Not long after I started songwriting, I began to take great joy from making recordings of my songs. I have recorded three albums so far: one in a rush in a Prague dormitory (in a boiler room, more specifically) after an unfortunate premonition about the impending end of the world (Časozor a jiné muzikoryty, 2012), another in a university studio during a hit of harsh northern English winter at about 10 degrees Celsius (I Was Living in a zevltown, 2013), and the third in my attic during a hit of harsh Czech summer, this time at about 40 degrees Celsius (Janus, 2016). The attentive ear will hear the peculiar soundscapes of each of these circumstances in the songs. But I have never had the means to record in better conditions, as my songwriting has never really paid off...

Similarly, I soon began to create motion-picture accompaniments to my songs. I quickly discovered that this required even more resources than recording audio alone. Since my songwriting has never really paid off, I looked for ways to pursue this growing passion at little or no cost. And so – as a virtue of necessity – a peculiar visual language emerged, one through which I discovered the power and fragility of live performance, often set against the backdrop of “enchanted reality.” In this visual language, I have completed quite a few projects within the confines of small budgets and production minimalism, and with the help of my wonderful friends.

The desire for improvement gradually brought me to a tricky point. I had to save time and money for projects, just like others save for a vacation. The friends lending a hand often had to wait months (even years!) to see what they were working on. And I didn’t end up enjoying the production phase of the projects much; once the camera started to roll, I was focused more on whether all the recorders and cameras were charged enough, if there was enough space on memory cards, or if my friends’ stomachs were not churning, rather than on my own musical performance.

So I started looking for means to pursue these passions differently.

Of course, I was far from alone in this kind of trouble, and the invisible hand of the market has built many turnkey solutions for artists in similar situations. However, none of the models suited me for various reasons.

Platforms such as Kickstarter require artists to chase their fans with huge campaigns and deadlines. If not enough funds are secured, the money has to be returned and the project doesn’t happen. Not great for Petr Vořešák, someone with an audience that includes most of his good friends, the people he would least like to chase, and who also missed the social media hype train years ago...

Platforms like Patreon force artists to create content regularly and build a community that they feed with VIP material. Not great for Petr Vořešák, whose muses come to him with different intensities but without regularity, and who also has another job that keeps him busy…

On all of these platforms, the artist shares a portion of their fans’ contributions with the owners of the service, often a monstrous digital corporation. Not great for Petr Vořešák, who already earns next to nothing from songwriting (and is also wary of monstrous digital corporations)…

So I came up with the Hat, an experimental way to crowdfund the recording of new albums and music videos. The Hat is not a priori a tool to monetise music; it’s a way to share the cost of producing music with the people who enjoy it.

What makes the Hat different from other fundraising platforms?

• No hidden fees.
  No sharing with platform operators and owners. One hundred percent of the proceeds go directly to Petr Vořešák to implement his projects; it’s as straightforward as a coin landing in a street musician’s hat.
• No rush, no deadline.
  It doesn’t matter when the money comes together, even if it takes a few years – just like for a street musician who can’t be sure how fast their hat will fill up.
• No campaign, no marketing.
  No tyranny of emails and posts on social networks. No rewards like magnets, socks and dinners with the artist; all the more time and resources for making the project happen.
• No personal data for big corporations.
  Show your support publicly or contribute anonymously just like dropping a coin in the street musician’s hat (an email after your contribution will explain the options).
• No covert business.
  You can see a detailed production plan for the project you support, including its planned budget.
• No big expectations.
  I consider the Hat an experiment. Who knows, I may give it up quietly in a few years. Or maybe the whole indie scene will copy the model. Thanks for trying this out with me!

FAQ

• Why aren’t payments processed automatically?
  There’s no such thing as free lunch, not even for robots. Automatic payment processing from banking service providers needs to be paid for, and that would make the Hat project unprofitable (given it is set up just for occasional passers-by to drop in change). So, I publish the details of the payments myself, one by one. That’s why your payments may take a few days to appear on the web. Thank you for your patience!
• Why don’t I use a transparent account?
  After careful consideration, I have decided to use a standard bank account for my crowdfunding activities. This allows contributors to remain anonymous (any transparent account works by publishing personal data that can identify contributors). I make the Hat as transparent as possible by 1) publishing information about the current total in the Hat; 2) publishing the planned project budget; 3) publishing the names of the contributors who have explicitly agreed to appear. If you come across discrepancies in the Hat (e.g. if you don’t see your payment credited within two weeks), then it is human error and I would be happy to be notified about it by .
• How come donations aren’t taxed?
  In Czech law (i.e. in the country of my economic domicile), contributions are considered “gifts.” Those whose value from a single donor do not exceed CZK 15,000 per tax period are exempt from income tax.