“The only review that matters is my rating as an Uber driver”

This darkly comic quote is likely to resonate with many aspiring musicians in the age of streaming. But these are not the words of a bedroom producer, emo teenager or music student. They are the words of James Levy, a widely acclaimed musician and producer who has worked with the likes of Coldplay bassist Guy Berryman, Zoe Kravitz and Tim Wheeler of Ash.

Levy earned his spurs as a working musician as part of the then burgeoning anti-folk movement in the Lower East Side of New York in the early 2000s, alongside contemporaries such as the Moldy Peaches. Most of these musicians combined day jobs with regular shows at a hive of bars within a two-mile radius of the junction of Stanton and Orchard. It was a visceral and intense way to live, involving deep personal relationships and some dramatic falling outs. It was the breakup of a relationship that heavily influenced Levy’s first album Rotten Love, a theme which would repeatedly resurface in his later work.

Right from the beginning of his career, he had no shortage of admirers. His debut was described as a “stunning record, full of strong melodies and vivid memories” by the Scotsman. Sneak into My Room, the single from his 2012 collaboration with Allison Pierce, became a cult hit played on heavy rotation on BBC 6 Music in the UK, while the accompanying album was described as “sublime” by BBC reviewer Martin Aston. Another collaboration, this time with the late Charles Bradley in 2016, was hailed as a “devastating masterclass” by Rolling Stone.

Despite this acclaim, however, Levy’s career illustrates how fine the margins are between success and struggle in today’s music industry. He is from a vintage of musicians who came onto the scene at the turn of the century, just as digitization was radically altering the dynamics of the industry. As a child of the MTV generation, he originally got interested in music by bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam, developing a taste for Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan later in his teens. It is ironic that the artists who grew up steeped in the music released during the heyday of CD revenue entered an unforgiving industry of plummeting sales and narrowing options. For Levy, music was a labor of love which despite significant high points, never really paid the bills.

I would say I make no real money anymore. But to be fair, there were very few instances when I did in the past on music alone. People always say to me, ‘don’t sell your publishing”, but for me, it’s the best way to feel at ease for a few months. Truth is, I can make more money driving an Uber for a few weeks than in music for a whole year. But that is my personal experience.

As a result, many musicians of Levy’s generation have had to balance being an artist with being a survival artist, juggling multiple jobs and burning the candle at both ends to find time for creativity.

Yeah, my time is more focused on making a living, paying my bills any way I can, so less music overall. I struggle to find a way to make money with music, and maybe I’m not supposed to… my mind is more in reality now.

Asked whether he feels the royalty collecting process is transparent enough, he replies with trademark laconism: “Oh yeah, it’s transparent: artists make pennies.”

While at first blush, some of his statements seem a little morose, his economic and personal struggles have led to a more grounded understanding of the human condition — a vital skill for a songwriter. In the past, there was often a danger that when an artist achieved big success, they became removed from the social circumstances that had informed their finest work. This is certainly not a problem for Levy, but he has paid a big price for this insight.

Maybe people should appreciate people to the fullest while they are alive, whether they are a great artist or just a mediocre one. A lawyer, doctor, janitor. Because people are suffering for connection.

In recent years, he relocated from New York to Nashville, where he recorded his latest album, Somebody. On first listen, the first thing you notice is that this is an album completely shorn of self-indulgence — these are short, tight songs which do not waste a beat. While the relatively short phrases and simple rhyming schemes could elicit comparisons with early Coldplay, that would be to underplay the richness and uniqueness of Levy’s voice. It smolders with pathos, elevated from the rest of the mix.

This voice — at various times evoking Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave and Lou Reed — is undoubtedly the centrepiece of the record, but by no means the only thing to recommend it. Stylistically, the songs are relatively stripped down acoustic pieces with some subtle country elements. Holiday combines the familiar, homely sound of a beat-up upright piano with country-infused slide guitar and subtle organ sounds. On Stay Awake, the chord progression and melody line weave deliciously together in dissonant and unexpected ways, which makes the payoff of the chorus all the better.

However, it is probably tracks like Songs of Love and What Do I Know that will have the broadest appeal. The former is a cathartic lament of timeless, understated beauty. The latter blends acoustic-country elements with a measured, lilting melody which strongly evokes 90’s Radiohead — an unexpected, but welcomed addition to the album.

While Levy has found a way to hustle and survive in the digital age, this was only possible by supplementing his income with work which was often low-paid and unskilled. Utopia Music aims to build a music ecosystem that is fit for purpose in the digital age: By combining technologies such as blockchain, big data and artificial intelligence, we want to help artists and other rights holders earn more revenue and get paid faster.

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