They Never Learn

You’d think that big music labels would have taught other olde tyme “entertainment” avenues that their business models were dead and buried. I guess greed never goes out of style.

The new Apple iPad was all over the news the past few weeks. Some claimed that it would kill laptops, netbooks, and all other e-readers. Others claim that it is nothing more than a giant iPod Touch. They’re correct. But that is for another article. More interesting is the fallout from ebook price wars.

Until now, Amazon had a stranglehold on ebooks. Their Kindle is Grand Poobah of e-readers and Amazon had the power to set the standard price of ebooks at $9.99. Publishers were not happy with this, as they thought this devalued books. This amazes me because Amazon was actually losing money on ebooks, as they would pay a publisher $15 for an ebook that they then sold for $10.

With Apple now in the market for ebooks (and a proven heavy hitter), they were able to promise publishers they would charge higher amounts for ebooks. Now publishers can sell their ebooks via Apple for $15 (or they will when the full Apple bookstore goes live). Apple will then take a cut of each ebook sold. So, if Apple is taking a cut of every $15, and Amazon was giving publishers a full $15, why is the Apple option more attractive?

Greed, arrogance, and ignorance. Book publishers, like music labels before them, refuse to live in 2010. Consumers are in the driver’s seat these days and that isn’t going to change. No longer can big business strangle markets and dictate what consumers will pay. These days, the consumer will set their own price… or they will just steal. Illegal? Yes. Immoral? Well, worse than charging $30 for a book or $20 for a CD? Not likely. So book publishers are now willing to actually take less money per book just so they can make a futile attempt at controlling the market. Amazing.

Book and music publishers loved to crow about how much physical overhead marked up the prices of the media sold. With book publishers, this may be true. Printing to paper is not cheap. With CD sales, this is absurd. Professionally pressed CDs now cost around $1 each, and that’s if you are ordering a short run (i.e. 1,000 or less). But what is the excuse when the physical product is absent?

An angel… a wacko… and another wacko.

I hate when people start with the “people die in threes” bullshit. As soon as Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died on the same day, Ed McMahon got lumped in and there was your magic three… except David Carradine just hung himself with a rope tied around his dork and, of course, the death of… HIM! Now maybe you can lump Carradine and Captain Chaos with a third and have another wacky trinity, but it’s all BS. Compounded to this is the fact that huckster Billy Mays died today. This begs the question of if Mays is even really a celebrity. Certainly he was more important than Ed McMahon, who practically did nothing but watch and laugh at other people’s shit for the past 50 years.

What really upsets me about the events of the past few days is how Farrah got pushed aside completely, so that the world may weep over the loss of a goddamn (alleged) pedophile. We don’t need to go over the reasons for the pedophile accusations. We all know he was guilty as shit and even admitted on camera to sleeping in bed with little boys. I do not discount his effect on the entertainment world, even if I am not a fan of his music. But let’s not also forget that he was a socially retarded attention whore that dressed like Captain Crunch and had a penchant for little boys.

Farrah, on the other hand, completely tore it up in The Burning Bed, was also a cultural icon and, most importantly, rode shotgun with JJ and Victor in The Cannonball Run. I just watched that movie, for the thousandth time, with my buddy The Sugar and it took us about three hours to get through. We just kept rewinding and laughing our asses off. Personally, I never owned Farrah’s classic swimsuit poster, and I only found her relatively attractive (I preferred Jacklyn Smith), but she seemed like a decent gal and checked out in a shitty manner (no pun intended). Just as we start to morn her, here comes that rubber-nosed attention whore to steal up the whole scene, baby. Sad.

As for Billy Mays… well, I didn’t wish death on the guy and I feel sorry for his family. But he pretty much always came off as a giant asshole. Still, I salute you and all your products a sane person would never buy.

I’m watching Charlie’s Angels right now and can’t help but feel a little sad. The 70′s had some of the greatest TV of all time and I truly miss the show. So this one is for you, Farrah. Fuck the rest.

"You know what I like best about trees?"

Eternally Thuggin’

I’m walking to my office the other day when I get behind some guy with a hoodie on. The back of the hoodie has a picture of some fat guy, likely a rapper (I will guess Biggie Smalls. Previously I would have guessed Prince Markie Dee). Not only was the graphic obviously made on a home PC and ironed on, but it also contained the text “Eternally Thuggin’”.

This left me to ponder- If one was to thug eternal, would you 1. really need to promote it and 2. really want to promote it? I’m fairly certain Al Capone’s hoodie would have read “Furniture Dealer”.

I Made This Money, You Didn’t. Right, Ted?

Sometimes the hypocrite in me rises to the surface.

Anyone that knows me will tell you that I am disgusted by the clueless, greed-fueled machinations of the RIAA, MPAA, and any other acronym that purports to support artists. These organizations support nothing but the lining of their own pockets and never gave a rat turd about anyone else. The majority of recording artists end up as indentured servants to their record label, and most actors are still working at Del Taco (note: I know nothing about Del Taco. I have never even seen a Del Taco. But I have a friend who once lived in Hollywood and always talked up Del Taco, so now I look like I’m in the know. Hip!).

If you think that a record contract or a bit part in a film equals cavier and gold dildos, you couldn’t be more wrong. For every Mick Jagger, there are thousands of high school dropouts that never made a dime from their “art” (Jesus, I hate that term). You just rarely hear about the sad stories.

I am tired of DRM, lawsuits, and the constant whining. Digital entertainment is here to stay. You cannot micromanage every single aspect of its dissemination. File sharing will only continue to grow and I, for one, am happy that the proverbial ball is now in the court of the consumer. I will fully admit to supporting the Pirate Bay and thank the Minutemen/DCP crew for keeping me entertained during these depressing Winter months. So, you see, I do not support “intellectual rights” at all, right?

Wrong. I absolutely support the rights of the creators, but they are partly to blame for getting ripped off- they signed the deals, after all. Sure, they may have been naive, but ignorance is no excuse. Do I have an answer for all of this? No. If I did, I would be a very rich man. However, it is obvious that new business models must be created to survive in this modern age.

So why am I writing this? Well, I was on Doom9.net this afternoon (further proving my hypocrisy), reading about the McCreevy Initiative (in the 2/11 news) to extend copyright protection to 90 years. The author, staunchly against said initiative, throws out this little nugget:

“Nobody should be worth a lifetime of guaranteed income, period!”

From what I gather, it is the author’s belief that copyright law should cover 15 years, after which said rights should go to the public domain. Basically, creators should not be able to sit on their lazy asses and collect fat checks for works created over 15 years ago. Doom9 also attempts the absurd comparison between writing a song and discovering the cure for cancer, and claims it is “fact” that “the ideal duration of protection is 15 years”. This is based on, I would surmise, the writings of grad student Rufus Pollock, which you can read about here. Please note that many grad students also like to wear hemp necklaces and play Hacky Sack.

These viewpoints almost always come from people that have never sat on their bedroom floor all night, trying to write a decent tune. That have never played in a shitty dive bar until 3am, only to have to be at work in 4 hours (and get paid nothing for their time). Just as the talking heads of the RIAA and MPAA like to get on their soapboxes and preach about how they’re fighting the good fight, so do the geeks on the other side, who think building their own PC entitles (and I stress entitles) them to a lifetime of free entertainment.

Four score and seven years ago, this shit was bangin', son!

Don’t forget that public domain does not just equal free tunes for you- it also means any song you love can and will be the next Pepsi commercial. Guns N Roses’ “It’s So Easy” will be selling tampons. Slayer’s “Dead Skin Mask” to sell Toyotas? Sure! It also means a fact that everyone conveniently omits- eventually, there will be a lot less music to hear. There will be even less movies to choose from, as they cost a small fortune.

“Well, they shouldn’t be doing it for the money anyway!” Yes, I agree, to some extent. My band is in the middle or recording an album right now. We will be releasing it ourselves. Why? Well, for starters, no one else has offered. But I also just love playing music and being able to control how the music is released. Is it my goal to make millions from this record? That would be nice, but no. My goal is to put out some great rock n roll. My other goal is to not lose money.

There has to be some middle ground in this whole retarded battle. Yes, artists should be compensated for their creations. Yes, even the movie studio fat cats should get a return on their investment (though major recording labels are dead and should remain so). But the punishment should fit the crime- $5 CDs, $7 DVDs, 25 cent music downloads. Charging $18 for a CD is criminal, as is charging $10 for an album download.

On the other side of the equation, “Nobody should be worth a lifetime of guaranteed income, period!” smacks of Socialism. As casually as that term is tossed around by right wingnuts, that is exactly how it sounds.

Like I said, I do not claim to have all the answers. I love living in an age where information is so free and abundant. I love having my entire record collection in a tiny hand held device. I also know that people busted their asses to make it so. File sharing will continue to flourish and I think it is a good thing. Having almost every song and movie ever created made available in a few clicks is great- but I don’t think I am entitled to it.

Note: I support Doom9.net and find it a great source for information on DVD backups. While I often agree with what is stated on the site, I found the above blanket statement to be a short-sighted, kneejerk reaction. Also note that I am a hypocrite, as stated previously.

He-Man is 100% About Punching You in the Face!

A few years back, my sister-in-law bought me a He-Man DVD box set. I was pumped because I was all about that show as a kid. He-Man and the Masters of the Universe was on at 5PM every day, so I would hurry up and scarf down dinner so that I could plop my skinny ass in front of the TV in time. To be honest, like most children of the 80′s I ate dinner in front of the TV, so it really wouldn’t have mattered. Somehow the DVD sat there few a few years, unwatched. Mostly it’s because much of what I loved as a kid simply doesn’t hold up (see Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas), and I didn’t want to be disappointed.

Well, my one kid got wind of He-Man and kept asking me all weekend if he could watch the DVDs. I finally threw it in about 20 minutes ago and… holy mother of Jesus! It’s no wonder I loved this cartoon so much. He-Man and the Masters of the Universe is 22 minutes of unabashed, dick- punching fucking awesome! Right from the get go, Prince Adam is thrusting that giant phallus in the air (his steel sword, not his pork sword), kicking on the fucking reverb, and TELLING you that he is about to rip you a new one. No questions. Even his chicken shit cat is going to transform into a bloodthirsty savage, ready to maul fuckers like tourists at a Chinese zoo. Amazing.

The audio is drenched in reverb, like a Ventures album. At any minute, you’re ready for He-Man to pull out a guitar and just shred some “Walk, Don’t Run”. What makes the audio even cooler is that it’s cheap as hell. It’s obvious the audio tracks were recorded with a $10 Realistic microphone and an old Tascam 4-track. The animation is just as bad- lips barely move and, when they do, are completely out of sync. All the while, He-Man is running around with his beanbag hanging out, talking to some weird disembodied head of “The Sorceress” (lots of thought went into her name), yelling about how he “has the power” every 5 seconds, and punching Beast Man in the face. Oh, and Orko is obviously the Paul Lynde of the group.

Highly recommended.

By the power of Greyskull! I'm gonna fuck shit uuuuuuup!

Stay Sick!

Like most office drones, I have a set schedule that I follow when I get to work. Pee break, coffee, check news headlines, check email. Standard fare. This morning I noticed an email sitting in my personal folder from my buddy Scott. The subject simply read “Lux”. “Wow, an olde tyme soap reference! Weird.” And the email sat there for awhile. I mean, it is not uncommon for Scott to wax poetic about old bicycles with the big front wheel or doing the Lindy Hop, so my reaction was not all that strange.

When I opened the email about an hour later, I was knocked to the floor- Lux Interior, frontman for the almighty Cramps, was dead. I just stared at the email, reading the sentence over and over, without even clicking on the attached link. There was no way Lux Interior could be dead. Undead, yes. But dead? No fucking way. He couldn’t have been that old, right? 62? Yikes. Older than my parents. But it still hasn’t set in.

If you’re a teenager, reading this (and I know how you kids love the Interwebs!), 62 probably seems ancient. It’s not. Brian Johnson is 61. Lemmy is 63. Ronnie James Dio is 435. Hell, Rolling Stones bassist Bill Wyman was roughly 62 when the Stones first hit US shores! But still, it is strange to watch your heroes become… well… elderly. Even stranger still for them to die.

I remember hearing about the Cramps long before I actually heard them. They certainly had a cool name and all the skater kids dug them. I finally heard them around the same time I finally saw them- oddly, on MTV’s Headbanger’s Ball. “Holy shit, this is weird… and cool!” The next time I was in a record store, I looked them up. To this day the cover of that album, Songs The Lord Taught Us, creeps me out. And hell, it’s not even a drawing of some monster or ghoul- it’s just a photo of the band. These cats were the real deal.

You rang?

Over time, I developed a (un)healthy love for the Cramps. They had a creepy, charismatic frontman. A beautiful guitarist that always wore a go go costume and played a giant Gretsch. Every song was a goddamn 12 bar boogie. And every song was a hit. You don’t get cheesy innuendo with the Cramps. No need to read into anything. While the Whitesnakes and Poisons of the world hinted at what they wanted to do in the backseat, Lux told you “bend over, I’ll drive”. Christ, they even have a song called “Wet Nightmare”. Classic.

I finally got to see the Cramps live, at Pittsburgh’s once famous Metropol, in early 1998. There was Poison Ivy, strutting her ass. There was Lux Interior, strutting his ass. It took me half of the set to realize that their bass player was a guy… his dress made it hard to tell. Even in a t-shirt, I was sweating my ass off. But there was Lux, in skintight leather (maybe rubber?) pants, and stilettos that he must have stolen from a dead hooker. He climbed a wobbly PA stack, bent a microphone stand (no shit), and threw himself all over the stage. Who knew this guy had a heart condition? I’ve never seen a show before, or since, like the Cramps. Amazing.

Lux Interior was one of a kind. He embodied everything that was rock n roll. Everything that was fun when you just started getting hair in strange places- cheap horror flicks, cheaper comic books, black leather and grease. Now we’ve lost him, just like so many of the greats- Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Stiv, Thunders, Nolan,  and Strummer. The list goes on.

While reading an article on Lux today, I looked down on the web page and noticed an ad for the new Biggie Smalls movie. It is amazing, and criminal, when you think of those that are remembered and those that are forgotten. I certainly will not forget Lux Interior and I hope you won’t either. Buy a Cramps record (my favorite being Flamejob). Buy a Cramps shirt. Keep great music alive, even if those that created it are gone.

My heart goes out to Poison Ivy, who has lost her husband of 37 years. Hell, looking over my Cramps record collection, I even feel bad for myself. Another great one is gone.

Thanks for all the good times, Lux. Stay sick!