smoe.org mailing lists
ivan@stellysee.de
| From | rob@splitsville.com |
| Subject | =?US-ASCII?B?UkU6IFJlOiBOZXcgTGVmc2V0eiBMZXR0ZXIgVG9kYXku?= |
| Date | Thu, 10 Apr 2008 08:54:16 -0400 |
[Part 1 text/plain UTF-8 (6.8 kilobytes)]
(View Text in a separate window)
Thanks my Man!
Uhg...they've been saying this shit since Jovan Musk sponsored the Stones tour in 1981.
>But we know we’ve been abandoned, that
>the contract has been
>broken.
The contract is, if you make something I like, I buy it. If I don't like it, I don't buy it. That's why I own Let It Bleed but not Bridges to Babylon.
I owe the Stones nothing, and they don't owe me anything either.
Pseudo-intellectual psycho-babble.
Back to the '60's, you dope smoking hippie!
>----- ------- Original Message ------- -----
>From: jlmicek@verizon.net
>To: rob@splitsville.com
>Sent: Wed, 09 Apr 2008 21:30:53
>
>> Would like to see the original post from L, just
>as a goof. Too
>> lazy to search for it. I'm sure he carries
>himself with great,
>> ahem, 'dignity'.
>>
>
>Who loves ya, baby?
>Here's the full post:
>>
>
>She’s Not There
> From The Belly Of The Beast
>The Keith Richards Ad
>
>Used to be, no one could make as much money as a
>rock star.
>
>Baseball players were hobbled by the reserve
>clause. Basketball
>hadn’t known Larry or Magic, Dr. J was not
>ubiquitous. As for
>football…the players were expendable, and coaches
>didn’t make the
>money, but owners. Hedge funds had not been
>invented yet. Or, if
>they had, they were not the domain of
>thirtysomething whiz kids, but
>old farts no one wanted to hang around with, who
>worked at brokerage
>houses. As for the CEO… He might end up with a
>cool million come
>tax time, but he could never get rich. To be
>wealthy you had to be
>an entrepreneur, or a rock star.
>
>The rock star was usually uneducated. He did not
>listen to his
>parents and prepare for the future. He smoked
>cigarettes and skipped
>school. Stealing what he needed to pursue his
>passion, music. If he
>was talented, and lucky, he got a deal with a
>label, and after
>slaving in the studio for mere hours, the end
>product was brought to
>the radio station, where in a matter of weeks, if
>not days, the
>musician could become world famous, a star.
>
>This path appealed to not only downtrodden
>Englishmen, but Americans
>too. The fact that you could pick up a guitar and
>suddenly become
>king caused musical instrument sales to skyrocket.
>Everybody wanted
>a chance at this lottery, akin to the California
>gold rush.
>
>And the public paid attention. Not only was the
>music vital, the
>personalities were outsized. These were the real
>James Deans. Doing
>whatever they pleased. Not worried about
>convention. Drinkin’ and
>druggin’ and fuckin’… Everybody wanted to
>play.
>
>Your father might not know who Led Zeppelin was,
>but the band could
>sell out arenas from coast to coast, taking home
>millions for its
>efforts. The pull was so strong that tours added
>stadium dates.
>55,000 people would show up to partake of the seamy
>goodness that was
>rock and roll, with the ragtag bunch of society’s
>losers as
>cheerleaders. Yes, the losers had become
>winners… Who wouldn’t
>smile at that?
>
>With the profits came the conglomerates. Elektra
>and Atlantic joined
>the corporate fold. A formula, known as corporate
>rock, was defined
>and acts sold millions until the whole scene
>imploded but was then
>rescued by MTV, which generated sales heretofore
>unknown.
>
>But the culture was the station, not the act. The
>product was the
>single, not the album. The value was what was on
>the screen as much
>as what entered your ears. Despite the gargantuan
>sales, aided by
>the introduction of CDs, the kernel, the core, the
>essence of the
>music was lost. It was like the rope tying the
>boat to the dock had
>slipped free, but we couldn’t yet see the
>impending disaster, it took
>years to find out we were adrift.
>
>Which we are.
>
>You might rail against the profiteers in the
>financial community, but
>they’re keeping the money, they’re not giving
>it back. And a small
>cadre of executives, who sit on each other’s
>boards, have run up
>executive compensation to a height no mere musician
>can reach. And
>sports stars might have brief careers, but they
>rival the length of
>most musicians’ salad days, if they don’t
>exceed them. Suddenly,
>it’s all topsy-turvy, musicians have gone from
>the top of the heap to
>the bottom. Players are court jesters once again.
>Tools of the
>man. Fighting for evanescent scraps.
>
>This would be fine if the oldsters didn’t still
>exist. If their
>classic records were not still encased in wax, in
>0’s and 1’s, fully
>playable. It’s easy to see how it once was, to
>realize what has been
>lost. Those still raking in the bucks, at this
>point, only the
>corporate infrastructure, the label heads and the
>agents, say that
>nothing has changed, that today’s music is just
>as vital, that the
>scene is healthy. But music is a reflection of
>society. And ours is
>one of instant fame, of money-grubbing. Nothing
>lasts, we don’t take
>anything too seriously. We want to pull our stars
>down into the hole
>we’re in.
>
>But maybe the pinball machine is on tilt. Maybe
>someone has hit the
>reset button. Maybe all those exotic financial
>products have fallen
>by the wayside. It’s even cheaper to record than
>it was in the
>heyday, and distribution might be a vast maze, but
>the tools are in
>the hands of the musicians. Maybe, the heyday can
>return.
>
>If it’s about the music. And the drugs. And the
>women. If we can
>revere our stars as rebels, not tools of the man.
>If the music is
>not made for the radio, but for the audience. If
>the easy way is the
>road less taken.
>
>I’d say that Keith Richards posing for a Louis
>Vuitton ad is the end
>of the world as we know it, but it just shows that
>the money has
>superseded the music. That Keith’s given up.
>
>They can foist a movie upon us. The Stones can
>play the Super Bowl,
>badly. But we know we’ve been abandoned, that
>the contract has been
>broken. We need to believe, and we can’t believe
>in someone in bed
>with our enemy, big business which has oppressed
>us, saying we need
>their products to play, to compete, when nothing
>could be further
>from the truth.
>
>There’s an underclass in America. Fighting for
>recognition, fighting
>to get ahead. Its playground is no longer Top
>Forty radio, not even
>underground FM, but the Internet. I’d like to
>tell you I can foresee
>the future, but alas, all I can see is the
>possibilities.
>
>They say everybody sells out today. That you
>can’t make it without
>the man. I say no one is offering the customer an
>endorsement deal.
>That your only hope of success is to get in bed
>with your customer.
>This requires honesty, and excitement. It requires
>you to be a role
>model. Maybe of debauchery, but someone your
>audience can look up to
>nonetheless.
For assistance, please contact
the smoe.org administrators.