In places where public life is reopening and live music is returning, artists have begun to resume the pursuit of their musical calling. But to those preparing to hit the road again, it’s clear that things have changed — the world of music feels different, as do performing and writing. And as musicians find stages and begin filling seats with fans, many are doing so with new ideas about what makes a good show, a great song and a strong connection with an audience, along with a new appreciation for what they do and a fresh gratitude for the spaces in our culture that foster music as a force of community.

Digital Natives Meet the Real World

Of all the consequences the music world experienced due to the pandemic, one of the most lasting is how it threw a spotlight on underexposed musical spaces as brick-and-mortar venues put business on hold. In our story on the livestreaming boom from the previous issue of Wood&Steel, artists told us about the newfound power of digital tools that connect musicians to audiences across physical distance and restrictions on public life. Livestreaming helped keep artists in the swing of performing, even if that meant sitting in front of an iPhone camera with just an acoustic guitar as fans tapped out their digital reactions in the form of smile emojis and hearts. That development has largely been a positive one for all sorts of musicians, and those with a strong foundation in social media had an even greater advantage as fans looked online for their live music fix.

It hasn’t always been this way. Major touring acts and established musicians have long held sway on the attention of the music-listening public, even as tools like YouTube, SoundCloud and BandCamp grew in popularity with artists who had yet to break into the industry. In the pre-COVID world, artists who made their bona fides in the “real world” carried an air of authenticity and quality that “online” artists simply couldn’t match. In a way, the tools that were supposed to democratize music-making ended up pigeonholing young, creative and diverse musicians into an online arena populated by relatively small numbers of dedicated fans. The passion was there, but the exposure was not.

The pandemic changed all of that. With major artists and up-and-comers alike forced off physical stages and onto the Internet, the music of the digital world found itself on a level playing field for the first time. What resulted was an explosion of bands, songwriters and solo musicians into the public eye, many of them from backgrounds rarely showcased in the musical mainstream.

L-R: Meet Me @ The Altar’s Ada Juarez, Edith Johnson and Téa Campbell

Meet Me in the Living Room

Of the many artists that managed to capitalize on the conditions of the pandemic months, pop-punk newcomers Meet Me @ The Altar have blazed a particularly exciting trail. The trio of Téa Campbell (guitar, bass, 224ce-K DLX), Ada Juarez (drums) and Edith Johnson (lead vocals) have been making music together since 2017, but perhaps not in the sense you might expect. Until this year, the three musicians wrote and produced their songs over distances, sending ideas, lyrics and instrument parts back and forth over the Internet until they arrived at a finished product. Suddenly, their way of writing music became the norm, and as musicians everywhere adjusted to this siloed style of creation, Meet Me @ The Altar found themselves with an enormous head start.

“We were an Internet band for like five years,” Téa says. “I lived in Florida, Edith lived in Atlanta, and Ada lived in New Jersey, so we had never really written songs in the same room before.”

Though they moved into a house together during the pandemic, the members of Meet Me @ the Altar say their writing process barely changed as a result of their proximity.

“Even though we moved in together,” Ada says, “this way worked before, so why would we try to change something that was working? So we still write in our separate rooms and then come together. We write lyrics in the same room now, but otherwise it’s the same as before.”

Watch Video

Ada, Edith and Téa from Meet Me @ the Altar talk about their experience of making music during the pandemic and play acoustic versions of their songs.

The “Internet band” effect made an impact beyond the songwriting process, too. With plenty of experience navigating the digital realm and engaging with fans over the web, COVID helped set the conditions for the band’s dramatic spike in recognition. The trio had planned to start touring in 2020 and 2021 — instead, they wound up at home, where writing songs was essentially the only creative outlet. Stripping away the “traditional” elements of the music industry had a way of making artists refocus on the essence of their craft. For these three, the pandemic was a pressure cooker that helped them grow in both skill and confidence.

“Quarantine changed a lot for us,” Téa recalls. “If it weren’t for quarantine, we wouldn’t really have had time to sit and think about the direction we want to go and how we want to evolve as a band.”

Instead of touring, Meet Me @ The Altar doubled down on songwriting. Instead of livestreaming, as so many artists did during isolation, they wrote. Save for a streamed show in partnership with Wendy’s restaurants, Meet Me @ The Altar looked to each other, focusing on shaping their voice and developing an identity as musicians.

“The more you write, the more comfortable you feel,” Edith says. “Quarantine was a blessing in disguise. It helped us come together, and we matured through our songwriting. Now, everything we write tops what we did before.”

Photo credit: Micah Sedmak

The work paid off. The band says they blew up during the pandemic, going from 3,000 followers to over 50,000. Though it’s a bit strange not being able to actually see that growth in the form of bigger audiences at shows, their connections with fans online has helped them get a better sense of where they fit into pop culture in general. They credit some of their growth to a changing society and evolving attitudes that increasingly demand greater inclusion of women musicians and artists of color. As a trio of women of color, Meet Me @ The Altar found their moment.

“A lot of things were happening during quarantine — social issues, Black Lives Matter, George Floyd’s death,” Edith says. “But since people really couldn’t do much, they really had time to think about the world. People started thinking about Black life and Black art. We were right there, and since our music is actually good, people stayed.”

By zigging where others zagged during the pandemic, Meet Me @ The Altar found a perfect opportunity to build on their success and follow their explosion of popularity with improved songwriting and a better sense of identity as a band. But not all of today’s musicians were born into the digital ecosystem. For those who have put decades into a more traditional approach, the pandemic represented a different challenge: How do you adapt to the times without losing yourself?

Photo credit: Kristine Ward

Turning Music into Community

Closed venues and cancelled shows were the most obvious signs of trouble within the music industry during the pandemic, but another challenge had a quieter, but no less significant effect: mental health. Isolation, unprecedented economic pressure and ongoing social change put a strain on many over the past 18 months, including artists whose primary source of emotional, social and creative catharsis — not to mention financial stability — was dramatically cut off without warning. For former At the Drive-In co-founder, current Sparta guitarist and longtime solo songwriter Jim Ward, holding on to music through the pandemic was about more than maintaining a public profile and keeping fans engaged online: It was about survival.

Ward (Builder’s Edition 517, GT Urban Ash) is a fixture in his home town of El Paso, Texas. He’s deeply connected to the city, its music scene and even its food culture — Ward owns a restaurant in El Paso that was forced to close during the pandemic. As a person naturally drawn to community, Ward says that the events of the early pandemic were devastating, both for him and the people around him.

“We immediately had to lay people off,” Ward explains, “which is hard emotionally and mentally. My band, Sparta, had a record that came out in April [of 2020], and I like to say it came out to crickets. We canceled tours and had to furlough crew like everyone else.”

Without the natural outlet that creative work provides, Ward says, he struggled through the early days of the pandemic.

“Lockdown is hard on you as a human being,” Ward says, “especially if you’re a social human being. It was hard to stay good in the head.”

Watch Video

Guitarist and songwriter Jim Ward shares his thoughts on persevering through the pandemic and maintaining his mental health during isolation.

Despite the restrictions on public spaces, Ward knew that keeping his head right meant keeping up with music. Turning to songwriting, Ward distracted himself with a new set of songs that would become Daggers, his latest solo album. Writing and creating the album was a kind of therapy, he says, one that both helped him manage his mental state and expand his creative abilities.

“I’ve definitely grown as an engineer, because I was forced to engineer and produce the album myself, where normally I would have relied on other people,” he says. “When the tools that make your job easier disappear, you’re forced to learn new things. I came out of it with a renewed DIY ethos in my life.”

But self-reliance only goes so far. Learning new musical skills is one thing, but it’s not a substitute for human interaction and connection, especially for someone as involved in the community as Jim Ward. In the absence of chances to meet and greet fans at shows, Ward found himself forging relationships with fans online, often fans he would never have had a chance to meet otherwise. And it didn’t stop with Instagram conversations with fans as scattered as Australia and Moscow. Soon, the drive to preserve some sense of togetherness led Ward to start a new tradition: Friday Beers, a series of live, unrehearsed, unedited conversations hosted on Instagram between Ward and another musical guest. So far, Friday Beers has included talks with Rhett Miller, Nina Diaz, the Black Keys’ Patrick Carney and Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age.

These aren’t your run-of-the-mill artist interviews focused on new albums, upcoming shows and songwriting inspiration — they’re thoughtful, often profound discussions that see Ward and his guests opening up for audiences on a personal level in a way that isn’t possible with the few minutes of face time artists are able to give fans at gigs. Ward says that these conversations have been revelatory, not just for how they helped him get through isolation, but for how they helped audiences as well.

“Josh Homme is like an older brother to me, and we had this really deep, personal conversation in front of all these people,” Ward recalls, “and I got all these really beautiful messages from people saying things like, ‘This is how male relationships should be.’ The truth is, a lot of us make music because we’re trying to figure out how to feel better. And when you start having those conversations, people can say, ‘If that guy feels like this, it must be OK that I feel like that, too.’”

Ward sees this as a feature of the pandemic that should stick around as life returns to something like normalcy. In a world that has grown far too used to seeing its young artists spiral out of control, there’s something special about creating spaces that encourage honesty and authenticity. On that subject, Ward speaks from personal experience.

“I honestly believe the early part of my career would have benefited from someone saying, ‘It’s OK to not feel good right now,’” he says. “Instead of just handing you a bottle of vodka. We could do better at taking care of our young artists that way.”

Q&A: Oritsé

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Q&A: Oritsé

The effects of ongoing social distancing and public health restrictions have been as global as the pandemic that caused them, and artists all over the world have had to adjust. In the United Kingdom, singer-songwriter and producer Oritsé (GTe Urban Ash, GS Mini) has kept himself busy with a host of projects, including spoken-word poetry and learning to play guitar. His video series, Vibes 101, follows Oritsé as he takes up the guitar for the first time, sharing his experiences with practicing, getting to know the instrument, and learning his first songs with fans online.

Recently, we caught up with Oritsé via email to find out how his experience of the pandemic affected his creative process. Be sure to check out the Vibes 101 series at @oritsemusic on Instagram.

What was your experience of the pandemic like as a musical artist in the UK?

After having an incredible comeback launch with my band and selling out a 30-date arena tour in the UK, we unfortunately had to move our tour back. However, in this unexpected time when the world became still, being in isolation actually gave me time to explore a deeper level of my creativity without any distractions.

I’ve wanted to learn the guitar since forever, so I said to myself, there’s no better time than now. I also wanted to encourage others to pick up an instrument, so I came up with an idea to start my own online docuseries called Vibes 101, where I would let viewers into the beginnings of my journey of learning the guitar and encourage them to join in or follow my progress. I reached out to Taylor Guitars with the idea and they loved it, so this kicks off our first collaboration together.

How has your approach to your craft or your career changed as a result of your forced isolation during the pandemic?

Until the pandemic, I didn’t know it was possible to write songs with people over the Internet. I was able to collaborate and write songs with musicians all over the world, which was a completely new experience for me. There’s nothing like being in the studio with everyone in the same room, but it didn’t stop me from being productive. Some of the songs that I wrote over the Internet with musicians around the world will feature on my band’s new album.

Do you feel like you’ve grown as an artist in tangible ways during the pandemic?

I’ve definitely grown as an artist in so many different ways. I started writing spoken-word poetry, and I was amazed to see how well my fans reacted to it, which encouraged me to write even more. I put out a spoken-word piece called “This 2020” on YouTube, which was produced by the phenomenal Charles Jacques, a very good friend of mine.

I laid down the vocals in my friends’ mini-bedroom studio setup and sent my vocal stems via email over to Charles in Inglewood, California. He sent the track back to me after mixing it, and then I found some young, talented visual creators to work with through social media to help me conceptualize the piece in a video.

Did you learn anything new about connecting with fans during this time?

I learned that my fans are more interested in my creative ideas than I may have initially realized, outside of knowing me just as the founding member of my band.

How have you changed your approach to performing live?

I haven’t had the opportunity to perform live yet, but my band has been making adjustments to our live performance to ensure that we and our fans are as safe as possible when we go on tour end of this year.

Are there elements of livestreaming or other approaches to creating music you’ll continue to use moving forward?

I definitely want to explore the livestreaming performance space a lot more in the future and see what I’m able to do with that. I also will work with other musicians and artists a lot more, no matter where they are in the world. Distance is no longer an obstacle. Online sessions actually work just fine.

What is your songwriting process like?

My songwriting process is a melting pot of crazy ideas where nothing is off limits and there is no filter. It’s wild. My process is pretty much throwing everything at the wall and seeing what sticks. It’s got to feel good to me. I don’t like to get in my own way when writing songs — I like to keep everything open until I achieve that lightbulb moment.

No Right Way to Make Music

The landscape of today’s music world is ever-evolving, fueled in equal parts by changing social attitudes, the growing accessibility of new music outside the traditional record label pipeline, and the tangible consequences of a global health crisis. Seasoned insiders and emerging artists alike are finding that in these times, building or maintaining a career in music means being willing to look inward — to focus on craft, to dig deep and explore uncharted creative territory. Though today’s digital tools make it easy to connect with audiences and individual fans, they cannot replace the hard work of transforming ideas into actual music, of offering a message that is both authentic to oneself and universal enough to inspire listeners around the world. Fortunately, if the pandemic has revealed anything about contemporary music and the people who make it, it’s that the drive to create persists regardless of circumstance.

What is African-American Music Appreciation Month?  

In the 1970s, prompted by the increasingly prolific influence of African-American artists during the 20th century, a movement led by key members of the African-American music community to recognize these artists gained traction. In 1978, producer Kenny Gamble, influential music activist and broadcaster Dyana Williams, and broadcast executive Ed Wright launched the Black Music Association (BMA) in part to push for the creation of a Black Music Month. After some petitioning, U.S. President Jimmy Carter hosted the first Black Music Month gathering in the summer of 1979. In 2000, President Bill Clinton signed a Presidential Proclamation giving African-American Music Appreciation Month national designation. These actions helped ensure that the story of African-American music would be preserved and honored for generations to come.

A Trip to Nashville 

To celebrate African-American Music Appreciation Month, I traveled to Nashville with singer-songwriter and Taylor artist Judith Hill to tour the brand-new National Museum of African American Music. While there, we spoke with Dr. Steven Lewis, one of the curators of the museum. We also spent time visiting historical sites related to the history of African-American music. The video we put together shares some highlights of our experiences there.

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A Timeline of African-American Music 

Our trip also inspired us to create a timeline of the history of African-American music in an effort to shed more light on some of the African-American musical pioneers whose artistry forever changed the musical landscape in America and beyond. While our timeline barely scratches the surface of such a rich and deep musical heritage, we hope this historical journey invites a deeper exploration of the many ways in which African-American musicians shaped much of what we now know as American music.  

But in the digital realm, music thrived. Artists forged ahead in bedrooms and living rooms, basements and cramped apartments, making music out of the spotlight while finding new ways to share it with the world. Despite reticence from record labels to break new artists, or radio stations to play their music, artists kept writing songs, recording albums and playing for their fans. The term “pandemic album” became common parlance in critics’ reviews, promising a kind of musical time capsule sure to be analyzed for years to come. For many, social media and livestreams took the place of record labels and promoters as artists used technology to keep music flowing to fans. Artists at every level of popularity or obscurity tuned into Instagram, Facebook and TikTok to share new music, talk to fans, even write new songs with a live audience. It was both a testament to the essential need for music and the ability for artists and listeners to adapt on the fly to create new conduits through which to experience it.  

Artists Ride the Livestreaming Boom 

Working against the current, artists began digging into their connections with the broader music community to put music back on the “stage” without creating a public health risk. These shows, streamed via artist websites, social media or dedicated platforms such as StageIt, doubled as moneymaking tools for both the venue and the artist at a time when income has been sparse, also providing live music for fans desperately missing it. Even just a couple of years ago, this kind of experience would have been impossible–not because of technology or logistics, but simply because audiences weren’t willing to pay for live music that wasn’t live in the sense of everything that term implies for music lovers: the proximity of the musicians, the immersion in the sound, the feel of moving and swaying with a crowd of other fans who love the music as much as you do.  

But people didn’t start wanting to pay for virtual concerts just because the real thing was gone. Instead, the nature of livestreaming changed to meet the new demand not just for live music in a digital world but for connection and community at a time when a majority of the music-listening public was stuck at home. Instead of offering a “live” performance that might as well have been previously recorded, artists began setting up shows that involved direct input from audiences.  

Already-successful acts were able to take advantage of their existing fanbases, scheduling weekly shows where they played original songs along with covers and requests from the audience, usually with a high dose of commentary from the musicians and conversations with fans. San Diego alt-rockers Switchfoot were among the first groups to nail down a working formula for paid livestreams, creating a series called “The Fantastic NOT Traveling Music Show.” Fans could purchase single tickets to individual weekly livestreams or even pay a modest monthly fee for universal access to the shows, which the band works hard to keep fresh and entertaining every time. The platform, says Switchfoot bassist Tim Foreman, was motivated by dual desires to continue bringing people together with music and to support the band’s touring crew and wider team when the income generated by live music evaporated.  

“Music has always been a way forward for us, even when we can’t see the path,” Foreman says. “So I can’t even begin to explain how emotional it was to play our first livestream in June. It was an incredible sensation to be playing music with other people again.” 

Global audiences seemed to feel the same way. Soon, livestreaming turned a one-way viewing experience into a dialogue where artists could engage directly with fans, answer questions, take song requests and generally forge connections with audiences that aren’t possible with true live music. Foreman says that though he, his bandmates and the music world at large are excited to get back to “true” live performance, livestreaming will almost certainly become a regular part of creating music and growing an audience. 

“I think we all agree that livestreaming is certainly not a replacement for normal live music,” he explains. “But I do believe it is something else entirely. It really has the potential for musicians to grow deep roots with their fans and opens up an entirely new world of opportunities, especially internationally. We’re playing live music for people all over the world, in countries we’ve never even visited, and I’m only a few miles from my house. Others that we’ve met have medical conditions that prevent them from going to concerts, and this has opened up an entirely new world for them. The stories go on and on.” 

Venues Forge Ahead 

The livestreaming boom has helped lift other parts of the music industry, as well. On the venue side, some brick-and-mortars were able to get in on the digital action, working with artists to create semi-permanent livestreaming setups complete with cameras and lighting. The result was a kind of performance for which audiences could buy tickets and get excited about the idea of seeing live music again—even through a computer or TV screen. Major venues across the country such as Colorado’s Red Rocks Amphitheatre and the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles did what they could to develop virtual programming on the fly, culminating in ticketed pop concerts, symphonic performances and other live entertainment broadcast via livestreaming.  

Small venues got in on the action too. The Belly Up Tavern, a popular San Diego concert venue loved by many on the Taylor team, hosted a variety of artists on their stage to be shared with virtual audiences, bringing in some major names to keep the musical energy flowing in the city. This year has seen a performance by Taylor player The White Buffalo, another by Ziggy Marley, and a 50th birthday bash for local legend Steve Poltz, whose “Quarantine Blues” has been making the rounds on social media for months. Venues everywhere seem to be holding to the Thoreau maxim that adorned the Belly Up façade earlier this year: “When I hear music, I fear no danger.”

The sentiment seemed to ring true across music fandom, and nowhere was it more true than on social media, where artists found ways to bypass the parts of the traditional industry that had been closed. The pandemic and its consequences shined a light on the music business, revealing both gaps in how the industry finds and promotes new artists as well as opportunities to engage with new types of artists, especially young musicians who have grown up sharing themselves and their creations on social media. Instead of limiting new music, in many ways the pandemic served as a pressure cooker for emerging artists who were poised to capitalize on the shift to the digital arena.  

Making Music Social 

The DIY ethos of livestreaming took hold around the world this year, and for many artists, it provided more than a stopgap solution to the problem of closed venues, instead offering an avenue into the business for people who weren’t already tied into the record label machine. 

For pop songwriter Emma McGann, the surge in popularity of livestreaming on social media represented a vindication of the work she’d already done, putting her at the top of the livestreaming pack (learn how Emma does it in the “Livestreaming Like a Pro” sidebar in this story). For others, it meant being able to access and retain an audience of committed fans and followers that simply wasn’t possible for the vast majority of musicians. And while artists of all backgrounds, ages and genres made the shift and began performing on livestreams, it was younger, emerging artists who truly led the charge into social media. 

The forms these livestreams take are as varied as the musicians themselves. Some stuck with a structure somewhat resembling a virtual open mic night, setting up hour- or two-hour-long streams on YouTube or Twitch, the popular video game streaming service. Others turned to a more conversational approach, particularly on platforms like Instagram and TikTok, which make it easy for streamers to take comments from audience members in real time and respond directly to fan requests or questions. Some musicians showed off their improvisational chops by taking rapid-fire song requests; others created a collaborative environment with viewers, bringing song ideas and lyrical snippets to the stream to be workshopped and composed with fans. Across the internet, newcomers and music industry veterans hopped on social media to grow their music careers during the pandemic, catapulting some to stardom that extends beyond TikTok and Instagram. 

But music on social media since the pandemic began has taken on many forms and brought people together in ways that no one could have predicted just a year ago. In one corner of TikTok, millions of people became enamored with singers and musicians producing sea shanties, setting off a lengthy trend that helped some of the originators launch new careers in music. Elsewhere, music-lovers got together to create a fully online musical version of the popular Pixar film Ratatouille. Regardless of the final product, people found ways to keep making music without being able to rehearse and record in the studio. Everywhere you looked on social media, there was evidence of music’s power to connect and inspire people in any circumstance. 

Taylor’s Pandemic-era Contribution 

For those of us here at Taylor, the desire to keep making music stemmed from our heritage as guitar builders, our relationships with the broader music community, and a simple hope that what we do in our corner of the music world could in some small way help people get through a difficult time. So while we forged ahead as best we could with what we do best, we were also reaching out to our artist family, making calls to our content-creator friends and, eventually, recording music. The result was an original song, penned by Keith Goodwin and mixed by Gabriel O’Brien, called “I Know What Love Is (Because of You).” 

Originally written by Goodwin to commemorate his mother-in-law who battled illness in isolation during the COVID crisis, the Good Old War frontman teamed up with Taylor’s own Jay Parkin to turn the song skeleton into a fully imagined single. After crafting the song and recording several tracks, though, the duo was inspired to do even more. 

With a finished song in hand, Goodwin and Parkin reached out to artists around the world—Taylor players and singers and songwriters and sound engineers—to seek contributors for the song. Some added new parts on guitar, keys or bass, while others lent their voices to verses and backing vocals. In the end, more than 50 artists joined the project, including Zac Brown, KT Tunstall, Jason Mraz, and many more, sending in hundreds of tracks that were funneled to audio engineer Gabriel O’Brien, frequent Taylor collaborator and multi-talented recording whiz. After a heroic effort on O’Brien’s part, the song came together as a single with an accompanying music video.  

As of publishing time for this story, “I Know What Love Is” had tallied over 1 million streams on Spotify, plus over hundreds of thousands more on other services. It’s also been played by radio stations across the United States and featured in publications like American Songwriter and others.  

To boot, the song has raised thousands of dollars for MusiCares, an organization under the GRAMMY Foundation that provides critical support to individuals and families who depend on the music industry for their livelihoods. MusiCares has been an essential resource for music industry professionals, especially those whose work in the backgrounds of concert venues, tour busses and recording studios makes creating and performing music possible. The organization’s mission is wide-ranging, providing everything from basic necessities and rent assistance to mental health care and substance abuse counseling. That’s part of why Keith Goodwin was so passionate about writing the song and making sure it reached audiences, he says—MusiCares has made a significant impact for him and the people he loves. 

“MusiCares pretty much saved the lives of a few of my best friends in the world,” Goodwin says, “by helping them get through rehab. I want to help MusiCares whenever I can.” 

For others involved in the project, such as superstar producer Will Yip, the idea of lifting up the broader music-making community was also about keeping music alive during a difficult time. 

“Those artists, crew, engineers—they need help,” Yip says, “because the world needs them. The world needs their artistry. I couldn’t be more grateful that something like this exists.” 

Recently, we were able to arrange meetings with Keith Goodwin and a few other artists who were involved in creating the song. They shared stripped-back renditions of “I Know What Love Is.” That these solo performances of a song that originally involved so many different artists can maintain and even build on the song’s potent emotional message is a testament both to Goodwin’s songwriting and to music’s power to emotionally connect us to a larger world. 

No one can deny the impact that the pandemic has had on the global music industry, and for many people, the past year has been about weathering the storm and nothing else. But strange circumstances make for unpredictable outcomes, and music found a way not just to endure but, in some ways, to thrive. From the livestreaming explosion to the rapid musical evolution taking place on social media to the inspiring solidarity found within the industry, music always finds a way.  

While we’re proud of the progress we’re making on those fronts, our commitment to ethical practices demands that we scrutinize every aspect of our operation. More specifically, we need to look for areas in which we’re falling short and work toward better solutions. 

This mindset has led to a comprehensive review of our manufacturing processes and campus operation. Over the last couple of years, Scott Paul has used the lens of sustainability to lead an internal audit to identify our successes and shortcomings. While we’ve made many improvements (a major reduction of single-use, disposable products on campus, more EV charging stations, a robust battery recycling program, water-filling stations in buildings across campus, the use of a sophisticated dashboard to better manage our energy consumption needs, to name a few), we recently identified an issue that is quite literally a growing problem for us: plastic stretch wrap. We’re talking about the plastic film we use to secure pallets of stacked guitars (in their cases) being transported, or to wrap wood we move around on pallets.  

While the wrap plays an essential role in protecting valuable parts and goods in transit, given the volume of our operation, we go through a good amount of the stuff. While it’s nowhere near the consumption levels of a big box store, it adds up. 

In the past, we would bale the used wrap, and our recycling vendor would sell it to a broker, who in turn would send it to China to be recycled. But in 2018, China banned the import of most plastics, and we’ve subsequently learned that there’s a strong likelihood the plastic was in fact just being dumped overseas or worse — burned in local communities. We’re now struggling to find a U.S.-based company that will recycle it. We’ve contacted other businesses, large and small, to see what they do with theirs, only to find that no one else seems to have a viable solution right now either.  

We’ve also talked to several service providers and asked each of them the same set of questions: Will they re-sell it? What are they going to do with it? If recycled, into what? How far will it be trucked or shipped? Will it be exported? As it turns out, most shrink wrap is now being landfilled or incinerated, just as it likely was in China. 

We wouldn’t mind paying to recycle the plastic wrap if it were happening responsibly, in a safe, environmentally-sound facility, but we don’t want it added to a landfill or incinerated. Yet we don’t currently have a solution. And with each day the problem grows. So, in the meantime, after consulting with Scott, Bob Taylor decided our first step toward a solution would be to amplify the problem by making it more visible to everyone on campus. Our facilities team started moving bales of our used stretch wrap to the middle of the parking lot outside our shipping warehouse, and adding what we accumulate to it each month — about two to three bales. We currently have a small mountain in the making. We even created a display sign with a thought-provoking message to employees: 

What Is This? 

It’s a problem we’re going to address. Stay tuned. 

What’s more, the bales only represent about half of what we use to wrap guitars; the other half leaves our facility when we ship pallets. 

Scott Paul points out that this plastic wrap problem isn’t exclusive to Taylor. 

“Think of all the shrink wrap discarded from big box stores, supermarkets, and retailers all over the country,” he says. “Most of it is being landfilled, and some is being incinerated.” 

Scott and others on our company’s “Green Team” committee began to investigate possible solutions, including alternative recycling options and the use of other materials that were easier to recycle. Scott also reached out to an expert who might be able to help. 

Jan Dell (right) with Scott Paul in front of our heap of plastic stretch wrap

Jan Dell is a chemical engineer with 30 years of experience, having worked in 45 countries for major corporations in the manufacturing sector. During her career, she led programs to implement sustainable business and climate resiliency practices for the likes of Nike, Gap, Mattel, and others.  

In 2018 she pivoted in her career, became independent, and started an NGO called The Last Beach Cleanup to stop plastic pollution. One of their priority campaigns aims to stop plastic waste exports to poor countries. In 2019, she was named a National Geographic Explorer and received a small grant to help cities reduce plastic pollution. She was also named to California’s Statewide Recycling Commission in 2020. 

In April, Dell visited the Taylor campus to meet with Scott Paul, Bob Taylor and a small group of other Taylor employees who are part of our informal task force — gathering, appropriately, in front of our hill of plastic — for an introductory conversation. Dell shared some of her knowledge, including the reality check that only a small fraction of plastic waste made is actually recycled. She noted that 3.4 billion pounds of plastic film waste are generated in California alone each year, but that there are only a few plastic film recyclers in California and Nevada, and they  can only reprocess about 100 million pounds of it. That’s about 3 percent, so it’s no surprise that Taylor’s plastic heap is growing.  

We’ve explored the use of alternative plastic wrap products that are marketed as being biodegradable, but we found that they work less effectively, and Dell says there are other obstacles preventing its wider use, like the fact that most composting operations don’t want to take bioplastic waste because it doesn’t safely biodegrade and becomes contamination in the compost. 

“And today’s landfills are designed to store materials to prevent methane emissions, so the plastic film won’t biodegrade and won’t disappear in a landfill,” she says. 

Dell speaking with Taylor employees, including Bob Taylor (second from left).

Dell advised that the best course of action Taylor can pursue is to continue to minimize plastic use where possible. Taylor can also create greater demand for plastic wrap that has a percentage of recycled content by asking our vendors to supply it and by encouraging other companies to do the same. This will help scale up the supply chain infrastructure around the product and accelerate usage. 

Meanwhile, our plastic display has already made an impact on Taylor employees. After we showcased the issue in our internal newsletter, a number of Taylor employees — make that new employee-owners — have taken the initiative to find ways to reduce our stretch wrap consumption in their departments.   

In the meantime, we’re continuing to educate ourselves with the help of people like Dell and actively pursuing better options. We’ll be sure to keep you updated on the status of our plastic waste and the alternative solutions we develop. 

Slow Down 

Of course, the reason I had the ability to play Bach barely passably was because I had practiced for several years (although the motivation of showing off to a significant other shouldn’t be ruled out). That and I had the tablature. So it was that the routine of play, practice, play, practice (or practice, play…) became central to my existence and remains so to this day. No doubt, this is true for many of you. Nevertheless, even with the time and motivation, plenty of guitarists struggle with what, and how, to practice. While there are many answers to these questions, there is one specific guidepost that should help any musician strengthen his or her practice efficiency: Slow down! 

I can’t tell you how many times various students have confessed, “I’ve been playing this piece for years, but I always mess up this one section.” And the sections run the gamut from a tricky fingerstyle combination or a fast alternate-picking run to a seemingly unattainable seven-fret stretch or a poorly executed B minor chord. 

I have found that simply slowing down works wonders for these ostensibly unsurmountable hurdles. But you must play painfully slow, much slower than you naturally enjoy. If the performance tempo is 120 bpm — that’s the metronome set at 120 with one quarter note for every click — then you should practice as slowly as 30 bpm, four times slower than performance. This will be excruciating! In fact, 30 bpm on the metronome will seem so impossible that I suggest setting it to 60 bpm and playing one quarter note for every two clicks (this is the same as quarter notes at 30 bpm, yet it feels faster due to the more frequent clicks). What most players discover is that it’s not the collection of notes that is tricky; it’s playing the notes up to tempo. Still, many guitarists are unwilling to slow passages down, deluding themselves into thinking they are obliged to practice the piece all the way through at the same tempo. No. Exceptional players do not practice this way. Performance tempo should be consistent, but practice tempos vary. Each individual phrase requires its own practice tempo. 

Once you can play your previously troubling phrase at 30 bpm, then you’ll recognize you can in fact play the music! Next, you merely start speeding it up, two metronome clicks at a time. That’s right, from 30 to 32 bpm, which will be tedious, yet will yield results. Continue this approach — which may take months, two to four metronome clicks every day (this may seem like a long time, but I’ve known players to carelessly practice such phrases for years and never attain them) — until you find your own performance tempo.  

Here’s the rub: You may never get the part up to the original performance tempo. This is the nature of game. Some players are simply faster than others, the way some athletes are faster, bigger, stronger, etc. Still, none of that means “better.” So, find your own performance tempo, and then bring more of yourself to the piece. Remember, you possess your own sound, tone, phrasing, attack, texture, etc. If you highlight those qualities, I promise you, no one will ever complain about the tempo.   

At the risk of generalizing, when new techniques and songs begin to come naturally to longtime players — even after years of unnatural hard work — those same players tend to maintain no patience for slowing down new onerous phrases (old ones even more so), choosing instead to complain that the unfamiliar notes are too laborious. Consequently, they rarely progress beyond a certain threshold. Thus, we see that it isn’t only skill that produces the better player, but patience as well. Beginners should heed this lesson and make slow, deliberate practice a habit from the onset.  

Make a Video (Just Don’t Post It!)  

One invaluable piece of advice I impart to students is that they play with other musicians as much as possible. For a multitude of reasons, jamming with another musician can improve your playing dramatically. Sadly, during the prevailing social distancing epoch, musicians have fewer opportunities than ever to fraternize. Thus, I offer, if not an equal substitute, a worthwhile auxiliary (one you should continue post-COVID).  

Start video-recording your practice routines and watch them immediately! Scrutinize. When you watch yourself, study what’s working and what isn’t. If it is working, don’t change anything, even if your technique appears awkward. As long as it sounds good, it is good. I don’t buy into the dogma that there is one perfect technique or style of playing. If it works for you — or Hendrix with his thumb over the neck, or Jeff Healy with the guitar lying flat, or Django with three fingers — that’s what matters. The only times I suggest changing a student’s technique are when it’s causing pain or the student isn’t improving.

Hopefully, in your video, you’ll see and hear right away whether it’s working or not. If it isn’t, experiment with alternatives. Spend some time researching variations online. (Though there are countless video lessons of varying quality, I have found the cream does rise to the top, so study the most popular lessons first.) Make research part of your practice routine. Ten to 20 minutes of searching for the lessons that suit you best can be worth a lifetime of musical pleasure! Afterward, bring the fruits of that labor into your playing and shoot another video. Seriously, endeavor to film and watch all of your practice routines for the next week to a month, and see if it elevates your playing. It was Socrates who wrote “The unexamined life is not worth living.” My riff on that might be, “The unexamined performance is not worth hearing.”

Do understand, you are using video to help accomplish your goal, not to document the goal. So don’t post these practice videos online; they are for your eyes and ears only.

Last Word 

I must warn you that even if you do implement the suggestions I’ve offered here, your guitar life will probably still be uneven. That’s to be expected. The performance and study of music are an everlasting pursuit. There will be good days and bad days; arguably more bad than good if you are persistently striving to improve. Though, ironically, a bad day conquered can be more gratifying than a good day under-appreciated. As stated from the outset, I hope you’re finding a balance between the fun and the work during this complicated time. History will look back on this period with a multifaceted lens, and there is no doubt that music and the arts will have played a role in easing the hardships. Thankfully, once we’re onto greener pastures, the music will still be there.  

After a stint as an actor headlined by a run on the hit show Glee, FINNEAS first entered the musical limelight through his work with his sister, Billie Eilish. The sibling duo’s murky, seductive flavor of pop has dominated the charts for the last couple years and set a relatable soundtrack for a world in the midst of growing uncertainty. With five GRAMMY awards already under his belt at the ripe old age of 23 (including Producer of the Year, Non-Classical, in 2020), FINNEAS has emerged as a confident artist in his own right, tallying over 640 million streams across major platforms and earning three more chances to add to his GRAMMY collection in 2021. 

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Listening to his music is like touring a hi-fi exhibit of modern musical technique: Songs ricochet from fuzzed-out acoustic guitar fingerpicking to barroom piano melodies paired with his smooth croon to bouncy club rhythms powered by booming basslines and thundering percussion. It’s a vibrant, textured style that blends acoustic sounds with techno electricity and a healthy dose of R&B soul, reflecting the spirit of an experimenter who can both take another artist’s work to the next level and formulate potent sonic mixtures on his own.  

Having honed his skills and sound using mostly instruments within arm’s reach at his home, FINNEAS has developed a fast-paced, improvisational working style that demands both performance and accessibility from his gear, especially his guitars. When an idea comes to mind, it’s whatever instrument close at hand that will translate it into sound, a creative quirk that shines through in his chameleonic music. To earn its place in his studio, an instrument must be resilient enough to keep up with his busy schedule and spontaneous creative patterns while also serving up an inspiring musical character.  

Recently, Taylor built FINNEAS a custom all-white Grand Pacific model for live shows and studio work. As we readied the launch of the new GT body shape, we knew he should be among the first wave of artists to test-drive it. We were thrilled to get one of the first completed GTe Urban Ash guitars into the hands of a busy working musician, and happy to hear that it had become a staple his musical toolbox. 

Even in a pandemic, FINNEAS is in high demand — he’s been writing furiously with his sister while hunkered down at home in the Los Angeles area, and most of his remaining time is devoted to keeping up with an array of collaborations-in-progress. In December, he pressed pause to join us for a round of rapid-fire questions about his experience creating music under quarantine and his unique approach to songwriting and producing with acoustic guitars.

FINNEAS’ debut solo album, Blood Harmony, was released in 2019 and reissued in 2020 with new singles. You can hear his work on all major streaming services.