We REALLY need funding - at risk of closing doors.
Written by Fury Young
12/3/24
“This has been the best experience of my life.”
I heard these words after four days of recording an album in a prison in Colorado. The man who spoke them, Kevin Woodley, I’d met for the first time four days prior.
At that time, I was 28, and this album project of mine called Die Jim Crow was in its 5th year. This was only the second prison I’d recorded in, after years of knocking on doors of DOCs (department of corrections) which told me No.
Kevin Woodley and I in 2018. (📸 Fury Young)
Fury (center) and the UMOJA Choir in 2015, Ohio. (📸 Cathy Roma)
The truth is, I’d heard words like Kevin’s before, just not as simply and strongly worded. At the first prison I’d recorded in three years earlier, I’d formed strong connections with musicians who I was still in close touch with, even though we’d only spent a handful of days actually in person together.
What did it boil down to? The power of music. Sure, I was an impassioned artsy kid from New York City who was good at keeping in touch, but what I provided was an opportunity for incarcerated artists to tell their stories through music - on their own terms. That was priceless to people, and even when I felt like I wasn’t delivering enough on my end - songs weren’t finished yet, this full length concept album was taking forever - the friends I’d made on the inside still kept in touch with me. Years later, I see clearly that it’s because music connected us.
That’s what drove me in the beginning and it’s what drives me now. But in the early days, I had no idea that my love for music could grow into a company, where we’d release songs from several artists across several albums, and have a staff where I’d be able to hire formerly incarcerated people and provide them with stable employment.
It’s all just run on passion. A passion for music and a passion for social change. It’s gotten us far, but passion alone won’t do it. Like pirates who’ve carved out a solid niche, now we must graduate to form a navy.
Me at art show in 2016. I curated this show by myself… it was like 100 pieces! 😅
Art shows like this one helped fund DJC in its early days.
The team grows: Ahmad Nichols, BL Shirelle, and me (2020, 📸 Britni West)
In 2019 when I decided Die Jim Crow should become a record label, I had no business experience and just a few semesters of community college. Two of my four staff - all part time then - were formerly incarcerated. Only one of us had non-profit management experience.
We went through many growing pains, but we eked out records and music videos, we grew as a company. We took on too many directions, though some seemed undeniable, like sending over 30,000 covid masks to 19 prisons across the country during the peak of the pandemic. Or starting an Instruments Into Prisons campaign which has provided dozens of musicians inside gear.
By our eleventh year, newly rebranded as FREER Records, we had nine employees on payroll and two full time - including me, finally, after years of not getting paid. This 11th year I speak of is now - 2024 - and in terms of artistic output - it’s our most successful year to date, with two LPs, an EP, and ten Singles coming out.
But in terms of funding and sustainability, it’s back to the bare bones. By the end of this year, we’ll have to cut back nearly all our staff. I’ve decided to volunteer to save us money until we reach 2025, living off the savings I’ve earned from my one year of being fully paid.
By mid-next year, we run the risk of having to close our doors.
Clearly, none of this is sustainable. I can’t live like this for too much longer. In the beginning, I volunteered because I had a full time job as a carpenter. Then, when we became a label, I moved back in with my parents who didn’t charge me rent. While we got off the ground as a company, I stayed volunteering and worked full time. I lived off what modest savings I had and just lived broke. I’d been doing it my whole 20s anyway.
But in the meantime, I’d built out a company. By 2022, I’d secured a full time salary for BL Shirelle, who I appointed my Co-Director, who I’d met in prison in 2015 and showed her the ropes around company management from what little I knew. We learned as we went along.
I’ve given everything to this company because I believe it can be a total powerhouse, because I believe in the power of music. I’ve seen how it can give people in prison “the best experience of their life” and can provide people getting out with real jobs.
Me and BL in 2016 at an early art show. 📸 Mickey Hoover
Ahmad, BL, and me at Picto Opening 11/15/24 📸 Britni West
How do we keep this up though? We’ve gotten so many “nos” from funders. One big funder said they wouldn’t fund us because we’re “commercial music” (who makes commerce in music these days anyway??). Others have ignored us. We’ve mostly lived off of donations.
We’ve spent under $800K in 11 years. I’ll repeat that: we’ve spent under $800K in 11 years. And we’ve done so much with that. We’ve dropped 4 EPs, 4 LPs, and 20 Singles. We’ve built an inseparable community. We’ve put on epic events and art shows like the one ongoing at Picto right now. We’ve hired returned citizens like BL Shirelle and Ahmad Nichols, who came all the way to New York on his own dime to be at the Picto opening, despite his hours being cut back to zero for the time being.
I don’t know what else to say but please try to see the potential in us. We’ve done so much with so little and imagine what we can do with real resources. These days, I spend much of my spare time reading business books and thinking strategically on ways we can scale and be the blue chip company we are meant to be. We have so much to learn, but we have the passion to do it. We just need the resources. Will you help us?
Your funds won’t go to just putting out killer albums with cool art, but to building a workforce of administrators, artists, and formerly incarcerated professionals to run an historic label.
This is a letter to funders, to big donors, to people who know funders and big donors. But it’s also a letter to everyone who’ll listen and be moved, because as you know, every donation counts. Please consider donating and spreading the word about our situation so we don’t need to close our doors.
We are FREER Records. The first record label in the US for formerly and currently incarcerated musicians - some of the most disenfranchised voices in our nation. Don’t we need to hear these nuanced, truth-seeking stories now more than ever?
I promise we won’t let you down given the opportunity to flourish.
Thank you.
Fury Young
