Music

Seattle used to hang on the periphery of the music business, as a place where bands occasionally broke out, as a convenient place to begin or end a national tour, as a classic midsized secondary market—half college town, half hidden treasure. That began changing around the turn of the '90s, particularly (but not exclusively) in the wake of the Nirvana/Pearl Jam/Alice in Chains/Soundgarden juggernaut. But in 2005, Seattle is not only a strikingly diverse musical place, it's also at the very heart of the industry. Sub Pop, Barsuk, and other indie labels flourish. The tech industry, always important to the biz and never more so than now, thrives here (even if Apple, the canniest marketer/manufacturer of music-related gizmos—hello, iPod—doesn't). Venues are aplenty, there's no shortage of new talent at any given time, and you're as liable to bump into an internationally renowned techno producer at your local tavern as you are a member of an up-and-coming garage band. It's a great time and a great place to be a music fan.

And all of it is increasingly up for grabs.

This isn't to say it's going anywhere. It's just that it's difficult to say exactly where it's going. Use-other-clichés-please "music will survive no matter what" foofaraw aside, how we receive it is important, and so is how those systems are transforming before our eyes. Which isn't to call this survey—or, more accurately, these five mini-surveys—anything like a definitive overview. It's more like a snapshot of the way a few things of interest are shifting. As you'll see, there's plenty to chew on, from a coffee giant maneuvering into music's most profitable mainstream—the compact disc—to the fact that the CD itself is threatened with extinction. What does it all mean? That music—the most basic (and maybe deepest) pleasure available to anyone with ears—is anything but basic. Especially in Seattle. Especially in 2005.

1. Starbucks is taking over the record industry.

Media Bars are in 45 Starbucks with only 9,000 to go! (Michael Doucett)

Once upon a time, coffeehouses were places where people went to hear music. Java joints were the home of the late '50s and early '60s folk revival, and when you went to see Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, Joan Baez, or Phil Ochs, you were more likely to throw back an espresso than a Heineken while watching them.

In that sense, it's perfectly logical that Starbucks is the biggest comer in music retail over the past half-decade. For one thing, there are more of them than there are of most music chains. Right now, Musicland Inc., which owns Sam Goody and Suncoast Motion Picture Company, operates 900 shops worldwide. Starbucks has 10 times that number. (Sometimes it feels like it has 10 times that number on any given city block, but I digress.) So distribution, always a hobgoblin of indie retail even in the Internet age, is taken care of. It then follows that Hear Music, Starbucks' compact disc subsidiary, does well. It specializes in various-artists compilations like the Artist's Choice series, mixes compiled by the likes of Lucinda Williams, Joni Mitchell, the Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Sheryl Crow that regularly sell in the healthy five figures. It's not multiplatinum, but for an indie label—especially an indie label that's one tentacle on a corporate coffee giant—it's plenty healthy. Just ask Sub Pop, which has built its business on albums that regularly do about as well and have put the company in the black, with its employees receiving iPods as bonuses this past Christmas.

There's no word yet on what Hear's employees will get next holiday, but they should expect something decent. The reason is one of the label's first all-original, single-artist discs: Ray Charles' final album, Genius Loves Company, featuring duets with other big names, was already the label's biggest-ever seller when it won eight Grammy Awards, including Album of the Year, two weeks ago. If the example of Norah Jones, who similarly swept the Grammys two years ago (not to mention compiling her own Artist's Choice last year) is any indication, Genius Loves Company will do quite a bit better in the awards' aftermath. Before her Grammy win, Jones' Come Away With Me had sold 4 million copies in the 11 months leading up to the awards; afterward, its sales doubled in half the time. Charles could conceivably do even better: Before the Grammys, Genius Loves Company had sold slightly fewer than 600,000 copies at both Starbucks and in more traditional retail outlets.

How did this happen? As with most things Starbucks, very cannily. Hear Music has been around since 1990 but hadn't made much noise until Starbucks bought it in 1999. Soon, its themed compilations began attracting notice; if its sensibility leaned toward the cozy, well-bred, and traditional, its titles were done with evident care, by people who kept their ears open. A record snob (like, say, myself) might not have much truck with Hear titles like Blue Note Blend (classic jazz) or Ambient Luxe (trip-hop), but record snobs aren't the only ones who buy coffee in obscene numbers. And when the rest of Starbucks' customers wanted to know who sang the song that was playing while the barista prepared their vanilla lattes, the clerk only had to point to the CDs standing in front of the register. Point-of-sale impact: immediate. After all, nobody goes to the record store unless they're planning to buy records. By catering exclusively to impulse shoppers, Starbucks created the most successful cross-marketing venture to hit the music business since MTV.