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ON THE LOSIN' SIDE
by Cody Ellis
"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." - Hunter S. Thompson
Sad but true, the very same business that is supposed to take care of the artists that enrich our lives on a daily basis, is routinely fleecing us, both as players and as listeners. MTV no longer plays music videos, FM radio has become the same corporate crap-factory that it once served as an alternative to, and if you’re crazy enough to think you can make money PLAYING music, you’re in for a seriously harsh wake-up call. The grand illusion behind the music industry is that the people forcing all this recycled garbage into your ear actually understand, or care about, music. What you spend your time writing, producing and playing is art. Unfortunately, all they see are dollar signs and profit margins.
So what’s the plan? Well, for years we’ve all been told that all you have to do is bust your ass, play a million shows, promote like crazy, and if you're good, you'll get signed. But what does that really mean? Getting a record contract is the equivalent to having someone hand you the keys to a Lamborghini, and telling you that if you drive the damn thing, you owe him two hundred grand. What happens when you get signed? You get dicked.
First, they tell you that your bass player is too fat, your drummer’s too old, and your haircut doesn’t look douchey enough to sell records. So you fire the drummer and the bassist, what the hell, they were only two of your best friends for the last decade or so. Then you have some dude in a mesh tank top throw a bunch of “fashion” at you, telling you how to “bring out your individuality”. Two months later you’re being paraded around some “networking party,” where the guy who’s supposed to introduce you to all the important people is coked out of his mind, crying about his dad and you have no fucking clue what you’re supposed to be doing.
By the time the whirlwind slows down your band consists of you and a bunch of consultants, the money is gone and you haven’t played a single show, or even come close to making a record. Now you owe some dick in a suit thousand of dollars, your friends hate you and all the people who used to see your shows are blogging about how you’ve sold out. Before long, the ride's over and the people that were there to help are gone and you've got some serious bills to pay. This is the business you’ve chosen, good luck making a living at it.
by Cody Ellis
"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." - Hunter S. Thompson
Sad but true, the very same business that is supposed to take care of the artists that enrich our lives on a daily basis, is routinely fleecing us, both as players and as listeners. MTV no longer plays music videos, FM radio has become the same corporate crap-factory that it once served as an alternative to, and if you’re crazy enough to think you can make money PLAYING music, you’re in for a seriously harsh wake-up call. The grand illusion behind the music industry is that the people forcing all this recycled garbage into your ear actually understand, or care about, music. What you spend your time writing, producing and playing is art. Unfortunately, all they see are dollar signs and profit margins.
So what’s the plan? Well, for years we’ve all been told that all you have to do is bust your ass, play a million shows, promote like crazy, and if you're good, you'll get signed. But what does that really mean? Getting a record contract is the equivalent to having someone hand you the keys to a Lamborghini, and telling you that if you drive the damn thing, you owe him two hundred grand. What happens when you get signed? You get dicked.
First, they tell you that your bass player is too fat, your drummer’s too old, and your haircut doesn’t look douchey enough to sell records. So you fire the drummer and the bassist, what the hell, they were only two of your best friends for the last decade or so. Then you have some dude in a mesh tank top throw a bunch of “fashion” at you, telling you how to “bring out your individuality”. Two months later you’re being paraded around some “networking party,” where the guy who’s supposed to introduce you to all the important people is coked out of his mind, crying about his dad and you have no fucking clue what you’re supposed to be doing.
By the time the whirlwind slows down your band consists of you and a bunch of consultants, the money is gone and you haven’t played a single show, or even come close to making a record. Now you owe some dick in a suit thousand of dollars, your friends hate you and all the people who used to see your shows are blogging about how you’ve sold out. Before long, the ride's over and the people that were there to help are gone and you've got some serious bills to pay. This is the business you’ve chosen, good luck making a living at it.
