Monday, April 09, 2007
96.4% of Musicians are Idiots
The other 3.6% aren't trying.
Happy Holidays people,
In previous blogs I have mentioned manners - or rather the lack of them - as being one of the major reasons for a musical career in the doldrums.
Today I wanted to remind you about how important manners are and also how important it is to make sure that your message is getting across.
It's really quite simple but it bears repeating. You must remember at all times that the guys on your team are also ON YOUR SIDE!
(The number of times I have come across the kind of "everyone is trying to screw me," paranoia is making me think that there is a a conspiracy of silence on this issue. Why aren't we being told?)
In order to elborate a little and get my message across I brought you firstly the list of the most offensive words - as compiled by the BBC. I am sure if you look at the list you will see words that you come across in everyday useage.
Now, I may sound like your Mum but these words are fine if your "gang" uses them on a regular basis. That kind of common repetition devalues the shock element and neuters some of these words until they lose most of their meaning. BUT... and this is big but ( like J Lo's but not so attractive!) Outside of your peer group the words are still offensive and must be used with care.
Let me give you an example of how dangerous your ambivalent attitude to words can be.
I was on a plane travelling from Indonesia to Papua New Guinea once. The flight is 5 minutes long and lands in a town called Vanimo. There is one plane a week and it is a big deal for the customs boys there. Now, as you know I am a Western Imperialist who cares nought for the social niceties of foreign lands and so when we landed I thought that my British Passport would carry the same amount of credibilty as having a Black Amex does in Saks 5th Avenue. Boy, was I wrong!
The customs officer asked me where my visa was and I pointed to one in my passport. It transpired that this was a single entry visa and that I had not got the correct stamp. When the large and very aggresive gent behind the counter pointed this out to me my reply was simply - "Oh you are joking: which means I can't believe I made such a stupid and elementary mistake and could you please lok kindly on my ineptitude in small town England. In Papua New Guinea it is a major insult to question the veracity of a government official and if he were able to my interogator would have turned puce, Instead he ordered my bags off the plane and me onto a small bench where transgressors could be humiliated in plain view of the other departing - and legitimate guests.
I was totally bemussed and not a little scared They still have cannibals in PNG don't they? Was I going to be the main ingredient in Missionary stew? Would I be deported to Jaiapura after a week in the pot. Would he turn my skull into a new bongo? Why was he looking for the salt? This was not funny.
The plane was turned around and ordered to taxi to the end of the runway whilst my colleagues bartered for my safe release. There was a lot of grovelling and a lot of stern looks and waving arms going on and I was powerless. Every time I moved he shouted at me to stay put or there would be "CONSEQUENCES"!.
Eventually, after a good deal of bowing, scrapping, promises of virgin brides and praise of the locals virility and no small measure of personal ego massage the customs guy agreed to release me for 400 cigarettes and 2 cases of beer. He then scribbled a small note on the visa in crayon and took 20 Dollars for his trouble before releasing me into the foetid air of a Papuan Rainforest airstrip.
The engines were already running and the pilot waved at me to hurry up as I ran down the ever-lasting runway with my suitcase and heavily bruised ego in hand. The sweat ran of me like Niagra but my relief at getting out of there was enough to power a small aircraft carrier and as I hauled myself up the steps I gasped a last breath of swamp before slamming the door shut behind me and swallowing as much air conditioned, farty aeroplane air as I could get into my burning lungs. As the plane cranked up the power and took off I crawled to a seat and started shaking with relief.
The comlimentary nuts were a bit of a let down on that flight let me tell you.
So, the moral of this story is be careful what you say and who you say it to.
If you are a musician be nice to your fans, your manager, your label, your family and especially to people who may weild power over you that you are unaware of. If you don't it may cost you more than $20 and a case of Pacific Ice beer
Andiamo
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