Posted by gluvox on August 6th, 2004
LOS ANGELES - This week record industry execs, stung by historically low Billboard/Soundscan numbers, are feeling the worst quality-of-life comedown of their entire careers.
With Sony laying off 2000 employees, major retail consolidating and every A&R rep on both coasts investigating the aesthetic allure of .99 cent store body foam, any outsider staring into the music-industry bubble might see something akin to the killing floor of the Bob Evans Cleveland Sausage factory.
What might be the cause of so much wholesale corporate bloodshed?
Well, they call it “puppy love.”
Inside sources have told Big News that lonely young men and women, eager to impress the guy/gal of his/her daydreams, are making more and more mix CDs in a delusional attempt to form personal bonds with their object of desire.
“And I’ll sue every last one of them,” shrieks record biz legend Igmar Landon outside Sam’s Bagels on Larchmont Blvd.
But while the song-pluggers and street-teamers are hopping mad, the lonely and lovelorn could hardly care one whit. Why? Simple. The lovelorn dopes are lost in a vast ocean of romantic infatuation.
One lovelorn dope who spoke out on condition of anonymity stated, “I love her. I think about her all the time. They can sue me if they want, but if I have to make a hundred CDRs to get her to see me, hear me in a different light, I will fucking do it.”
Cal Sampson, CEO of Griffith Park Records, laid it out for Big News one hot afternoon at Cactus Tacos #4 on Hollywood’s famous La Brea Ave.
“Time WAS the hopelessly lovelorn would spend entire weekends crafting an appealing representation of their record collection onto a “high bias” cassette, all the while fantasizing about listening to said cassette in a very intimate setting with the one they adore.
“Now they can pump out hundreds of volumes of crystal clear music during TV commercials for people who would never touch them with a ten-foot asbestos rod. I don’t mean to be harsh - I’m just saying.”
Pierre Luveux, a formally rich label honcho, wipes taco grease from his chin and concurs, “(The mix tape) used to be great advertising. Some dope would put “Oh, you pretty things” on a tape for some girl and eventually the girl would purchase a lion’s share of the Bowie catalog - even his newer, crappier stuff.
“Now you can fit his entire discography on one mp3-DVD. There goes an entire cottage industry. Poof”
Indeed, sexually-frustrated underachievers who could never dream of buying their disinterested paramour a diamond ring are now offering them a cottage fortune in illegally-obtained intellectual property.
Independent labels are particularly hard hit. “We’re doomed,” cries Jeb Hanson of Bathroom Sink International, “most lovelorn dopes listen to indie rock. This stuff doesn’t exactly fly off the shelves you know.”
But should the beautiful, charming and successful minority be held accountable?
OBJECTS OF DESIRE CLEARED OF WRONGDOING
“I met this interesting guy who told me he was a DJ and I was like ‘Wow, like Rick Dees’,” Lisa Gansevoort remembers like it was the day before yesterday. “Like, is he going to have a contest where I can win $10,000? Is he going to play hilarious song parodies?
“He handed me a Memorex CDR with no label. I like listening to it. It’s cool, but I still only like him as a friend. One day I’ll check out his ‘club’ but he’s, uh, not my type.”
But while generation X and Y configure their social calendars to exclude some and court others, formerly well-dressed “higher ups” are now busy buying “Juicy Juice” bags in bulk.
“I love to slurp juice from a straw that is stabbed into a silver polymer pouch. If the lovelorn dopes refuse to cease and desist this crush-based bootlegging, I’ll probably have to plan ahead so I can save a buck or two by carrying gigantic cases of Juicy Juice into my apartment.”
LOVE IS CRUEL
“I like people, sure, and I love music,” brags Steve Gunderford, some guy with a goatee, “and if someone wants to make a CD for me, cool. Doesn’t mean I want to make out with him. Or her.”
Kimber Jacoby of Santa Monica is less accepting of the round, silver gifts: “Jeez, I can make my own stupid CD on my own damn Hello Kitty I-book,” she pants.
Pat Richardsman lead singer of The Lovelorn Dopes feels even heavier, “We named ourselves (Lovelorn Dopes) because we thought it sounded cool; we thought we could market ourselves as a brand to lovelorn men and women.”
Today, Pat has learned that his food stamps and free anti-psychotic medication have been discontinued in the latest California budget crunch.
“Damn you, real lovelorn dopes!”