Hello?
Ok, so I'll try and write a fucking Blog.
I am usually one to shun fads considering I dress the same way I did when I was thirteen years old. I see the Blog as a bit narcissistic, kind of a, "hey I'm over here, look at me" kinda thing. I do have a have a streak in me that likes attention. It might have something to do with me having been locked in a basement for several of the formative years of my life, chained to a stovepipe with only greasy rags and wooden dowels to keep me entertained. Luckily I figured out how to re-tube the broken radio next to the furnace, because that blossomed into a love for rock and roll music (and a disturbing audio electronic fetish). Here I am on the internet, taking turns typing and looking into the telescope pointed into my neighbor's bedroom, trying to come up with something clever to send you.
How's this, I'm about to climb into a giant aluminum tube full of smelly, infection breathing people so I can setup a big rockshow for a bunch of stinky (but very friendly), tie-dye wearing, waytoo blissed out (I prefer Xanax, wine, Miles Davis, and the company of a sexy woman), freaks, who use their unemployment checks to follow a band around. I'm going to do this for a month. I am with people I like, so of whom I would take a bullet for, some of whom I would deliver a bullet to. All in all it has been the most interesting job I have ever had, and maybe this BLOG will be about that. It is entirely possible this may turn into me ranting about how Arnold Schwartzenegger should be shipped to eastern europe so he can go solve their problems instead of ours (a GREAT way to get rid of him), or why Colorado's state quarter should have Hunter S. Thompson flipping off Richard Nixon on it (That's a fucking awesome display of freedom and democracy, no matter which side of the fence you shit on).
I could also bitch about the music business. For some reason I thought it would be a great thing to be in, the music business. There was a fantasy, well several fantasies, regarding where I would end up. I soak it all in, drummer, mixer, engineer, producer, produsah mutha fucka, roadie, techie, guitarist (HA!), lawyer, promoter, whatever angle. I had a discussion with a good friend of mine who has been successful in the biz.
He said someone explained to him that the biz is all about "predictable disapointment". This is brilliant. The music biz is about 5-15% success, but 85-95% failure, no matter where you are. If you are at the top of your game, say Brittney maybe, out of ten songs you record, maybe one will be a hit. If you are Esteban, the world's best guitar player, you have spent at least 85% of your life playing at Phil's Crab Shack until some happy hour Long Island sucking hustler realized that your "mystic persona" could sell zillions of crappy chinese guitars to lazy grandparents, and fat housewives drunk on cooking wine who fantasize about Esteban "taking off his hat".
It's all about working the odds, like a walking into a casino with a pocket full of nickles and your good eye on the rotating Dodge Caravan. Just keep plugging away.
send suggestions, fanmail, hatemail, creditcard numbers, and requests to:
bulldozer@audiodemolition.com
send death threats to the white house for a whole new level of excitement and anal stretching if you please, but you never heard it here.
BTW (yeah one of those fucking internet TLA's) if you wanna bitch about my spelling, abuse of punctuation, or fucked grammar, you should hit the toilet long and hard because you have a few yards of backed up material. Also, I don't care, I paid a lot of money to have people abuse me about that crap. Now I can do to the english as I please. If my participle dangles, you can suck it!
I am usually one to shun fads considering I dress the same way I did when I was thirteen years old. I see the Blog as a bit narcissistic, kind of a, "hey I'm over here, look at me" kinda thing. I do have a have a streak in me that likes attention. It might have something to do with me having been locked in a basement for several of the formative years of my life, chained to a stovepipe with only greasy rags and wooden dowels to keep me entertained. Luckily I figured out how to re-tube the broken radio next to the furnace, because that blossomed into a love for rock and roll music (and a disturbing audio electronic fetish). Here I am on the internet, taking turns typing and looking into the telescope pointed into my neighbor's bedroom, trying to come up with something clever to send you.
How's this, I'm about to climb into a giant aluminum tube full of smelly, infection breathing people so I can setup a big rockshow for a bunch of stinky (but very friendly), tie-dye wearing, waytoo blissed out (I prefer Xanax, wine, Miles Davis, and the company of a sexy woman), freaks, who use their unemployment checks to follow a band around. I'm going to do this for a month. I am with people I like, so of whom I would take a bullet for, some of whom I would deliver a bullet to. All in all it has been the most interesting job I have ever had, and maybe this BLOG will be about that. It is entirely possible this may turn into me ranting about how Arnold Schwartzenegger should be shipped to eastern europe so he can go solve their problems instead of ours (a GREAT way to get rid of him), or why Colorado's state quarter should have Hunter S. Thompson flipping off Richard Nixon on it (That's a fucking awesome display of freedom and democracy, no matter which side of the fence you shit on).
I could also bitch about the music business. For some reason I thought it would be a great thing to be in, the music business. There was a fantasy, well several fantasies, regarding where I would end up. I soak it all in, drummer, mixer, engineer, producer, produsah mutha fucka, roadie, techie, guitarist (HA!), lawyer, promoter, whatever angle. I had a discussion with a good friend of mine who has been successful in the biz.
He said someone explained to him that the biz is all about "predictable disapointment". This is brilliant. The music biz is about 5-15% success, but 85-95% failure, no matter where you are. If you are at the top of your game, say Brittney maybe, out of ten songs you record, maybe one will be a hit. If you are Esteban, the world's best guitar player, you have spent at least 85% of your life playing at Phil's Crab Shack until some happy hour Long Island sucking hustler realized that your "mystic persona" could sell zillions of crappy chinese guitars to lazy grandparents, and fat housewives drunk on cooking wine who fantasize about Esteban "taking off his hat".
It's all about working the odds, like a walking into a casino with a pocket full of nickles and your good eye on the rotating Dodge Caravan. Just keep plugging away.
send suggestions, fanmail, hatemail, creditcard numbers, and requests to:
bulldozer@audiodemolition.com
send death threats to the white house for a whole new level of excitement and anal stretching if you please, but you never heard it here.
BTW (yeah one of those fucking internet TLA's) if you wanna bitch about my spelling, abuse of punctuation, or fucked grammar, you should hit the toilet long and hard because you have a few yards of backed up material. Also, I don't care, I paid a lot of money to have people abuse me about that crap. Now I can do to the english as I please. If my participle dangles, you can suck it!
posted by Anonymous at 2:08 PM
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