to the car park, which amazingly was very close-by despite the fact that it had taken three days' steady walking to get to where I was. However, the real treat of my journey came on the trip home.

From the dusty window of my private compartment in the underground sonic bullet train connecting Hobart1s waterfront University to the Cradle Mountain Lodge, I noticed something quite unusual. Perhaps my usual habit of getting completely wasted in the restaurant car for the entire nauseating journey had never allowed me the option of seeing out of my window. Come to think of it, of seeing anything at all.

Anyway, even to eyes such has mine, unaccustomed as they were to the sights of the transcontinental underworld route, something in particular struck me as somehow wrong down there. I was just having a coffee, black no sugar, as suggested to me by my psychiatrist after the cold turkey situation, and biting into a very small smoked salmon and avocado sandwich. Incredibly small, it was. I could hold it between finger and thumb. The presence of the hot beverage, anyhow, tempted me to breath steam onto the window and draw pictures of breasts, which for some reason I find extremely satisfying and relaxing. I was in the middle of my third perfect pair for the day (size 56) when, through the nipple I saw a bright green light flash past the train in the dimly lit tunnel outside.

At first I thought, well, it's obviously a "go" signal - likely to be found at or near intersections such as the one shooting off to Swansea that the train must have just passed.” All very well and good", my consciousness said. I happily blew steam and drew breasts for another few minutes before the waitress came to my table and asked if I would like another drink.

I replied "No, thank you, but you know what I would really like, apart from dragging the stars from the skies and pulling out your eyes...” (Sweetest smile I could manage)

"...And that is your phone number..."

By which stage she had seen my steamy breast pictures on the window and blown any chance I might have had. Briefly she looked at me as if I was a cross between a dangerous criminal brandishing an extremely big weapon and a tiny little cutesy dog, and whirled off to the next table.

It was at that moment that I realised what had bothered my under worked sub conscious mind (whilst my overworked conscious mind packed it in) a few minutes earlier. Instead of heading from the front of the train to rear, the weird green light had moved in the opposite direction, implying that it was moving faster than the train! "Baloney!", said my new waiter. How I love it; best-tasting fish-type crap I've ever had! I chomped into my pile of food, completely forgetting, indeed, repressing [twilight zone music] my strange and wonderful encounter with the unknown.

It was later on that night whilst watching the X-files on video that my repressed memory surfaced again (usually it takes years). I realised what I had seen. It was a UFO. In an underground tunnel.

I had been witness to the world1s first Underground Tunnel Unidentified Flying Omission. I would coin the abbreviation UTUFO. I would be "UTUFO" to the world, Jarvis to my friends.

I was gonna be rich! Newspapers and tabloids would be after me, offering any sum of money for my story. Maybe my especially close family would come to accept me again for the first time after our dispute over my brother's marriage with our cousin. And women would come rushing... and then see me and rush away again.

But I would be rich!!! Rubbing my itchy palms together whilst I thought of all the possibilities, I caused an accidental fire on the roof of my house. "Why was I on the roof" you ask; well that1s another story - perhaps another time. But I soon got back to thinking in a trance-like state about the future. A world of limousines and magazine covers, call-women and big dogs.

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