Benn Jordan turns a routine survey of 550 musicians into a scathing indictment of the music industry's largest trade organization, using absurd statistical correlations to expose a much more serious financial rot. The piece is notable not for its data, but for its method: it weaponizes the ridiculous to make the reader question the legitimacy of an institution that claims to serve the public good.
The Weaponization of Absurdity
Jordan opens by presenting a barrage of statistically significant but logically nonsensical findings from their survey. They write, "people who use Apple headphones are 25% more likely to lose money from their music," and later, "using FL Studio actually reduces diarrhea by 50% whereas using Ableton increases diarrhea by 64%." These claims are immediately followed by the crucial disclaimer: "correlation is not causation." By presenting these outlandish connections alongside serious data, Jordan forces the audience to confront the danger of accepting data at face value without understanding the underlying context.
This framing is a masterstroke of rhetorical strategy. It disarms the reader with humor before delivering a hard critique. As Jordan notes, "this is meant to be a bit ridiculous and fun so if you change your music software to treat your irritable bowel syndrome that would be really F stupid." The point is to illustrate how easily data can be manipulated to tell a story that isn't true, a lesson that becomes devastatingly relevant when the topic shifts to the organization's finances. The absurdity of the gear correlations serves as a perfect setup for the very real absurdity of the organization's fiscal management.
If you change your music software to treat your irritable bowel syndrome that would be really F stupid.
The Nonprofit Paradox
Once the survey data is exhausted, Jordan pivots to the core of the argument: the financial health of the National Association of Music Merchants (NAMM). The author highlights a stark contradiction in the organization's status as an educational charity. Jordan writes, "one thing NAMM succeeds at is their excellent CEO pay packages," noting that in 2022, the organization had "two different CEOs simultaneously earning a total of over $1 million salary." This is juxtaposed with the fact that the organization is classified as a nonprofit, a status that typically implies a focus on public service rather than executive enrichment.
The commentary draws a sharp comparison to other major charities to underscore the disparity. "The CEO of Unicef makes $630,000 and NAMM routinely pays their CEO more than the CEOs of the Red Cross, Planned Parenthood, ACLU and pretty much every single nonprofit that I could hunt down." This comparison effectively reframes the issue from a simple matter of executive compensation to a question of institutional integrity. If the organization is truly a charity, why does it outpay the leaders of global humanitarian efforts?
Critics might argue that trade associations operate differently than humanitarian charities and that high pay is necessary to attract talent in a competitive market. However, Jordan's evidence suggests a deeper issue: the organization is losing money while paying out massive salaries. The author points out that "in 2021 NAMM lost 13.7 million in publicly traded stocks in a year when the S&P 500 gained an impressive 20.8%." This loss, combined with the opaque "other" expenses in their financial filings, paints a picture of mismanagement that is hard to ignore.
The Hidden Costs of "Education"
The piece delves into the historical context of NAMM, revealing that it started as a lobbying group to crack down on counterfeit pianos before evolving into a trade show host. Jordan notes that while the organization has contributed to music education, there is a troubling history of questionable financial decisions. "In the 1990s NAMM actually put a whole lot of money into psychology research and was nearly instrumental in funding studies leading to the Mozart effect... once other scientists were unable to reproduce the results the original data was deleted." This historical precedent of hiding failed research sets a tone of skepticism for the current financial opacity.
Jordan's personal experience attending the trade show adds a layer of immediacy to the critique. They describe the event as "absurdly difficult" and suggest an "utter lack of organization or that there was some sort of intentional pushback or hostility." This anecdotal evidence, while subjective, reinforces the financial data by suggesting a culture of dysfunction that extends beyond the balance sheet.
A good charity gives away most or all of the money that it makes.
The author concludes with a sobering realization about the industry's power dynamics. "I have made two times more off of shorting Spotify than I've made from my music on Spotify with 1.7 million listeners." This statement encapsulates the frustration of creators who feel exploited by the very systems designed to support them. It suggests that the real issue isn't just NAMM's management, but a broader ecosystem where intermediaries profit while the creators struggle.
Bottom Line
Jordan's piece is a brilliant example of using data literacy to expose institutional failure. By starting with the absurd, the author makes the subsequent financial critique impossible to dismiss as mere opinion. The strongest part of the argument is the juxtaposition of the organization's nonprofit status with its executive compensation and investment losses. The biggest vulnerability is the reliance on a self-selected survey sample, which may not represent the entire industry, though the financial data cited comes from public filings. Readers should watch for how the organization responds to these public financial disclosures, as the pressure to justify these pay packages and explain the investment losses is now mounting.