'Riding the Gravy Train Until the Ladle is Licked Dry' or 'Record Companies Are Lousy Investors'

"The person who stands up and says, `This is stupid,' either is asked to `behave' or, worse, is greeted with a cheerful `Yes, we know! Isn't it terrific?' '' ~ Frank Zappa



August 22, 2006.

Mark this day down in the numerous dark days that will forever scar the palace walls in the history of American music and pop culture. The date itself will fade into the sunset, but, thanks to the fine folks at Warner Brothers Records, there will always be a reminder available for purchase on CD. Today, the debut album from notorious socialite Paris Hilton hit stores.

I don't have to hear it to know what to expect; Second-rate pop tunes featuring whatever third-rate rhyme schemes that Paris could come up with circulating around her feelings about guys, money, jealousy, and those dastardly evil spoiled kids of Hollywood, a group of kids that Paris Hilton apparently does not consider herself one of, although common sense tells us all that she is. The deepest that she may get will be sly hints at certain celebrities like Lindsey Lohan, Nicole Richie, Lionel Richie, the Pope, or whoever she happens to have "beef" with this week. Of course Warner hedged their bets a little; for safe measure and the certainty of respect from the older, mature audience, Paris throws in a cover of Rod Stewart's lowest low, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?".

That being said, let the rant begin...

Warner Brothers Records and their many off-shoots used to strike me as a big name player when it came to holding claim of important music artists. They signed Black Sabbath, Van Halen, ZZ Top, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, the Grateful Dead, Talking Heads, and the list goes on. All of the mentioned artists are now at legendary status, consisting of lengthy successful careers that led to longevity through influence on the younger rising acts.

Then, at the turn of the millenium, Alt-country heroes Wilco recorded 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot', an experimental album that didn't allow the band or the album to be pidgeonholed (record exec translation, easily marketed). In response, Reprise Records, Wilco's Warner-owned Record Label, asked that changes be made to the album; the band refused to change a thing and Reprise dropped them from the label. Wilco chose to take their album to the internet, posting it on their website. The album was considered a masterpiece by most critics and appeared on almost every end-of-the-year "best" list. A subsequent bidding war began between record companies to swipe up what would now be a possibly successful release (record exec translation, easily marketed). Wilco eventually inked a deal with Nonesuch Records. Warner Brothers is the distributor of Nonesuch as well as Reprise, so in fact, Wilco was dropped and picked up again by the same company. As the band's manager pointed out in Sam Jones' documentary 'I Am Trying to Break Your Heart', they got rid of an album they didn't like, then bought it back for three times the original cost.

At the time of the 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot' Red Rover game, I figured that Warner was making a simple one-in-a-million mistake. Alas, this week's release from Paris Hilton has only proven one fact, Warner Brothers Records are not smart with their investing. You can't convince me that Warner Brothers execs see the longevity and integrity in Paris that they see in Neil Young. I have to believe that in the eyes of the idiots in charge, a debut album by a popular figure in the spotlight would surely be a quick, easy moneymaker. They banked on a catchy single, the UB40 rip-off "Stars are Blind", shot a sexy music video, sent Hilton out to meet the masses on TRL, sign a few CD's with instore appearances, and knew in the heart of hearts that the American public would be ready to swallow this up.

Well Warner Brothers, we all survived "Heartbeat" by Don Johnson. We faintly remember Bruce Willis singing "Respect Yourself". Apparently, nobody enjoys those memories very much. Sales figures show that the Paris Hilton album sold only 75,000 copies in its first week, with only a 30,000 projected to move in its second. At the end of the day we can at least still say we love 'Die Hard' and secretly tune in for 'Nash Bridges' re-runs. What else has Paris Hilton done that even gives off an essence of talent? NOTHING. Absolutely zilch. Did you see 'House of Wax'? The highlight of her acting was the final whimper she let out before the killer rammed a steel pipe through her head. Once again the moneymen were expecting their minions (the buying public) to gobble up whatever glittery, glammed-up, quick-cash sham of a pop doll they pushed out onto the airwaves.

And here's why I'm REALLY upset...

Who will be blamed for this? Will it be the obviously dumb exec who thought Paris Hilton would make a profitable recording artist? NO. The blame will be laid square on the shoulders of the buying public, with the brunt of the criticism aimed at the ever-so-popular file sharing sites. There will be the obligatory "piracy" song and dance; to some extent it may be appropriate, but at the end of the day, the consumers did not come through for the record company.

So what am I saying all this for?

Record companies are seeing loss due to the fact that they view every heavily-marketed release as a quick fix to years of bad investments out into lackluster artists and projects. Instead of quick fixes, what they need is a John Hammond or a Clive Davis. They need to invest in the artistic integrity once again, taking a chance on the next Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen that comes around with something to say. The voice of the generation will never be found in a song sung off-key by a barely legal socialite, signed for the sole use of a well-known name and face, marketing yet another product in a brand stretching a demographic spanning pre-teen to early-teen girls, whose innocence is nearly lost on soda pop ditties about puppy love in all its joyous, feux glory, painting pictures of one true love sealed with a kiss tasting of cherry lip gloss and glittery skin lotion, which can be purchased along with the CD either seperate or as a package deal at your local Target stores while supplies last. This too, like the heydays of Leif Garret, David Cassidy, and the Osmonds, shall pass. With any luck, Paris' shot at a recording career will become no more than the punchline of a late-night TV joke, or, better yet, a quirky comparison piece in future reviews written by David Fricke, who was also right about the Wilco record.

You're a Sad, Pitiful Excuse For a Man, Charlie Brown: The Follies in a So-Far Failed Love Life

Ah, how much more can the single life be glorified? I think of "the old ball and chain" as an interestingly negative symbol for those in relationships, as if having a loving companion is equivalent to being chained down as a prisoner. Come to think of it, why don't we ask some guests of our nation's correctional facilities how their time in solitude compares to to the confines of loving arms?

That being said, let's talk about good old Charlie Brown. He has no respect from his peers, he has no hair, and his best friend is a dog. In the legendary Christmas special, Charlie was suffering from bouts of depression. I'm surprised he was never prescribed Zoloft. What stuck with me more in all these years of Peanuts comic strips and TV specials is his undying commitment as the football team's kicker. A few yards away, holding the ball, is Lucy, the girl that serves as Charlie's high-rate therapist and high-maintainance love interest. In classic fashion, she pulls the ball away right as Charlie takes the stride to kick it, sending him reeling. Lucy and the team laugh hysterically, as Charlie brushes himself off, ready to try again.

As a kid, all I saw was a Charlie Brown falling down, and that element of physical comedy sparked laughter. Now, a little older and arguably wiser, I recognize that everytime the ball was snatched away, he fell, and then he got back up. Time and time again, he would retake his place, and run towards the ball, proving that if you define "insanity" as repeating the same tasks expecting different results, Charlie Brown was insane.

I know how that feels.

At 23, I have finally reached a point in my life where I look back upon an unhealthy relationship with an outsider's perspective. There was a beautiful girl in my life that served as a high-rate therapist and high-maintainance love interest. For nearly five years, I refused to believe that this girl, we'll call her Lucy, would really want to hurt me, and regardless of anything else, we were friends. We have not spoken in nearly 8 months. Of course, this time has passed faster with the help of long work hours, re-runs of 'Futurama', and time spent with my other close friends. While I've wondered at times what Lucy's been up to in life and where her journey has taken her, another part of me came to a saddening realization. Friendship is something that is not for lease. It should not be based on convenience. It is founded on mutual respect and love. In this sense, Lucy has not been my friend for a longer time than I thought.

There have been times since this realization that I wondered what Charlie Brown would do if he realized the same thing about his Lucy. Part of me likes to think he would stand his ground and give Lucy what she had coming all along, an accidentally misplaced kick to the face. In some instances, my family and friends feel I should get even, too. But it is here where if I was Charlie Brown, and he was me, we would both dust ourselves off, turn around and walk away from the wrecked games we were playing, muttering a final emotional "Good grief."

That being said, turning over a new leaf in my love life, hopefully not straying from the comfort in the funny pages, I hope that maybe I can regain my confidence again. I have always had a fear of rejection and now I have this fear of hurt, to boot. I hope that someday, I can find that courage to ask a girl out again. And maybe this time, at least I can see the pull-away coming before I hit the ground.