Stole an internship with Pop Montreal. For some time I've sensed to have chosen the right industry, solidified on day one, when at the company's headquarters, housed in a ghetto office building, a colleague lights up a joint, while still others go jabbering on about the possibilities of attending the upcoming sold out Coachella festival via band hook-ups and another employee is detailing the last exhaustive weekend spent at the SXSW festival down in Austin, Texas.
Right away I was thrown the tedious, dialing record stores across North America. Quickly had me acknowledging everyone in Portland as being generous and keen, reaffirming New Yorkers as being short and unwilling, and putting a check mark beside your stereotype "Empire Records" clerk, the image being conjured up on a call to pot friendly British Columbia, finishing with a "lates". Up next, opening artist applications for this years festival; linked advice, in ever submitting a press kit, fulfill the required, don't get cute. Sad to acknowledge the waste of time in an artist confusing their interior designing skills as potentially winning out over minimal talent in the musicianship category.
And while these labouring, labouring tasks may not yet come with pay, I've got the nod for pressing play on free gigs. Preceding, a quick halt at the local pharmacy and I've initiated what will become an alternative to the popular mtl cafe excursions in keeping my ears awake. Earplugs in tow, show 1 of many under the guidance of pop mtl unfolds. On first thought, I can see this routine becoming lame...in 40 years.
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