A Very Candid Conversation with Meiert Avis

In addition to his impressive music video and commercial résumé, Meiert directed two movies, Far From Home (1989) and Undiscovered (2005). Far From Home starred Drew Barrymore in her first teenage role. In the film, Barrymore and her father are on vacation when their car runs out of gas and they are stuck overnight in a trailer park town. Undiscovered is a love story between a model (Pell James) and a struggling musician (Steven Strait). Ashlee Simpson plays a mutual friend of the model and musician.

Meiert Avis: I started an editor, which is a good place to learn, because you see everybody’s mess-ups, and you learn how to put something together in a way that avoids the mess-ups. From that, you learn what you need to shoot and what you don’t need to shoot. It’s a good way to learn how to be efficient as a director, and it’s a lot of fun. Editing is kind of like writing. It’s much more like writing than directing is, for some reason. Or, it’s like playing chess or making a patchwork quilt. I find it very soothing.

MA: I used to do it all the time with my videos and commercials. I eventually learned that other people found things that you probably couldn’t find yourself. I got too obsessive about editing, so I find people who are good and train them. I can’t keep all the fun for myself.

MA: I don’t know . . . trying to get chicks, probably.

MA: Everybody wants to be a director. It’s just like dogs, you know? You get a pack of dogs, and one of them wants to be the head dog. When you’re the director, you’re the head dog. You’ve got the mound. You can sit on top of the mound and bark at everybody else.

It’s great. It’s just primal instincts to be heard, I guess. But, I’m very shy, so—

MA: Yeah. It became a way of having enough authority that I could speak quietly and people would listen. You’re the one carrying the gun, so people are gonna listen to you. They have to—they’re being paid to listen to you. That’s very therapeutic. I think, if they’re lucky, people find whatever their weakness is, and they try to find a way in their life of addressing that or mitigating it through work some way that helps their development as a person. For me, directing took me out of myself because it gave me an arena that I could perform in.

MA: I directed documentary pieces. One beautiful thing I remember was working for the newspaper in Dublin called The Irish Times. They had one of the last hot-lead typesetting machines. In the old days, you’d sit at a typewriter and hit the letter “K,” and this little blob of molten lead would drip down into a mold. The mold had a “K” on it, and that would harden and then drop down into the page onto the block of type that was going be printed as the page. It’s like you’re in a typewriter printing in molten lead. This machine is a beautiful, old piece of mechanics, like a musical instrument. You’re able to type in words in hot metal. It’s just fantastic.

They were gonna take that out and dispose of it; it wasn’t needed anymore. Everything was going to electronics. They wanted to document the machine before they disposed of it, and I shot fifteen minutes of that. It was a lot of fun just to shoot something that’s purely beautiful in its own right with no purpose.

MA: I got started off with music videos by making a video for a friend of mine that has never been seen by anyone. Then I made a few videos for a theatre in Dublin called the Project Theatre. Jim Sheridan was the director of the play. You’ve heard of him?

MA: Jim and his brother used to run that theatre. There was one show they put on that needed a lot of video material, so I made that material, which was quite trippy. That’s how I got started directing.

I helped Brian Masterson build the music studio that U2 recorded in. When they weren’t recording, they’d come upstairs to my edit bay. It would be three in the morning, I’d be up there playing with images. When it came time to do a video, the only person they knew who knew anything about video was me, so then I got to shoot it. We got money to shoot their first videos. That’s how that all began [Click here to watch a promo music video by U2, “New Year’s Day,” directed by Meiert.]

MA: I don’t know. It seems like it was inevitable, even at that point. I would disagree with you and say we all knew exactly what we were doing. Something in the water maybe. There were quite a few other directors—not in Ireland, but in England and the USA—who were working away, making weird stuff.

There were other influences. What was lucky about Ireland is that we lived in a little island bubble of our own, you know? The English record companies didn’t really like coming over because they might get into trouble with the IRA in a bar or something like that. So, they tended to stay away. U2 pretty much got left alone to do what they wanted, and that was good.

MA: A difficult question to answer. It’s all kinds of things. Mostly you answer creative questions all morning, then you get to shooting and find out if your answers were right. If the world you havecreated is magical and resonates with the song and the artist, the images sing, then it’s the best feeling on earth. You feel like Beethoven conducting an orchestra, hair flying, feet dancing, your magic wand conjuring up movement, colors, and magnificent performances without apparent effort. Like a God.

The end of a good day on a video shoot is fantastic because the time goes by like a rocket. Seventeen, fourteen, fifteen hours are gone and you haven’t been bored for one moment, but it’s still a day’s work. It’s all the angles, the shots, the ideas, the setups, and everything you need to be able to build an airplane. That’s fun. That’s what the director does.

Of course it can be hell as well.

I used to sit there for days scripting down little storyboards, trying to imagine each shot and how it would fit with the next shot. I tried to map everything out with little scribbles, and I stayed up waytoo late trying to understand what I was trying to do for the next day and have it really match. Then you arrive on the set already burnt out, no confidence, no flexibility, no passion, and just fear. If you are lucky, the cameraman or the Assistant Director and the artist will save you and get started with the shots and reassure you, till you are able to trust the concept again. Occasionally they turn on you it’s all: “Right then, governor, where does the camera go?” Then you don’t feel like a God at all. Abject terror. More than once, I’ve sat in a taxi on the way to a set, praying we would get sideswiped by a truck. You get through it, it’s a team process and you don’t have to carry it all, just the glory and the blame.

Being a director isn’t, “Where does the camera go?” It’s much more about knowing the feeling you want and knowing the ideas, and where your ideas came from and how they relate to other people’sideas. Then it’s putting a world around the artist that you’re directing, whether it’s an actor or a musician, in which they can feel safe to express themselves.

MA: I think the first time I came to America I went to Chicago to do a video with the Thompson Twins. Tom Hanks was also in the video. It was for a movie called Nothing in Common. I did that video, and then I came back several times to shoot different videos. Apart from U2, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for a music video director back in Ireland. I used to go to London, work there, but English people are very insular; they don’t really like to open their arms to foreigners, especially Paddy’s.

In ’86 or ’87 I moved to America, because I was shooting there a lot but never seeing my family, so we just moved over to America. That’s one of the big problems with directing or being a cameraman, or working any of the great jobs in the film industry. It’s very difficult to keep a family and keep a career. You just travel too much.

That’s the wonderful thing about Los Angeles is that you can actually shoot and go home at night rather than shoot and have to get on a plane the next day to go home. That’s why my family and I came here. I often wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed in Ireland, and a large part of me wishes I had, I think. But, here I am, so . . .

MA: Well, you can’t really earn a living as a music video director unless you make commercials. That’s what pays the rent.

When music videos started, it was viewed as part of the marketing effort of the band rather than a product in itself. The band gave away the videos to MTV and didn’t really get any money. Sometimes MTV would give the bands some kind of token just to make it a transaction, but MTV was basically created out of free programming. It all sounds reasonable, but when you look back on it, the budgets for those videos could be fairly high relative to the other costs of the band, and the band would have no way of recouping that cost. So, it becomes part of the band’s debt to the label that they can never get out of. The financial contractual structure of the music video was really flawed.

It’s a bizarre business to exist in. Most video directors have to have a fairly time-consuming TV commercial career. The music video industry is completely parasitical on the commercial industry. There would be few viable music video directors without a commercial industry. You think of yourself as being creative or artistic, but in the same week, you might be making a TV commercial with the same crew. When you go into a TV commercial, your crew is paid based on an hourly rate that can pay the bills. A lot of crews will work on music videos at reduced rates simply because they love music, or they love being creative. Suddenly, there was a bottle of soda pop on the music video set. Nobody’s being paid commercial union rates to shoot it, but you still have to shoot it as if it was a commercial. It’s got to be lit up and made to look pretty, but the bottle of soda pop is being imposed on the crew. The crew signed up to do a video. They didn’t signed up to do a commercial for soda pop. The soda pop just ends up trivializing everybody—the artists, the crews, the directors all get trivialized by this sort of bogus financial structure that doesn’t respect anybody. That’s not the way people make art. The musicians are trying to make something from the heart. The audience is trying to get somefeeling from the heart that lights up their lives and gives them information and ways of looking at their lives. The soda thing is bogus.

It reached surreal heights with Beats. Ultimately the artists became more or less unwitting hucksters and the Beats brand became more valuable than music itself. Twenty years earlier, I had been offered serious cash if I would sneak a specific bottle of beer into a Springsteen video. Ideclined, of course. Now we are doing essentially the same shit, for free. It seems harmless enough but it is the trivialization and destruction of art and creativity.

MA: It’s a weird process. I mean, they send you the song, right?

MA: And they need the idea by Tuesday, and its Friday. Usually, you don’t get that much time. So, you’re racking your brains, trying to come up with something that has some kind of emotional resonance with the song and the artist, and something that can be done for the amount of money they’re going to give you. Something that matters to you. You have to come up with something that hasn’t been done a thousand times before, and that you’re going to be able to communicate in words, because you’re going to have to write it down and send it to who knows what whom. The whole process is bogus, because you’re bidding—you’re sending in ideas for free. You’re not paid to write. There’s all these people trying to become directors, giving their ideas for free. It’s like putting a bunch of dogs into a pit and then they’ll have to fight it out for your amusement, and they pick the best idea. The only one still standing at the end wins, but all those other ideas are just left bleeding on the floor. To be stolen later. This is the future.

You have these ideas and discussions go around at various levels in the record company, the artist, the director, and other creative advisors in the circle. Then you and your producer do a budget. Or your record company tells you what the budget is, and suddenly, you get a call, “Oh,your budget’s approved, but there’s just one problem, its cut by 20% and we need the video in ten days, or five days, or two days.” Once or twice it has been, “Can you shoot tomorrow?”

By the time all those highly paid people have kicked the ball around for weeks, there’s no time left. Suddenly, you’ve got two or three days to prep a whole production, crew it up, find the locations, build the sets, cast it. An endless amount of work has to be compressed into the tiniest amount of time, and that’s really stressful, but it makes it a very plastic form. It’s like playing fast jazz with reality, with immediate consequences. It’s a very, very spontaneous art form, fun like nothing else, if you can deal with the stress.

A music video is not really designed. It’s a live art performance in front of a camera. The whole crew and the talent and the extras and the lighting and all that have never been there before goes—[swishing noise]—and you erect this circus tent and put all these things in motion for ten or twelve hours, and then you’d rip it all down and it’s gone. Whatever you did is either good or bad, and it’s either on a hard drive or you missed it. It’s a very energetic, creative process. Instantaneously reduced to ones and zeros. There’s nothing sculptural about it. That’s a curse and a blessing.

You’ve just got to do it as best you can under the pressures that are there, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the time, you don’t even know if it worked. Even today, with YouTube, I can look at videos I did twenty years ago and say, “Oh, that wasn’t as crap as I thought it was.” Or vice versa.

It’s very exciting. As the director, you really are the only person who really knows what’s going on. You are in total control of it, but nobody can really help you if you mess it up. You’re doomed if you screw it up. But I can’t think of a better way to spend a day than shooting a music video.

MA: Not really, no.

MA: I mean, there’s always just the process. The kibble itself fighting you —what the film is capable of, what the performer is capable of, what the focus puller is capable of, or you ran out of time. It’s always about pushing out the boundaries in every way. The directors are all watching what one another does, trying to be more extreme, more groundbreaking.

The closest I have yet got to that feeling is with Bruce. Bruce Springsteen is an unusual guy because the man and the icon are more or less the same. He’s not an asshole pretending to be Bruce Springsteen. What’s in his songs is more or less him. The way he treats himself and the people around him is consistent with that myth of Springsteen. [Click here to watch the “Brilliant Disguise” video directed by Meiert.]

It’s very hard to know whether a video is successful or not. As the creator of the video, you can’t separate what you made from the song and the artist and what they made. I’ve always tried to base my work on what the song needs or what the song says to me. But at the same time, you do want what you do to be measured. It’s really weird for your creative work to exist in service of something that came before you. Sometimes you’ll make a video as the musician(s) is recording the song and that’s fun, but a lot of the times it’s like you’re in a religious ceremony, but you’re not really sure what your part in it is, but at least you’re in the ceremony. Pretending to know the words.

MA: You know, back then I’d just do a commercial instead.

MA: Yeah.

MA: Yeah, sometimes there are strategic or other considerations. I mean, you wouldn’t do it for the money because the money’s not good enough. It’s too much work. Look at the work. It’s a month of work. How would you do that if you didn’t have some connection with some part of it, you know? But are you gonna do something you don’t wanna do for $10.00 an hour? Videos are physically hard work. Four minutes is an eternity.

MA: They pay you properly and it’s only thirty seconds, so it’s really easy. They’re mostly written before you get there. You’re basically fulfilling someone else’s creative view, which just makes it all easier. You’vegotta have a certain understanding of visual language, I guess, and a goodunderstanding of politics and a good crew, good relationships with the people, the creatives in the agency so that it doesn’t become a bloodbath on the set. And, you know, the ability to shoot things over and over and over again until everybody’s happy. With digital, you can do one hundred takes. Sometimes you just move the camera a few inches to the right so you can get a fresh slate number or you might lose your mind. Sometimes you just keep shooting the samething because you don’t quite know how to approach the next set up yet. In thefilm days, there was real world chemistry involved, each take you did would cost money, so there was a certain point where you could sort of say, “I think we’ve got it, guys.” Today, it’s just photons on a chipset. The editors never even look at most of what we shoot. It’s a very weird process, but it keeps the consumer consuming, so I guess it has some function.

MA: Right now, I don’t do many videos, or commercials for that matter.

MA: I’m sure they just wanted a cheap director. If you’re a producer and you don’t have a big budget (there wasn’t a big budget with Undiscovered, for that matter), you have to find someone who can direct but doesn’t have a heavy fee. The cheapest director you can get is a music video director because they’re already working for free.

MA: It’s not much fun once you get over the, “Look, Mom, I’m directing a movie” feeling. For any director, that’s a big step in your career. Once you get over that, it’s amazing how little control youactually have because you’re working to a script that you have committed to delivering. You’re committed to delivering two, three, four, five, six, seven pages a day. They make a schedule before you shoot, and you sign off on the schedule. You do it with the Assistant Director and the producers, but you’re committed to delivering on that schedule.

Every day, you go in, and that’s what you have to do, shoot those pages. The compromises you have to make to get through that day can be quite hard to deal with, but you have to do it. If things aren’t working with a video, you just change ’em on the spot, you know?

MA: In some ways, it’s good to have a roadmap—you’re a taxi driver getting from A to B. In other ways, it’s more like, “You know what would be more interesting? If we took the mountain route to get there.” But you can’t do that on a movie, and that’s the way it is. Unless you are David Lynch, of course.

The other part, especially as compared to videos, is learning to pace yourself. You tend to push yourself very hard on a video set. We’ll shoot twenty, thirty-hour days on videos quiet often. You can’t keep that kind of pace up for eight weeks or six weeks on a movie. The pacing in terms of your personal intensity is completely different. If you go in caring for every little thing the way you would on a music video, you’re just going to run out of whatever mojo it is that keeps you running.

Far from Home was a pretty tough film to make. The location is right where Burning Man happens.People were dropping like flies. Drew kept it all together. Funny as hell. She always had her lines well prepared, full of life. A professional. Matt Frewer is the funniest man on earth. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a comedy. If it was a music video, we could have just changed it around on the set and it would have been a great comedy classic.

First off, the invisibility of video directors is not an accident. Even now, video directors rarely get credit on YouTube. It would be so easy. The record companies do not want directors to build their brand, and they don’t want any kind of creative rights for directors being established.

As for the movie, I didn’t write that, but when you’re from outside of America, your view of America is what you saw in movies and television. So when you come to America to make a movie, you are sort of reflecting back a fake perception of American teenage life in a way.

That movie was shot in the Black Rock Desert. If it’d have been made a few years later, or if the actors had been a couple of years older, it would’ve been easier to make more of a slasher film. It’s kind of athriller, but it doesn’t really have any violence in it. The violence is reallyunderstated in a sort of 1950’s fashion. Certainly not an 1980‘s style movie. Apart from the jeans.

What I’ve learned is that you have to know exactly what the genre is, what kind of a film you’re making, what context it lives in, and then all the publicity has to be consistent with that. In the first five minutes of the film, you have to tell them what they are expecting to get out of the film. If you walk into a McDonald’s and you order a burger, you want a burger.

If you walk into a slasher movie, you want slash and blood and gore, and you’re not getting it with this movie. The way we made that film, and I think the way it was written to a large extent, was much more of a Hitchcock movie than a teen slasher movie. [Click here to watch the film’s trailer.]

MA: That was another problem. Vestron was already in Chapter 11 by the time it was released. [Laughs] Which is not a very good thing for a moviemaker. It was very strange; we were making that movie in the desert and we were very isolated, but you’d sort of heard rumors of the larger picture going on. Decisions are made higher up the organization and you just get echoes. The result was that the movie was never properly marketed . . .

MA: Yeah, Vestron was deep in Chapter 11 by then. They just needed to try and recoup as much as possible for as little Prints & Advertising investment as possible. They needed the theatrical reviews to sell the VHS. Anyway, I quite liked that movie. I don’t know if I’m proud of it, but I like the mood.

JC: The one big criticism of the film—this is coming from many people aside from myself—is that we figure out which of the boys is the killer.

MA: Yeah, but that isn’t the point. It’s when Drew’s character figures it out, not the audience. I mean, watching someone who doesn’t know that they’re in love with a killer is meant to be the interesting part of it. It’s not a whodunit. It’s Psycho for teenagers.

MA: Well, I don’t know if that’s the writing or the leads or me. Maybe that’s the editing. Who knows? In Undiscovered, I let Peter Weller run riot over the lines.

MA: It could be. There’s always circumstances going on behind the camera that affect all of that stuff in different ways. Perhaps the core relationship—the love story, the chemistry—isn’t powerful enough to drag you into it. [Click here to watch the trailer for Undiscovered.] However, we would probably have been able to suspend disbelief if it hadn’t been for Saturday Night Live.

MA: Well, exactly, and she had done a great job.

MA: Well, yeah, I mean, it was like the Titanic by that point in time. Doomed. But when I cast her, Ashlee was a huge star.

MA: She was Miley Cyrus, of that era. I got a call from the studio saying that they wanted to cast her. So we met and talked about it, and I thought if that’s what it would take to get people into the cinema at that time, that’s what I would do. If a movie came out with Miley in it right now, who wouldn’t pay for that?

MA: So off we go. Ashlee does a bang-up job, in my opinion. “Smart in a Stupid Way,” that song that’s in the movie. It’s brilliant, her duet with Steven is fantastic, and that’s her voice. “Undiscovered,” itself, is a great song, one of hers. She wasn’t faking. And then she goes on Saturday Night Live.

MA: I could be wrong, but the drummer triggers the loop—the backing track— which is normal and they sing/lip-sync the first song, and off they go. Then at the end of the show, he triggers the wrong backing track. It’s the same song she’s already performed. So she’s flailing around, helpless. It was her turn to get destroyed, because the way this thing seems to work is thatyou build people up and then destroy them. It’s like the Sun King, you know? That’s the ritual that we’re engaged in as a culture. And Ashlee was the next one to go.

The media just piled on top of her, and then we’re left with, “Okay, we’ve got a movie where Ashlee’s one of the core characters.” So what do you do? [laughs]—

MA: I remember the day we had to do a press day, where you have to meet all the top movie critics. We’re in some hotel on the top floor in Beverly Hills, and the actors are all there, and I had to go from room to room, meeting all these critics.

JC: Yeah.

MA: I’m explaining the movie, or trying to give them material that they can write up. They’ve obviously all already agreed with each other that this was a movie they could just shit all over. It was one of the weirdest afternoons in my life. I mean, that was years ago, and I still haven’t even gotten my head around how critics have to rip something apart every so often in order to give them believability as critics. It’s weird, you know? Is it really that bad? Is the movie you gave a good review to the next day really that good? No, it isn’t. That was a weird experience.

I mean, it’s a just a piece of pop. It’s not meant to be a great movie.

MA: That’s exactly right. I think one of the mistakes I made was in the first five minutes. We didn’t really establish that it was meant to be a light-hearted romantic comedy. The photography and the performances are kind of edgier than they should be for a romantic comedy. There are certain colors and techniques that you use that make you feel like you’re watching aromantic comedy, and I avoided doing that because I wanted to make it edgy. I think that was a mistake because the audience was like, “Well, what am I watching here?” Then it takes them too long to get into the fantasy of it. I hadn’t really put them in the right frame of mind to have that kind of fantasy anyway. I think that was an error as a director. You really have to lead your audience into the suspension of disbelief very carefully. After they’re in there, you can shake ’em up again and play games with it, with the genre and all that, but you can’t do it in the first ten minutes, you know?

MA: The magnetic force of marketing kind of wobbles the field that we’re all circling in that everything is drawn to the celebrity vortex. The celebrities are trapped in it as well. They’re rotating around their own celebrity persona and they can’t get a word in edgewise for themselves. It’s tragic, really, celebrities.

I love all the actors in Undiscovered; they did a great job. I loved the crew I had. They were great. It’s just one day . . . “Hello, we’re on the Titanic, guys. Sorry.” Do you know what I mean? [Laughs] Good things came out of it. Good relationships came of it—people, children. You know, from a human, real-world point of view, most of the people survived that journey and learned to go on. I did.

I was peeing blood by the end of Undiscovered. You’ve got to learn some way of pacing yourself; otherwise, it’ll kill you. It’s actually a dangerous job. A director friend of mine just died in his hotel room the other day. Making a feature film is much more demanding than you think it’s going to be. That’s one aspect of it.

The other aspect of it is how wonderful it is to have dialogue to play with. In music videos, people are lip-synching songs over and over and it isn’t interesting after a point. It’s very difficult to get a different interpretation of a song’s words when you’re lip-synching. Being able to direct an artist, an actor, and their delivery on the interpretation of the words, and how they fit together and what they mean, is an interesting way to spend an afternoon. I love it. However, a movie takes a year of your life. You’d better make sure that it’s worth it, you know? I have a family. Features are not helpful for that, but I have some other stories that I’m trying to do. Hopefully, I’ll get a couple more, so we shall see.

MA: Well, you know why that is?

MA: Because the label people started saying, “Can you pay us?” Suddenly, the programming wasn’t for free anymore, so MTV thought, “Well, fuck it, let’s find some new programming that we control rather than the record companies,” and they came up with the reality show.

Reality shows are the cheapest way to produce an hour of entertainment that you can imagine. You don’t have to pay anybody. They’re all desperate to degrade themselves in front of the camera just to get noticed. There’s no production value. It’s cheap—it’s easy to produce, easy to edit.

MA: No.

MA: No, the golden part is just being on a set with a good song and a good performer and a good idea and a good cameraman. I could make my best video tomorrow. It’s golden if the song is good, the performer’s good, the idea is good, the cameraman’s good, and you’re feeling good. But that could be any time. I guess I see videos very much as individual pieces that I make. Idon’t think of it as a stream of anything, you know? Some of them are very difficult to make, some of them are extremely painful to make, and some of them are a lot of fun to make. The golden time is the one that’s fun. The last ones I did with Pretty Reckless, we made two videos in one day for almost no money, and one of them is spectacular—for me, anyway. [Click here to watch Pretty Reckless’ “You” directed by Meiert.]

But at the same time, myself and a couple of other directors were trying to get the Directors Guild in Los Angeles to represent music video directors, so we could have some union or guild to represent us to negotiate director’s rights together, rather than individually. I put a lot of work into that, with a few other directors. We had tried to do it before six or seven years ago, and this time, we tried a lot more visibly.

MA: A couple of years ago. This is because of YouTube. Originally, music videos were conceived of as a marketing tool that didn’t have any income value. The costs could then be billed to the artist, and there was no way they could ever recoup that expenditure. The record companies kind of like to keep the artists in debt, because they have this company store plantation business model. A model that we’re going to have for the whole world soon enough, by the way.

The logic was, “Well, there’s no point in arguing for directors’ creative rights on the music video because it’s just a publicity tool and we’re not selling it to MTV; we’re giving it to MTV.” There’s no flow of income directly from the video.

That all changed with YouTube. Suddenly, people are watching specific videos specific number of times, in specific territories. All the data is collected by Google. From those statistics, the record companies are getting money. Theoretically, the record companies are paying a split of that to the artists.

Now is the time, one would think, where the directors should gather together behind the director’s union, which is the Director’s Guild of America, and start to say, “Well, hold on a minute. Our art form, which is one of the few new art forms in the twentieth century, has evolved to the point where there is an income flow. Would you mind helping us put out our bucket to try and get a little bit of it?” Even just a credit would be nice. That seems logical to me, but it’s met with resounding apathy in the Director’s Guild, and the record companies didn’t want to hear about it.

MA: Yeah, I’m in the Guild, but they won’t proactively represent music video directors.

MA: Movies and commercials.

MTV not playing videos didn’t change things. What changed for me was when the Director’s Guild folded for a second time and didn’t support our attempt to get representation. That was a huge blow. I was very disappointed. People who’d been supportive suddenly stopped taking our calls,and it was clear that the decision had been made somewhere in the Director’s Guild, that this wasn’t a battle they were prepared to fight. I think it’s a strategically poor decision for the Directors Guild. I think it was very bad for music videos and bad for all directors’ creative rights in the near future. YouTube should’ve been the battleground where directors, with the support of the Director’s Guild, fought for guild representation and residuals on all kinds of digital streams. This year, for the first time, online advertising production, called “Viral”, was larger than traditional advertising production. Most of that viral production is non-Director’s Guild work. Broadcasting is over and the Director’s Guild missed the boat by dissing video directors. They could have had YouTube and online sown up from the beginning. It’s not too late. The Director’s Guild thinks they are bullet proof, but the kibble will eat their lunch very quickly if they don’t control the new creative battlefield online. Director’s rightswere hard fought by many directors over the years. Now, the same defeat that decimated creative rights in the music industry is about wipe out all that hard work. Cinema is about to be replaced by a thousand foot-wide virtual reality screen streaming content from somewhere offshore. TV network are history. Director’s rights will be swept away with the old deal structures and technologies. I don’t think they get the immediacy of the danger, or the damage that the erosion of creative rights in music has done to their medium under the waterline.

Everybody is trying to control what’s happening in the digital world, and music video was and still is the perfect battleground for it because the income stream on YouTube is clear and measurable and auditable. You could never really audit the value of a music video before, but with YouTube, you know exactly how many views it has, and the value of that in advertising terms or attention terms is already established. What needs to be reestablished is the concept of creativity itself have a value beyond just passing fame. You can’t eat fame.

In my opinion, the Guild had a perfect arena to establish creative rights in the digital medium, but they just dropped the ball.

MA: Well, it’s a way of trivializing art. We can’t sell it, so we’re gonna give it away free. But you will pay for the technology that allows you to listen or watch. Value has been moved from the content to the distribution platform, which they own.

MA: Conditioning? I know how hard those guys work. I know their great albums; I watched them record them. There’s nothing trivial there. This is four people trying to make the greatest rock record that’s ever been made. I know they’re a lot older now and probably less diligent than they were, but it’s—[laughs]—I mean, you don’t give this stuff away like it is stale bread. What kind of a message are they sending to people?

As for Taylor Swift, Taylor’s left on her own selling her own creativity, but the industry is not selling creativity; they’re not selling art. They don’t want to be seen to be in the business of human endeavor or humans being creative. They want to be seen to be in the business of disposable, trivial fashion, because there’s more profit in that and you don’t have to administer all the payments. But why is it important to trivialize creativity? Why do we want that as an industry as a culture?

I think the business has been taken over by the prison industrial complex mentality. To some extent, the whole culture has. I have had record company people say on the set, “Yo! Meiert don’t forget, you’re my bitch!” to my face. These are middle class executives. Why are we talking to each other as though we are in the prison yard, all of a sudden?

MA: There were more people in the record companies whose motivation in life was to make the creativeprocess work for people. They were people who understood music. Many of them could play music and had been in bands. There was a sense that music was part of our culture; it was going to change and evolve our culture, and that music was to be valued, and that people’s creative rights as musicians were to be valued.

Even the heads of many of the companies back then were inspired people who loved music and loved musicians and loved culture. So even someone like a music industry titan as David Geffen—back then, anyway—was a man on a mission. I’m sure he was motivated financially, but he definitely had a mission to provide the best service he could for his artists, nurture them. If they got into trouble, they’d be looked after. They were treated with respect.

I can’t think of anybody like that anymore. Maybe they’re there, but they wouldn’t last long.

MA: I started writing a blog. [Click here to read Meiert’s blog.] It was to get the story onto paper with the idea of writing a sort of magical realist autobiography. That’s kind of why I did it,but there’s so many things you can’t say because the people are still alive, and people are still gainfully employed. You just can’t say what you really think about some of these situations.

MA: It’s not a matter of how big their names are; people’s names you’ve never heard of are an issue, too.

Apart from the blog, I am trying to make a movie called The Third Policeman and a few other difficult projects. The most difficult of those is a reality show called Yale or Jail. We have more people inprison per capita than the Soviets managed at the height of the gulag. Two million, every night, in a freaking cell. Easy to change, if anyone has any interest, let me know.

What else? Writing and keeping up with my fascination with virtual reality. That’s been a wizard’s journey. Way back in 2007, we customized the technology to do immersive virtual reality for a Papa Roach video. I think that was the first virtual reality music video. A lot of that earlyexperimentation was done in the music video world. Now Virtual Reality and Augmented Reality is going to be the big media story of 2016. And then there’s the endless battle for music video director’s rights. We are all headed back to the Brill Building Plantation if we don’t take a stand together.