A profound look at the trials and tribulations of middle age, and the inevitable search for acceptance and peace of mind.
Monday morning, 6.30 a.m. and the soft, comforting lullaby background noise is rudely interrupted by the jarring frenzy of advertising which explodes from my radio alarm clock. “And now, straight in at number 8, it’s ANOTHER HOMEBOY with their brand new smash, ‘YO BITCH, LETS HOOK UP!’” The bass frequency virtually explodes the radio as yet another young Rap artist hits the airwaves. Pointing and throwing shapes like an air traffic controller, he’s probably 17 years old with enough bitches to keep the Australian army happy for a month.
Although desperate for another forty winks, the alarm clock successfully does its job and maneuvers me bolt upright after only 30 seconds! I stand still for a minute looking at my protruding belly and continue wondering if I really have managed to get out of bed? In all my twenty plus years as a musician, I never thought I would see the day that I would willingly tear myself away from a warm quilt at such an ungodly hour, especially to put myself through four hours of college mathematics. A quick, luring thought secretly tempts me to lie back down and surrender the morning, but the alien noises spewing from the radio make it impossible.
The beat box continues singing the only tune it knows, BOOM BOOM BAP, BOOM BOOM BAP, and there are so many people talking at the same time I don’t know who to listen to. Images in my head tell me the “Homies” are angry and the “bitches” are gyrating; there are mansions and flash cars and their trousers are hung so low that they all look like they’ve shit their pants. As the video reaches its climax, I realize that regardless of my scornful inner dialogue, something about this young kid is clearly holding my attention. As a white, English male, you would think that I would have little in common with a 17-year-old African American rap artist from Detroit, but the truth is that I possibly recognize the look on the kid’s face–for it was once my own. He’s Coca Cola, the new Mac Burger and Christmas advertising all in one!
At forty three years and rising, I have to concede that I am probably too old to understand the priorities of the current youth movement and too beaten up by a mid life crisis to care. Like many who have gone before me, I was thrown out of the music business quite some time ago because I didn’t make the Record Companies enough money. So here I am on the dying end of the cycle, and here’s this 17-year-old kid who has just signed his first recording contract, bless him! We’re like 1 p.m. and 11 p.m., me and this kid. It may seem like a huge distance clockwise, but it’s actually really close if you look back; and now I’ve made the connection, I’m seeing him in the same way a Jewish father looks at his child who is wearing his first yarmulke or a football fan watching his son play with his first miniature ball ! It’s really beginning to dawn on me just how different everything is nowadays. I suppose to these young Rap artists, Duran Duran must seem like Bill Haley and The Comets and Led Zeppelin like Frank Sinatra. I find myself standing motionless in front of the radio, locked in a private dawning that I’m no longer a part of the music scene and never will be again.
Back in the day, securing a recording contract with one of the major Record Companies allowed you a ticket into The Golden Castle. The Golden Castle was an imaginary world where you could live happily in a frozen state of adolescence. It was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Mary Poppins and The Wizard of Oz all rolled into one.
The Keepers of the Golden Castle, or “Record Company Executives” as they like to be known, were expertly trained at manipulating children, rivaled only by the staff at Disneyland. They made sure that you were kept in a constant state of amusement so you wouldn’t notice what was going on behind the scenes. No one wants to know that Mickey Mouse is actually an ex-shoplifter from Canada, and no one in The Golden Castle wants to admit that the entire music business is nothing more than financial Pedophilia. Managers, Lawyers, Executives, Accountants, Radio Stations, Marketers, Merchandisers . . . you name it–they were all in on it! You took it all in your stride inside the Golden Castle because you were more afraid of being rejected than admitting the seedy truth.
Then, as time began to slip away and we weren’t so young any more, the Keepers of the Golden Castle weren’t so nice. First to go was the Radio Promotion budget, then the Video budget, then the Touring budget. Then, as the once warm welcome slid gradually into a state of indifference, it became more and more obvious that they perceived us “old dogs” as surplus to requirement. They were far more interested in the “new puppies” who were arriving at the Castle Gates for the first time, chauffeured by the same horse drawn carriages with bells and ribbons in which we rode once upon a time.
No one tells you when you first enter the Golden Castle that one day, in the not so distant future, you must pack your bags and leave. Strangely, we all believed that we were special enough to avoid the chop, but as sure as eggs is eggs (Gabriel, Foxtrot), we were eventually asked to leave the Golden Castle and walk amongst the mortals. Too ashamed of our sad and humiliating rejection, we left quietly through the back door, never to return. We stood at the front gates bitterly watching the new arrivals, in the hope that we would be spotted by one of the staff, forgiven for our lack of CD sales and readmitted.
There are legends in the Golden Castle who make so much money for the Keepers that they never get thrown out. Great Legendary names like The Stones, Aerosmith, or Rod Stewart, but in recent times, even they have had to re-negotiate their rent. Being a Legend doesn’t guarantee you a life membership in the Golden Castle. Great talents such as Chaka Khan or Bob Dylan have all been turfed out . . . they just haven’t realized it yet. I wonder what the keepers of the Golden Castle would say if Chaka Khan asked for a $1,000,000 video? I’m sure they would tell her she was out of her mind! Eminem, on the other hand, sports a $2,000,000 video without anyone batting an eyelid . . . at least for the present time.
In Golden Castle terms, Eminem is actually just another Duran Duran, Boy George, The Bay City Rollers, MC Hammer, Gary Glitter, David Cassidy, and a stream of other artists who were once elevated to the rank of “Most Special.” In the seventies, you simply couldn’t imagine a time when the music business would ignore the likes of David Cassidy and right now it’s hard to imagine Eminem in such a forgotten position. Mark my words, that day will come. Everyone is thrown out of the Golden Castle at some point.
THE KEEPERS OF THE GOLDEN CASTLE
The Keepers of the Golden Castle are traditionally permanent members. They do not have the same popularity concerns as the artists, for they have completely different rules. Even age doesn’t affect the status of The Keepers of the Golden Castle. The rules for the Artists are really quite simple: so long as the Artists can contribute to the Keepers wages and help them to scale the corporate ladder, their position inside the Golden Castle is relatively safe. If the Artist fails to produce these basic requirements, they are rejected immediately with all friendships severed, all strings cut and no questions asked. “Dance or be rejected, young man,” they said! So I was rejected!
I was going through my e mails today and I came across a very interesting article that someone sent me. The article said:
MASSIVE JOB CUTS AT WMG; ELEKTRA FOLDED INTO ATLANTIC
As a result of Warner Music Group’s recent purchase, Elektra Records will basically cease to exist, becoming merely an imprint of Atlantic Records. Worse than that, we are saddened to hear that many longtime senior promo vets are exiting their positions, including Atlantic’s Bonnie Slifkin, Danny Buch, Bob Clark, and Kris Metzdorf, along with Elektra’s Lisa Michelson-Sonkin, Greg Thompson, Dennis Reese, and Al Tavera, among others.
Notice how it says “exiting their positions.” This very polite, secret code-word actually means that they have been FIRED, SACKED, TOLD TO WALK, LET GO. Call it what you want, but it means they won’t be getting paid any more. And to all of you who don’t understand how the music business operates, this unprecedented event means the music business as we know it, is over. The Keepers Of The Golden Castle have abused and pillaged this once proud business to such an extent, that they are now having to fire themselves!
And I remember those people, Danny Buch, Bonnie Slifkin, Bob Clark, etc., and my time with them in the Golden Castle. How I handed over all my power to them and gave them the ability to make or break my life. How I failed to make their grade and their inevitable rejection of me when I didn’t sell a million records. I remember, I really do.
I have long since stopped scrounging around the gates of the Golden Castle, looking for scraps and pieces of someone else’s good fortune. I left the frightened beggars and those unfortunates who are sick with desperation behind. Around 1999, I packed up my tent and walked away from the shantytown of lost souls that has grown around the perimeter of the Golden Castle. I was done with begging. I turned my back and walked terrified into the void, headlong into the unknown canyons of my own life. Without guarantees, I shuffled through the dark forest, over the steep cliffs and across a deep river to a distant land. It was far enough away from my old life that I could clearly see my past mistakes.
Joni Mitchell described it perfectly when she said, “You can’t find your goodness cos you’ve lost your heart.”
Alone in this new land, a pioneer in my own life, I claimed a patch of turf because I saw it had my name on it. I started to build shapes with the rocks that I found even though I had no idea what the shapes would turn out to be. I couldn’t rely on my mind for it had deceived me in the past, so I followed my heart and my intuition and I continued regardless. Ten long years went by.
I woke up today and realized I had built a Golden Castle. There are no beggars here, only friends. I swapped the begging for Fatherhood, Writing, Motorsport and Picnics—and the music is better than ever.
Today, as I sipped my morning cup of tea, I couldn’t help but look out over the horizon to watch The Keepers of the Golden Castle being evicted. “All things must pass” sang the late, great George Harrison and boy, was he correct!
And from this beautiful Golden Tower that is truly my own, it seems absurd that I’m now looking down at this sad debris, to the shipwreck of those who stayed too long.
RIP ‘Music Business’. It was, erm, fun.