I can't stop thinking about this:
Imagine starting off in your garage with your friends, with big plans to be some combination of Black Flag, Hoodoo Gurus and U2, plowing through guitar strings and drum heads, wading through vomit and broken glass playing no-pay club dates to build a local following, then a regional one, then a national one, only to find yourself a gigantic success… on adult contemporary radio.
Whose goal is to be an Adult Contemporary Radio star? I mean besides Jason Mraz?
Do you take the money? Sure you do. A Maserati makes anyone feel better. But I would bet real money of my own that the guys in Train never set out to be the next Air Supply. Hell, I’m sure at some point Air Supply were laboring under the delusion they were going to be Simon and Garfunkel. They had to be as surprised as anyone to look up and find themselves flanked by Christopher Cross and Chicago instead of David Bowie and Elvis Costello.
Aging Baby Boomer money spends just as easily as Generation Z's (or whatever we're on now) saved-up allowance. Hell, it probably spends better seeing as they're still insisting on overpaying for soulful (because scratchable) CDs instead of those artless, heartless WiiTunes whatever magic electro-files. And laugh all you want, but the licensing for music in elevators and doctor's office waiting rooms is actually fairly lucrative, from what I understand.
But still, every show you play, everyone stays in their seats and, for the love of God, claps politely and enthusiastically at the appropriate time when a song ends. Who dreams of that? Who wants to look out the window of the tour bus in the parking lot of the venue over a sea of sensible domestic crossovers with decent gas mileage? Do you want to play for a crowd of people who smoke pot because it actually helps with their glaucoma? Don't you want to kill yourself? Wouldn't you almost have to?
And yet somehow, Michael Bublé is having regular sex with this woman.
Now I've written it down and I'm no closer to understanding. There is no God and Jesus is a lie.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
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5 comments:
All nightmares begin as dreams.
niice, Larry! I always think of Kenny G when adult contemporary radio comes into play. Kenny G makes me think of Michael Bolton. Michael Bolton boffed Nicolette Once-Really-Hot Sheridan for a long time. And Kenny G probably isn't even a virgin either. Fame fuckers know no genre they won't enter. That's it, Pops, you must get famous.
i thought i left a comment here. did you delete it? jerk.
it was to the effect of: Jason Mraz? wtf?
there are also these tortured sounding guys always, always playing when i go to kohl's. i don't know if it's the same guy singing, or a bunch of different guys who sound the same, but they suck.
at least give bryan adams credit for this: you always know when it's a bryan adams song.
LJ: I believe that is what we call in the business a "callback." If we run enough threads through this thing, we could make us a blanket.
SJ: I'm not 100% sold on the non-Kenny G virgin angle. I know, fame and money, but the hair and the nose and the alto saxophone... people have SOME kind of standards, don't they?
Asian Person: Well, I guess the word verification feature isn't 100% fool-proof.
KnK: I had to remove HaloScan because it's about to die, so your comment (and all preexisting ones) are now kaput. I put this in the handy sidebar Twitter feed, which I would forgive you for not reading, but you are one of my 2 1/2 actual subscribed Twitter followers! No excuses. You must pay more attention to me.
yeah, i realized the haloscan thing about two minutes after i posted my comment. i DO read, and even remember, your twittering.
and i notice that YOU are not following ME on MY twitter. SO selfish, you are.
we have two feet of snow here! i can't get from my house to my car!
life is awesome.
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