With Michael Jackson's final conclusive demise, the media jackals unshelved and re-birthed every minute detail enduring the renounced mans being. Of the bookshelf pages, one particular re-emergence didn't include a packaged date on MJ's life, but rather the skin off my own bones.
In 1986, MJ was officially diagnosed with Vitiligo, a disorder that basically eats away at the pigmentation in your skin. Inevitably, it was the recourse for his African American appearance changing to simulate a Caucasian. The sequined glove worn on one hand, although it became an iconic image, had originated to cover the initial depigmentation of skin tone on his right hand. Pushing further ahead, on came the powdered makeup to cover-up blotches on his face and the omnipresent umbrella to protect his now sensitive skin from UV rays.
Six years ago, I was read the same verdict. Fortunately, I'm a Caucasian from scratch so the visual differences are drastically less dramatic. Similarly, the disorder in question has no life-threatening symptoms, only psychological consequences. If grasped and emotionally contained, it warrants little necessity for attention. With no definitive cause or cure, the only plausible treatment is entering a tanning booth twice a week, crossing fingers that the safeguarded UV rays can re-vitalize melanocytes to re-invigorate color.
This is how it works - and it unnerves me. We sit back, wait until some devastation or disaster hits us/a family member/a close friend, than we take action/research/educate and promote finding a cure or fixing the affliction and this problem alone. Suddenly, it becomes a disease everyone needs to be more informed about, this selfish compassion is working no cures.
Teaing it up with a peep of mine, we volleyed around the topic until we reached a resolution, why can't people as a whole focus all research and funding onto one solitary cause, the most damaging and deadly. Vote cancer and just hammer all our efforts away until we resolve that dilemma before moving on to the next most pressing?
Showing posts with label Spilling Speech. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spilling Speech. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Spanning Clocks in the Sewers of the Industry
Wednesday
In the midst of cramming down a skinny fry poutine at cheap and popular joint 'Patati Patata', about to catch a set across the street at Divan Orange by a top local act Shapes+Sizes, I get the call. I'm to head straight to the Ukrainian Federation (another venue) for a unique job. Having shipped in over a million dollars worth of sound gear for the weekends shows via Tower Productions in Toronto, Pop is worried about leaving the stuffed truck on the sidewalk overnight unattended. Ultimately, the concern is a sequel to The Dears tour bus disappearance, oh Montreal. So, my specific task is to sleep in the front compartment of the truck to scare potential intruders or to quickly report any mischievous activity surrounding the vehicle. Uncomfortable yes, but whose to complain getting paid to sleep.
Thursday
As the sun rises and the neighbouring resto/cafe 'La Croissanterie' opens, activity is abound and I'm free to jump down from my elevated cushion and abandon the gear. It's a tired saunter to the Pop office to speak to a southern drawl in Atlanta about operating the Etix ticket scanner received via mail, again for the weekends shows. Feeling adequate with the door guarding laser god, I venture back to the truck for noon load-in of all the gear I so protected. To think it would take fifteen men (including some pro roadies with the gloves and all black attire) three hours to literally move sound gear from point A one hundred metres to Point Z and set it up. Much to handle learning bout specters, monitors, 'snakes', pins and HZ80 subs, I was ready for some Pop Bingo, only Thursday night shone my own show at noteworthy venue Sala Rossa. Co-promoted with 18 year-old phenom Noah Bick and his year old production Passovah, the show was also a baby, set only two weeks previous via another promoter handing me the premiere venue sans $300 rental cost coinciding with his booked show falling through. With limited time, I got Noah on board and we hustled to put together a free show entailing seven shortened sets with pressed time intervals between. Ended up banking a pretty entertaining bunch, including six local acts: Cotton Mouth, Nut Brown, James Irwin, Tyler Rauman, Little Scream, and Archivist (crowned my top act award), to accompany Flint favorite Kinetic Stereokids. With the large venue, it proved difficult to make a decent audience, but the draw was enough for respectability and the bands were even more so of the allotted time constraints placed upon them.
Post show, stuffing and over stuffing KSK's car with the now duo's gear, we managed to blow the balloon to capacity without it bursting all over the sidewalk. Just about ready to overcrowd the front seat, a clear 'clank' is heard followed by a raucous "FUCK". While talking to his girlfriend on cell, Justin (member of KSK) went to switch hands and instead dropped his phone, it banked off the steel bars and into the sewer. Believing the SIM card could still be salvaged, he was pictured, 2am running around finding 2x4's, window siding, tree branches, whatever to reach down in the slosh below and detect a phone. With tired faces and worn night light, a final decision was reached to come back next day.
Friday
By mid-afternoon (4pm), rolling out of my apartment to work a 600 seat sold-out Bonnie 'Prince' Billy show, I warn KSK numerous times to pack up and similarly put a move on in having a show themselves this same evening (8pm) in Ottawa. At 6:03pm I receive a text from my girlfriend 'Just saw KSK at sewer outside Sala, they have cell it works, some guy documented the whole thing'. Red with fury, I yelp at the idea they are casually laughing downtown Montreal, when supposed to be on stage in Ottawa at 8pm, yet what else to expect from these turtles. Here is the mysterious film directors finished work (soundtrack being KSK tune 'blunder'):
Fortunately, those involved with the gig in Ottawa showed patience for the kids and allowed them to grace the stage for a later set. Having to stay behind on my own ground in Montreal, I raced around in an attempt to fill BPB's unique rider which included needing a 'cracker' for a nitrogen gas capsule, the Franco at the nearest hemp store had no idea what I was getting at, out of breath I raced back to use the ticket scanner in running the door. The equipment worked like a charm, and allowed me to sit back drink some beers, spot Win Butler and 'beep' tickets of some excited music fans. Realized you hear a lot of crying in working a show booked over-capacity, "Is there really no extra tickets you could sell me?", "My parents surprised me and came into town last minute, and I already had my tickets, you think I could get them some?" Quickly learned, I sympathize too much with true fans who missed out getting a pass, it was heart wrenching and I did what I could to help them find ways in. Post show mingling accompanied by Jameson, I chatted up record store owner of 'Phonopolis', recently voted #1 independent music store in the city by Mirror, and also happens to be a member of 'Shapes + Sizes'.
Saturday
Back at the UK Fed and working the door for show by much hyped yet sparsely visible local outfit Clues. The show sold decent, as about 400 folks bought in, wanting to witness for themselves the truth behind the noise being spread. Catching much of the music, I caught no glimpse of why the talk is stirring about the band.
With the instruments set down, the crowd faded and the drinks coming to a standstill, I was anxious to get word on my shows in Toronto that evening. I had booked KSK, The Craft Economy and Europe in Colour, at the Silver Dollar, co-promoting with the notorious character Dan Burke. Also set up was a show (with leg work done by buddy Al) earlier in the evening with radio station 102.1 the edge, allowing a showing at the Steamwhistle Indie Club off Nathan Phillips Square using free on-air promotion and KSK spins throughout the week.
So, I stormed over to the Pop office and proceeded to set the security alarm off, settling that embarrassment I dialed up Tony in T.dot and received word that the radio gig was great for allowing folks to come and go as they judged the merits of the music. As for the Silver Dollar, despite a small turnout, the show was a success and Justin spur of the moment broke a guitar into a thousand pieces.
Sunday
Final stay of the weekend at the Ukrainian Federation was hometown folk country hero L'il Andy, the show saw me with another door gig. Of the couple hundred that attended, some dubious characters approached my artificial box office this night. First up, a diva audience member who insisted she be allowed to venture the building without ticket in search of someone. Eventually after finding & making her daughter pay her way, she refused to allow me to stamp her hand. Tipping that iceberg, was an older man, who drilled me on why the show had not started at seven (doors open) and than hammered on about paying by credit card despite being told we had no machine, he than asked if I could just take his credit card! Re-emerging an hour later accompanied by his poor wife, he insisted on taking five programs and quizzed me on who was performing before demanding I give him a receipt, on my dumbfounded face, he asked me to write a formal acknowledgement on the program. 'one ticket purchased (signed) aaron smith'. That's it, no more choir entourage with artists!
Monday
Over the course of the weekend the sound equipment in its place dwarfed the Ukrainian church (think opposite to Spinal Tap stonehenge/midget moment). Now, with the Ryder truck patiently waiting outside, it was time to take it all down and load-out. Fortunately, the reverse process involved descending stairs and brought the same number of men to only an hour of sweat.
Tuesday
Back to the admin work, yet reaching our office floor in a mile end industrial building, I was alarmed to be flanked by cops wearing green uniforms. The police are scattered about relaxed, than came the strong, strong smell of pot. Who knew, suite #219 Canarm Lighting & Fans, Eclairages & Ventilateurs (a neighbouring office) had a marijuana operation going on. They were definitely professionals at insulation, as the previously sheltered smell, could now be detected from the street. Spent the whole day high off the fumes, puzzled at how we could be so oblivious.
In the midst of cramming down a skinny fry poutine at cheap and popular joint 'Patati Patata', about to catch a set across the street at Divan Orange by a top local act Shapes+Sizes, I get the call. I'm to head straight to the Ukrainian Federation (another venue) for a unique job. Having shipped in over a million dollars worth of sound gear for the weekends shows via Tower Productions in Toronto, Pop is worried about leaving the stuffed truck on the sidewalk overnight unattended. Ultimately, the concern is a sequel to The Dears tour bus disappearance, oh Montreal. So, my specific task is to sleep in the front compartment of the truck to scare potential intruders or to quickly report any mischievous activity surrounding the vehicle. Uncomfortable yes, but whose to complain getting paid to sleep.
Thursday
As the sun rises and the neighbouring resto/cafe 'La Croissanterie' opens, activity is abound and I'm free to jump down from my elevated cushion and abandon the gear. It's a tired saunter to the Pop office to speak to a southern drawl in Atlanta about operating the Etix ticket scanner received via mail, again for the weekends shows. Feeling adequate with the door guarding laser god, I venture back to the truck for noon load-in of all the gear I so protected. To think it would take fifteen men (including some pro roadies with the gloves and all black attire) three hours to literally move sound gear from point A one hundred metres to Point Z and set it up. Much to handle learning bout specters, monitors, 'snakes', pins and HZ80 subs, I was ready for some Pop Bingo, only Thursday night shone my own show at noteworthy venue Sala Rossa. Co-promoted with 18 year-old phenom Noah Bick and his year old production Passovah, the show was also a baby, set only two weeks previous via another promoter handing me the premiere venue sans $300 rental cost coinciding with his booked show falling through. With limited time, I got Noah on board and we hustled to put together a free show entailing seven shortened sets with pressed time intervals between. Ended up banking a pretty entertaining bunch, including six local acts: Cotton Mouth, Nut Brown, James Irwin, Tyler Rauman, Little Scream, and Archivist (crowned my top act award), to accompany Flint favorite Kinetic Stereokids. With the large venue, it proved difficult to make a decent audience, but the draw was enough for respectability and the bands were even more so of the allotted time constraints placed upon them.
Post show, stuffing and over stuffing KSK's car with the now duo's gear, we managed to blow the balloon to capacity without it bursting all over the sidewalk. Just about ready to overcrowd the front seat, a clear 'clank' is heard followed by a raucous "FUCK". While talking to his girlfriend on cell, Justin (member of KSK) went to switch hands and instead dropped his phone, it banked off the steel bars and into the sewer. Believing the SIM card could still be salvaged, he was pictured, 2am running around finding 2x4's, window siding, tree branches, whatever to reach down in the slosh below and detect a phone. With tired faces and worn night light, a final decision was reached to come back next day.
Friday
By mid-afternoon (4pm), rolling out of my apartment to work a 600 seat sold-out Bonnie 'Prince' Billy show, I warn KSK numerous times to pack up and similarly put a move on in having a show themselves this same evening (8pm) in Ottawa. At 6:03pm I receive a text from my girlfriend 'Just saw KSK at sewer outside Sala, they have cell it works, some guy documented the whole thing'. Red with fury, I yelp at the idea they are casually laughing downtown Montreal, when supposed to be on stage in Ottawa at 8pm, yet what else to expect from these turtles. Here is the mysterious film directors finished work (soundtrack being KSK tune 'blunder'):
Fortunately, those involved with the gig in Ottawa showed patience for the kids and allowed them to grace the stage for a later set. Having to stay behind on my own ground in Montreal, I raced around in an attempt to fill BPB's unique rider which included needing a 'cracker' for a nitrogen gas capsule, the Franco at the nearest hemp store had no idea what I was getting at, out of breath I raced back to use the ticket scanner in running the door. The equipment worked like a charm, and allowed me to sit back drink some beers, spot Win Butler and 'beep' tickets of some excited music fans. Realized you hear a lot of crying in working a show booked over-capacity, "Is there really no extra tickets you could sell me?", "My parents surprised me and came into town last minute, and I already had my tickets, you think I could get them some?" Quickly learned, I sympathize too much with true fans who missed out getting a pass, it was heart wrenching and I did what I could to help them find ways in. Post show mingling accompanied by Jameson, I chatted up record store owner of 'Phonopolis', recently voted #1 independent music store in the city by Mirror, and also happens to be a member of 'Shapes + Sizes'.
Saturday
Back at the UK Fed and working the door for show by much hyped yet sparsely visible local outfit Clues. The show sold decent, as about 400 folks bought in, wanting to witness for themselves the truth behind the noise being spread. Catching much of the music, I caught no glimpse of why the talk is stirring about the band.
With the instruments set down, the crowd faded and the drinks coming to a standstill, I was anxious to get word on my shows in Toronto that evening. I had booked KSK, The Craft Economy and Europe in Colour, at the Silver Dollar, co-promoting with the notorious character Dan Burke. Also set up was a show (with leg work done by buddy Al) earlier in the evening with radio station 102.1 the edge, allowing a showing at the Steamwhistle Indie Club off Nathan Phillips Square using free on-air promotion and KSK spins throughout the week.
So, I stormed over to the Pop office and proceeded to set the security alarm off, settling that embarrassment I dialed up Tony in T.dot and received word that the radio gig was great for allowing folks to come and go as they judged the merits of the music. As for the Silver Dollar, despite a small turnout, the show was a success and Justin spur of the moment broke a guitar into a thousand pieces.
Sunday
Final stay of the weekend at the Ukrainian Federation was hometown folk country hero L'il Andy, the show saw me with another door gig. Of the couple hundred that attended, some dubious characters approached my artificial box office this night. First up, a diva audience member who insisted she be allowed to venture the building without ticket in search of someone. Eventually after finding & making her daughter pay her way, she refused to allow me to stamp her hand. Tipping that iceberg, was an older man, who drilled me on why the show had not started at seven (doors open) and than hammered on about paying by credit card despite being told we had no machine, he than asked if I could just take his credit card! Re-emerging an hour later accompanied by his poor wife, he insisted on taking five programs and quizzed me on who was performing before demanding I give him a receipt, on my dumbfounded face, he asked me to write a formal acknowledgement on the program. 'one ticket purchased (signed) aaron smith'. That's it, no more choir entourage with artists!
Monday
Over the course of the weekend the sound equipment in its place dwarfed the Ukrainian church (think opposite to Spinal Tap stonehenge/midget moment). Now, with the Ryder truck patiently waiting outside, it was time to take it all down and load-out. Fortunately, the reverse process involved descending stairs and brought the same number of men to only an hour of sweat.
Tuesday
Back to the admin work, yet reaching our office floor in a mile end industrial building, I was alarmed to be flanked by cops wearing green uniforms. The police are scattered about relaxed, than came the strong, strong smell of pot. Who knew, suite #219 Canarm Lighting & Fans, Eclairages & Ventilateurs (a neighbouring office) had a marijuana operation going on. They were definitely professionals at insulation, as the previously sheltered smell, could now be detected from the street. Spent the whole day high off the fumes, puzzled at how we could be so oblivious.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
A Fair Shake
I enjoy album critics, they remind of my youth, being a little kid and thinking the world consisted of the small town I roamed everyday. Than I grew up and realized…all that time I knew nothing, I’d never been outside city limits, so how could I assess the world on four blocks. Present tense…they’ve never played an instrument (at least in a legitimate band), so why does their word hold supreme! It’s like getting a wrap-up of Paris by a 5 year-old who only knows his friend ‘Paris’ down the street.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Practicing Life
“‘Don’t you love Jesus?’ Well, I thought an’ thought, an’ finally I says ‘No, I don’t know anybody name Jesus. I know a bunch of stories, but I only love people. An’ sometimes I love’em fit to bust, and I want to make em happy, so I been preachin somepin I thought would make’em happy.” - John Steinbeck (text from ‘Grapes of Wrath’)
Everyday, I get more and more scared, the whole closer to the end of my life phenomenon. Depending on your religion, death is either the summation of existence or the beginning of paradise (understanding within these parameters lies endless differences and disputes).
This thick line generates and than continuously emits uneasiness. An unpleasantry which remains unresolved and stapled to each of us, until fate calls out an eyewitness account. Yet, a good majority of us act quite sure of our fate; I conjure this as self defense permitting one to walk around feeling safe, secure and in comfort.
In fact, I’m of the party that religion was created to prevent chaos (with which evidence might argue it's the number one ingredient for). And in that realm, I question whether our actions truly need to be managed and made for fear of the next life. Aren’t we the fool, consistently looking ahead, cautiously hugging the sideline approach for now. Essentially, taking a mulligan this life around.
Where does the time go?
The believers either carry blindness from birth or entirely focus energy on finding holes in others theories. Meanwhile, the unbelievers carelessly question Gods and life altogether. Raised a dedicated Roman Catholic and living the eventual fallout, I've been a habitant of both takes. Been piling on the questions, whilst finding no solace.
In exercising energy against...the head of my venom points at the very church I kneeled in awe of, whose hypocritical word I digested for years. The oft outspoken church, who rests in faith when there are no answers. Whose supposed leader’s message is to sacrifice yourself for the good of the needy. In saying so, would he truly sign on for money collection every Sunday to invest in gold cups, marble floors and ridiculous outfits? Would his ego be so insecure as to humbly accept his followers landing on their knees every Sunday and praising him instead of slaving for the less fortunate? If this man actually existed, I believe he would be looking on truly abashed by his very fan club.
And whenever I volley back over and hug my pillow in favour of God, I proceed to drive my mind crazy. I allow that if I do good here, I will die, go up to ‘heaven’ and live forever and ever! Sounds splendid, but I tend to oversee the stop sign, opting for “and than what? Forever and ever, and than what? What’s after the ever, I mean what if things get lame?” (considering everything is all lovey dovey and positive!). I often pound my head with this concept until it scares me to sleep.
Does either belief physically affect time spent in this being? No! All considered, I need to start enjoying the suns descent, before long, the happening will be no more or become extremely vapid.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
"The english are coming and I don't know what to do" - The National
Side 1:
"so tell us a little bit about yourself!"
"I'm from southern ontario, some years ago I moved to ottawa for university, after completing my business degree, I went to korea for a year to teach english, than I moved to montreal to attend trebas music school, when I found that not challenging enough, I opted out and started an internship at pop montreal"
"oh, so, ahhh, how's your french?"
"I'm learning!"
"yeah, okay, well we more cater to french music and so ah,.. we're looking for someone who is billingual, maybe even with more emphasis on the french side."
And exactly like that, before I could shout "I FUCKIN LOVE MUSIC, HIRE ME" my interview with some music label for a Promotions Rep/Publicist position became a pity party. Everywhere my eyes glance for sympathy, I seem to be fed the same advice..."you need to get a french girlfriend". But I have one, I have one! If only that was the job requirements.
Side 2:
Before the past 30 days expired, I can be pictured in a small glass encased booth ruling over the 'arcade fire' personal guest list at a couple of their sold out shows at the Maurice Richard arena dans la mtl. Sitting pretty jack and coke in hand, running my friends in, pocketing some $50 red papers issued by the Canadian government, closing shop down in time to catch the highly acclaimed bands setlist and meeting the bands family & accomplices; you couldn't ask for much else. Embarrassingly I got fed more, how bout a family poser who slipped through my radar of accent configuration. Everytime a french voice came to my ears, I was as lost as George W. and his taking of the word "nuclear", just impossible to get it straight, so I'd have to them repeating until impatience brought clear english. Than came a local thief, he threw out a first name that was ringing true on my sheet, but that last name though commencing with the same letter, didn't seem to match what I was reading. At this point, he stretched out his index finger pointing where my eyes met disagreement, not wanting to challenge the pronounciation of his own surname or my foreign beliefs, I relented. Giving him 2 tickets and backstage passes, he calmy proceeded on. Though wary, I felt content everything was in order, until a jack and coke later, heard aloud was the name the way i imagined it to come out. Standing before me was the authentic quebecois, shame, shame, I had been taken for a ride, no foul in knowing I wasn't played any better than the hometown band. Backstage passes for everybody! Adrenaline died down later when I discovered the original con had a true single ticket set aside somewhere else, yet he was now also meeting the band on my behalf.
All this to spill, I don't blame the source, I blame my ignorance. Corea you don't look so far away.
"so tell us a little bit about yourself!"
"I'm from southern ontario, some years ago I moved to ottawa for university, after completing my business degree, I went to korea for a year to teach english, than I moved to montreal to attend trebas music school, when I found that not challenging enough, I opted out and started an internship at pop montreal"
"oh, so, ahhh, how's your french?"
"I'm learning!"
"yeah, okay, well we more cater to french music and so ah,.. we're looking for someone who is billingual, maybe even with more emphasis on the french side."
And exactly like that, before I could shout "I FUCKIN LOVE MUSIC, HIRE ME" my interview with some music label for a Promotions Rep/Publicist position became a pity party. Everywhere my eyes glance for sympathy, I seem to be fed the same advice..."you need to get a french girlfriend". But I have one, I have one! If only that was the job requirements.
Side 2:
Before the past 30 days expired, I can be pictured in a small glass encased booth ruling over the 'arcade fire' personal guest list at a couple of their sold out shows at the Maurice Richard arena dans la mtl. Sitting pretty jack and coke in hand, running my friends in, pocketing some $50 red papers issued by the Canadian government, closing shop down in time to catch the highly acclaimed bands setlist and meeting the bands family & accomplices; you couldn't ask for much else. Embarrassingly I got fed more, how bout a family poser who slipped through my radar of accent configuration. Everytime a french voice came to my ears, I was as lost as George W. and his taking of the word "nuclear", just impossible to get it straight, so I'd have to them repeating until impatience brought clear english. Than came a local thief, he threw out a first name that was ringing true on my sheet, but that last name though commencing with the same letter, didn't seem to match what I was reading. At this point, he stretched out his index finger pointing where my eyes met disagreement, not wanting to challenge the pronounciation of his own surname or my foreign beliefs, I relented. Giving him 2 tickets and backstage passes, he calmy proceeded on. Though wary, I felt content everything was in order, until a jack and coke later, heard aloud was the name the way i imagined it to come out. Standing before me was the authentic quebecois, shame, shame, I had been taken for a ride, no foul in knowing I wasn't played any better than the hometown band. Backstage passes for everybody! Adrenaline died down later when I discovered the original con had a true single ticket set aside somewhere else, yet he was now also meeting the band on my behalf.
All this to spill, I don't blame the source, I blame my ignorance. Corea you don't look so far away.
Friday, May 4, 2007
"star, star, teach me how to shine, shine, teach me so I know what is going on in your mind"
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.
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.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
"Come on teacher, teach me something, don't just fill my head with nothing"
5 anecdotes with a role in my recent withdrawal from the Trebas Institute - Music Business Program.
1) my 'contract and copyright' teacher is an entertainment lawyer who authored the text we were required to use. And when purchasing the highly demanded books from him, he had us line up and honored us with the privilege of mandatory autographs for each students copy. Even asking one student "Who should I make it out to?". Reading my peers mind like a bible, I imagined hearing...'make it out to that garbage can you egotistical square'. Aaron was next up and as the writing hand of the genius lifted to the inside cover, I sympathetically asked "Could you actually not sign it" before my plea fell on ignorant ears and he graced in blue ink "Enjoy the Read".
2) one of my colleagues is in a Hip Hop band and during a break in class he mentioned his appearing on a radio station Promoting "the best unsigned hip hop act in Canada". He talked of his onstage persona, and how he alters his language and voice ("uknowwhaammmsayin"), also wearing lots of bling-bling strictly for the occasion and rapping on about achievements he has never accomplished (well maybe I'm adding this final point myself having heard the music). When I questioned the consequences of his fans tripping upon this knowledge, maybe perceiving him as giving a front, being a fake, he got irate. The next 20 minutes of class time was spent forced into listening to him lecture on how some people are "so focused on being real that they aren't real". And trust me, he wasn't hitting the points of how genius that comment could be.
3) found myself in the director's office getting an exemption from 'Marketing'. I'd been to a few classes and realized the material to be no different than an equivalent taken in University. Anyway, as I'm proving my credentials, the dole turns to me and with no push from my side says "yeah, I've been interviewing people to take over that class, we're replacing Maude". From there he rolled on about the details, not a word exiting my mouth. Finally, I interject "has anyone approached or talked to Maude about this?". Enter some blabbing from his mouth and a "no, its too late for that". With each syllable from his side, I was brooding intense hatred toward this sly unprofessional wanker. By meetings end, I walked out of there feeling guilty, like I'd voluntarily participated in his 'behind the back' elementary school gossip. To relief this guilt, on reaching my computer I emailed and informed Maude of the plans.
4) In the 'music industry' course, we were given an in-class assignment worth 20% of our final grade. This task consisted of going through one chapter (10 pages) of our textbook and 'filling in the blanks' on test paper provided. The extracts were word for word from the book and we were permitted to accomplish the work altogether. The kicker, we had an hour and a half to get the job done, fruitless as ten minutes later we all walked out of there with 20 marks each and trying to somehow feel accomplished about this.
5) the secretary is a 35yr old audio engineer, and dawned the same coffee stain accumulating sweater 58 out of the 60 days. Maybe this last point is the number one reason I should have stayed, pure ROCK N ROLL!!!
"to put it modestly, I'm great at my job, sure there are a countless number of lawyers in Quebec, but only 2 or 3 that do what I do. Many people come to me and I'm well known in the industry as a great asset." - 'contracts and copyright' teacher
To put it modestly, Trebas is about feeding industry player egos, be it through green in their pocket or having 10 enthusiastic students attention while droning on about ones knowledge with little being delivered for the ballooned $20 an hour being passed over.
1) my 'contract and copyright' teacher is an entertainment lawyer who authored the text we were required to use. And when purchasing the highly demanded books from him, he had us line up and honored us with the privilege of mandatory autographs for each students copy. Even asking one student "Who should I make it out to?". Reading my peers mind like a bible, I imagined hearing...'make it out to that garbage can you egotistical square'. Aaron was next up and as the writing hand of the genius lifted to the inside cover, I sympathetically asked "Could you actually not sign it" before my plea fell on ignorant ears and he graced in blue ink "Enjoy the Read".
2) one of my colleagues is in a Hip Hop band and during a break in class he mentioned his appearing on a radio station Promoting "the best unsigned hip hop act in Canada". He talked of his onstage persona, and how he alters his language and voice ("uknowwhaammmsayin"), also wearing lots of bling-bling strictly for the occasion and rapping on about achievements he has never accomplished (well maybe I'm adding this final point myself having heard the music). When I questioned the consequences of his fans tripping upon this knowledge, maybe perceiving him as giving a front, being a fake, he got irate. The next 20 minutes of class time was spent forced into listening to him lecture on how some people are "so focused on being real that they aren't real". And trust me, he wasn't hitting the points of how genius that comment could be.
3) found myself in the director's office getting an exemption from 'Marketing'. I'd been to a few classes and realized the material to be no different than an equivalent taken in University. Anyway, as I'm proving my credentials, the dole turns to me and with no push from my side says "yeah, I've been interviewing people to take over that class, we're replacing Maude". From there he rolled on about the details, not a word exiting my mouth. Finally, I interject "has anyone approached or talked to Maude about this?". Enter some blabbing from his mouth and a "no, its too late for that". With each syllable from his side, I was brooding intense hatred toward this sly unprofessional wanker. By meetings end, I walked out of there feeling guilty, like I'd voluntarily participated in his 'behind the back' elementary school gossip. To relief this guilt, on reaching my computer I emailed and informed Maude of the plans.
4) In the 'music industry' course, we were given an in-class assignment worth 20% of our final grade. This task consisted of going through one chapter (10 pages) of our textbook and 'filling in the blanks' on test paper provided. The extracts were word for word from the book and we were permitted to accomplish the work altogether. The kicker, we had an hour and a half to get the job done, fruitless as ten minutes later we all walked out of there with 20 marks each and trying to somehow feel accomplished about this.
5) the secretary is a 35yr old audio engineer, and dawned the same coffee stain accumulating sweater 58 out of the 60 days. Maybe this last point is the number one reason I should have stayed, pure ROCK N ROLL!!!
"to put it modestly, I'm great at my job, sure there are a countless number of lawyers in Quebec, but only 2 or 3 that do what I do. Many people come to me and I'm well known in the industry as a great asset." - 'contracts and copyright' teacher
To put it modestly, Trebas is about feeding industry player egos, be it through green in their pocket or having 10 enthusiastic students attention while droning on about ones knowledge with little being delivered for the ballooned $20 an hour being passed over.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
"I've got the whole world, in my hands"
During a life abroad, I once hopped on a rather vacant Daejeon city bus; however, there was a group of 8 year old girls about 15 feet in front of me. As the bus chugged along, I noticed one of them kept turning around and staring back at me with blind admiration. Growing innovative, I decided to try my luck with what apparently is the most universal game in the world and so I mouthed the Korean words 'ga wee, ba wee, bo' (Paper, Rock, Scissors). I don't know what was the trigger, either the reading of lips or seeing a hand in a fist, but a connection was made; instantaneously, we were caught up in an intense match. In hindsight, it boggles the mind that two strangers, from different backgrounds, generations, ethnicity's, who speak a different language could find sport and bond with each other, at a distance, on a bus.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Most Intimidating Environment Imaginable
Not to long ago, headphones on ears, Shoes on feet, and embracing the globally warmed weather, I headed on another routine venture to downtown Montreal. On arrival, I sought out my untouched, yet destined address and walked into a modest sized office building. The lobby looked like the interior to the most elaborate hotels held within the blue and white circle we live on. Entering the elevator, I put a glow around the number 23, the top floor, and accompanied by some 'suits', took in the stop & go ride to the finish line. My elevator co-occupants briskly walked out with purpose, I cautiously stepped forward and began double checking with my written directions that I wasn't on an LSD enhanced adventure and somehow my presence was requested and expected at said location. This hesitation cost me, as I peered up and confirmed the sad truth, I also found myself stranded in yet another post 9/11 security locked elevator hallway. Having learned to embrace the role of 'potential threat', I knocked away on the glass wall and proving the precautions pointless, was buzzed in. This found me in a room occupied by businessman, all at least 10 years my senior, their finest 'harry rosen suits' along for the ride. Strutting my casually clothed late-self to the front desk, I put in my name and was told to have a seat, resulting in play being fingered on my MP3 player, bringing the sadness of 'emily haines'. Within a minute, I found a hand tapping on my shoulder and looked up to the presence of a lady in her mid-forties, wearing her finest business attire and introducing herself, she told me to follow her to her office and leads me to the corner office on the top floor. As I walk in, I peer years to the left and see a grizzly bear sized brand new Oak desk, to the right of me is a guest table, with four beautiful antique sofa chairs and the entire wall opposite me is a glass window overlooking Montreal. And as she shuts the door behind her,..it sets in, my most intimidating environment imaginable "I am going to be teaching english to the President of this Mutual Funds company".
And somehow I made it through, before the end of our session I was teaching her what calling out "shotgun" will get you in a vehicle.
And somehow I made it through, before the end of our session I was teaching her what calling out "shotgun" will get you in a vehicle.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Moving A Head
Walking along a mountain somewhere in the midst of South Korea, me and a handful of Korean acquaintances came upon a Buddhist temple. As we approached the holy grounds and became witness to many locals bowing before Buddha on the temple floor, I was openly invited to displace my sneakers and join the majority in this praising ritual. However, feeling less than nothing, and with a clear sobriety hitting that this action couldn't be imitated without either completely ridiculing the religion or truly believing in the big bellied guy, I declined. Preferring the air outside, I found myself standing alone with the sole acquaintance who elected to pass the opportunity by. After kicking our feet around in the dusty grounds and his casually inquiring on my religious beliefs (quite open), he struck me still with the following tale...he himself had been raised in the Buddhist religion, his parents were quite devoted, they had run a very successful business and therefore gave a lot of their wealth back towards supporting their religion, always generously handing over these much needed investments to a certain head monk. Anyways, one day his father was hit with a serious illness and ended up bed-ridden in the hospital for a lengthy period of time. Although well aware of what occurred, NOT ONCE did the head monk come to visit, or send greetings of any sort. Yet, a local Christian priest did show face and wished him well. Furthermore, when his father got well, the monks lack of action despite all they'd given settled the matter, on the spot they turned their back on the temple and changed their religious beliefs to 'Christian'. Meaning, this man now standing in front of me, who used to enter the temple with devotion, now ignored its presence. Why did this affect me, religion is so deep rooted in much of the world, stirring up wars, and being the epitome of importance for many, that... its incomprehensible and incredible, yet generally understood and common for one individual person (behind a religion) to easily re-structure and change another beings entire belief system simply by their everyday actions or words that come out of their mouths. One person.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)