Former Lemonhead and Blake Babies member, John P. Strohm spent many happy years playing, touring, recording and paying his bills.
But one fateful gig transformed this Indie Rocker into an entertainment attorney with an unique perspective. Here in the first of his MYScene articles, John talks about his transition.
Years ago, when I worked as an opinionated indie record store clerk, I joked that some day I’d have to purge all of the useless music-related information stored in my brain to make room for more useful facts and concepts. Up until that point – nearing the turn of the millennium – I had excelled at two related but very distinct "careers" in the music business: wisecracking CD slinger and Alt-Rock musician. When my musician income didn’t pay the rent with enough left over for ramen noodles and Rolling Rock, I would pick up a job at a local hipster record store to make ends meet. I spent nearly fifteen years of my adult life completely immersed in the culture and business of Indie/Alternative Rock, with little more than passing interest in anything else.
I don’t mean to suggest that I didn’t enjoy some significant success as a musician – I came pretty close to making a decent living while touring the world and making a bunch of consistently well-received albums. Despite my occasional need to supplement my income with menial work, I had "made it" by many measures. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
My moment of clarity, however, finally came on a grim Wednesday night at an all-ages club in New London, Connecticut. On a U.S. tour with a backing band in support of my last solo album, I’d believed up until that evening that things were going okay. We killed in New York; we owned Boston. But New London… those kids were just plain brutal. There’s nothing like a room half full of indifferent, somewhat hostile hardcore kids to make your life’s work seem utterly meaningless and valueless.
Nearly two years past my thirtieth birthday, I could no longer hide from the fact that I needed to figure out a way to make a proper living. Nevertheless, I’d spent the past decade scratching by while believing with all my heart that financial independence was only one album cycle away. It was sobering indeed to possess vast, arcane knowledge on the subject of Pop music – certainly qualifying me as an expert –though not qualified for any conceivable career in which I could make constructive use of my hard-won expertise.
I spent a few difficult, depressing weeks following that tour pondering what I could do for a living in the music business. Perhaps I could go to work for a major label or music publisher – but I felt ambivalent about the labels’ and publishers’ role in the industry; I didn’t want to be a company man. Perhaps I could try to work for an established indie label – but I could probably make more money working my way to assistant manager of my local indie store. Perhaps I could manage artists or start my own label – but I had neither start-up capital nor risk tolerance. Then I had an epiphany: I could become a music attorney.
I already knew from experience that lawyers are the glue that holds the music business together, for better or worse. I’d had some so-so experiences with attorneys in my own career until I began working with David Prasse, a solo practitioner in Atlanta. David represented me for the final year or two of my career as an artist, and he’d been everything I’d ever wanted in a lawyer: accessible, open, down-to-earth, brilliant, and willing to share his knowledge and experience. I wasn’t a particularly lucrative client at the time, which made his attention to my career all the more extraordinary. I very tentatively mentioned to David that I was considering changing careers and becoming a music lawyer. His advice: go for it, dude.
Of course there was one big problem. To become a lawyer, one must pass one’s state bar exam. To sit for the bar exam, one must graduate from law school. To go to law school, one must graduate from college. I’d never bothered to finish my long-neglected music degree from Berklee College of Music, which I’d abandoned in 1987 after two rather undistinguished years of study. In the single most terrifying decision of my life, I more or less abandoned my livelihood and went back to school full time in my thirties.
Several years earlier I had followed my wife’s career path to Birmingham, Alabama. As a touring, recording musician, it didn’t so much matter where I lived. As a college student, suddenly it mattered a great deal. After sprinting through a degree in History at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, my wife and I faced the decision of whether or not to relocate to a music business location for school (basically New York, L.A. or Nashville). I chose to remain in Birmingham, where I attended Cumberland law school at Samford University, a well-respected regional school with a strong focus on trial advocacy. I had a good experience and I believe I made a good decision; however, Cumberland was not an express ticket to a career in music law.
Not surprisingly, entertainment law in general – and music law in particular – is a super-competitive field within the practice of law. Many top students from top schools compete for a very few entry-level associate jobs at boutique entertainment firms and large firms possessing strong entertainment practices. There is a specific path to such jobs: attend a top school (Harvard, Stanford, NYU, Vanderbilt) or a strong school that offers an entertainment focus (Cardozo, Southwestern); make excellent grades; intern (generally for no compensation) in business affairs for a label, publisher or large management company; and network like crazy.
For a variety of reasons, this path was not an option for me. I had a good run academically at law school: I remained very near the top of my class from first semester through graduation, I participated in all the essential extracurriculars, and I even served as editor-in-chief of the school’s law review. Nevertheless, by the end of my first year my wife and I had a baby and a mortgage; I couldn’t pack up and move to New York or L.A. for the summer and work for nothing. Being physically removed from any real entertainment center, I had few opportunities to effectively network.
Luckily there are other ways to break into the field besides stepping into an entry-level position with an established music practice. One can always hang a shingle; however, that was not a realistic option for me for financial reasons. I opted to take a job at a reputable Birmingham firm that promised to support my efforts in building my own music practice from the ground up. My firm would keep me busy with tangentially related work (corporate, intellectual property) as I marketed my own fledgling practice.
In my first six months of practice I had exactly two music clients, only one of which actually sent me any billable work. Currently, as I begin my third year of practice, in a busy month music work is roughly half of what I do. Clients and other music industry pals refer clients to me on a regular basis, which is extremely gratifying. It’s been a slow, gradual process, which is a good thing. Law school teaches one very little of what is required to actually practice law, and this is especially true in the music business. In my first year of practice I relied heavily on entertainment lawyer friends to teach me the culture of the business, which is arcane and sometimes counterintuitive. I also learned a tremendous amount from the attorneys I work for who know nothing about music law. Now I work without a great deal of supervision, but I continue to learn every day.
Although I occasionally have to explain to prospective clients why I choose to practice in Birmingham, and I occasionally experience prejudice from New York or L.A. music lawyers, I am happy with my decision to remain and practice here. Discussions I’ve had with associates at the established music practices lead me to believe that, in general, young lawyers at such practices are not really encouraged to develop their own business. I take great pride in my work, in part because the clients I represent have come to me specifically for help, not to my firm on account of its reputation in the industry. Furthermore, I am physically outside of the culture of the industry, and I am thus encouraged to avoid some of the arguable "standard industry practices" that I regard as unethical, such as client solicitation, contingency fees, and certain conflicts of interest.
In pursuing this career, I have accomplished what I intended in maintaining a continuity with my prior life. Although practically everything about my life is different than six years ago, my primary motivation is still my love for music. I am able to use all of the experience and knowledge that I acquired as an artist and, I suppose, as a record store clerk as well. Easily half of the knowledge I draw on in my professional life is from practical experience rather than statutes or cases. Most importantly, I understand the often bizarre and counterintuitive motivations of musicians, which rarely directly concern the bottom line.
So did I purge all of that useless information? Yes, I purged much of it. I no longer recall the first ten releases on the Dischord label, nor who produced the first Flamin’ Goovies album. But I do recall what it’s like to be a frustrated musician who is sent back to the studio because the label "doesn’t hear a single," or is told by his publishing company his latest album isn’t a "qualifying album" under the terms of his deal and thus he is not entitled to an advance. In short, though I love the music, I still love and hate the business of music in roughly equal measure. That is what inspires me to put on my tie and go to work every morning.
John P. Strohm is a musician and entertainment lawyer based in Birmingham, Alabama. He is a former member of the Blake Babies, the Lemonheads and Antenna. He is currently working on new music as a solo artist. For more information about John’s current music projects, please visit www.myspace.com/johnpstrohmmusic. For information regarding John’s law practice, please visit http://www.johnstonbarton.com/people/details.cfm?ID=80.
(c) Copyright 2006 The Musician’s Atlas. All rights reserved. No portion of this article can be reprinted in any form without the written consent of the publishers.