fillet-of-who?

Dear Consumer,

The Recording Industry Association of America. If you don’t know who they are already, let me summarize for you; They are a bunch of morons looking out of the music industry while single-handedly alienating music listeners and shooting themselves in the foot.

Ok, so maybe not every listener, but at least all of the ones who find their tunes on the internet. In essence, if you’ve ever copied a CD to your computer, listened to internet radio (Pandora included), recorded a song on your XM satellite radio to listen to later or downloaded anything from Napster, Limewire, KaZaA, Bittorrent, et al, You’ve broken the law.

And don’t you think for one hot second that you are outside their reach. The RIAA has sued corporations big and small, people young and old, the homeless and the computerless, even the dead!

So why would a company do such a thing? To protect their intellectual property of course. Unfortunately, they’ve become so preoccupied with protecting their property, they’ve alienated just about every demographic. The mentally handicapped are the only group that listens to music that hasn’t been sued by the RIAA yet. (citation needed)

“Well hold on now Travis,” you may say. “What if these guys are just out there protecting what is rightfully theirs?”

Let’s back up and look at the big picture for a few moments.

Back in the halcyon days of records, one needed a fancy studio to record the music and an even fancier machine to produce the records. Then you would need a PR rep to sell your album to as many executives as possible to get your name out. That is how you get your album into the hands of a million people.

Fast forward to 2008. The only thing you need to make studio quality music now is a quiet room, a microphone, and a computer. Getting the word out? Make a MySpace page. Now your music can be in the hands of nearly as many people and you did it all by yourself! Your mother will be so proud.

Which brings me to my next point; choice.  With all of this availability and niches (Turbo Folk, Mathcore, Powerviolence?), there are a lot more avenues in which people can people can spend their money.  This phenomenon has been dubbed The Long Tail, many niche items sold to a large number of people. The Long Tail model states that given free choice, users will favor the 20% of available options while the remaining 80% creates The Long Tail.

So let’s put it all together: Producing and distributing costs have dropped, leading to more small and independent labels not represented by the RIAA. User choice and convenience has increased through the power of technology, and yet the RIAA is still trying to sell us CD’s which - for them - have the largest profit margin. It’s no wonder sales are down every year since the dotcom boom!

But what of the oh-so-holy iTunes music store? That won’t help the RIAA at all either. Instead of making $20 off your Beyonce fetish, they only make $10, halving their profit. Or worse yet, you only buy Independent Woman Part 1 for a platry $0.99, thereby reducing their total profit by over a factor of 20!

For you, this is great. If this was 1994 however, you would have bought her whole CD as you would have had no choice.

THAT is the reason their profits are down. We were being swindled. It has NOTHING to do with the fact that people are stealing music.

Sincerely,

Travis

I guess this whole thing was the result of a nagging question. Could I construct a substantial narrative wherein each sentence or statement conained at least one name of a popular band or musical artist? The question soon became a dare and it became clear that (as with all dares) my very masculinity was at stake. Strangely this has taken up way too much of my time and I gladdly wash my hands of it. I present for your consideration…

Of Modest Mice and Men: Part I

The name’s Jack Johnson, I’m a city detective. I’m just a simple man working for the green day after day. I would describe my line of work as a savage garden of guns n’ roses… an oasis for all the sex, pistols and booze you could ask for. But it’s not all violence and barenaked ladies… there’s the unpleasant stuff too. At the end of the day, it always comes down to discovering the who, what, why, when, and where.

They found the last murdered woman in the center of linkin park lying face down in a puddle of mud. At each crime scene the killer leaves a note that reads only “…And you will know us by the trail of the dead”. So far the police have had no leads.

Thunder sounded overheard and the clash of lightning lit up the night sky as I trudged through the rain toward the station. I never looked forward to seeing the chief with his stone sour expression and condescending tone.

Chief: “A-ha! There you are Jackie… I need you to get to the bottom of this mess and put a stop to all the kills that keep popping up all over the city”

Jack: “Will Smith be joining me on this assignment sir?”

Smith was a new recruit, still optimistic and keane on changing the world for the better. He was about as sickeningly sweet as vanilla ice cream and still maintained a blind faith in the otherwise corrupt system of a downtown precinct. Headstrong, naïve, and a bit self righteous, Smith was the poster boy for the all American. Rejects like me have been around too long and seen too much to waste time with idealism.

Chief: “Smith’s out of town following up on some leads in Boston. He’ll be back in a day or two but I want you come up with some ideas on how to take this slayer down. He’s no doubt some deranged psycho trying to somehow achieve his own personal nirvana by killin’ off dames”

Jack: “Is there anything else you could cher with me sir?

Chief: “Damnit Jack, this is Chicago homicide! This is where we turn the boys II men! Since when has this job ever been a bowl of peaches and cream?! U2 better make some kind of progress on this case or I’m gonna be needing your badges back!”

I left his office and tried to ignore the fact that I had a better chance of finding an alien ant farm than I did of this serial killer.

It was on a Thursday that Blondie walked into my hole of an office. When I caught sight of her lipstick my mind raced to think of a metaphor that was red hot. Chili peppers, stop lights, fireballs… nothing did justice to the flaming lips that this broad was packin’. Her name was Alice Cooper. She had bright eyes and a figure that would make any man’s jaw drop faster than a led zepplin. She was a real bombshell but at the same time, tough as nine inch nails. This iron maiden, this velvet revolver, was a walking contradiction.

Alice: “I want to talk to you about the Neil Diamond”

Ah yes, the priceless jewel stolen about a year back from Johnny Neil; young wealthy rancher from Kansas.

Jack: “Whoa Nelly! That’s a little twisted sister. The police abandoned that case months ago”

Alice: “I think the diamonds connected with all the murders”

Jack: “OK go on”

She explained that she knew a guy who worked for the postal service who told her that he had somehow overheard some shady dealings from a couple members of a the Scorpions, a rough street gang who helped maintain the monopoly on organized crime in this city. She just smiled and walked out when I asked why she and her friends kept such bad company.

It was rush hour and I was low on gas but I decided to brave the ludacris traffic to visit a friend of mine who might know a thing or two. Frank ran a gay bar 3 doors down from my bookie and kept pretty up to date on all the criminal gossip that this town has to offer. I walked up to the bartender, slapped a 50 cent piece on the counter and he gave me a nickleback. This was the signal, an unwritten law that opened the conversation up to anything classified.

Bartender: “He’s not here, Frankie goes to Hollywood every summer. He caught a train yesterday morning and won’t be back till August”

Disappointed, I sipped on the B-52s the bartender kept sending my way. As I glanced around the room I couldn’t help but notice that a mountain of a man wearing a yalmulka was staring at me. And it wasn’t the kind of stare that the queen behind the counter was giving me. No this stare got me feeling like I was doing the breaststroke down the River Styx. He was a real big fellah and the meatloaf kept his gaze fixed in my direction. I knew I needed to jet but I didn’t want to make a scene so I ordered another drink.

Jack: “Excuse me sir, mix-a-lot more kick into my next one”

I downed the drink and headed for the doors without even looking at my new admirer. Once outside I walked past a rancid phish market when out of nowhere, I was greeted by the gorillaz familiar mug. He tossed me into a back alley and I crashed into a couple of garbage cans. I was trapt. WHAM! He gave me a clean smashmouth turning the side of my lower lip a deep purple. I hit the ground again and he continued to whale on me like a kid smashing pumkins. It was moments later when everything went black. Sabbath must have been up comin’ up tomorrow because the Hebrew ended my work day early.

I awoke and found myself seated in a silver chair with both my hands tied behind my back in a slipknot. When I scanned the room I caught sight of Blondie. They had bound Alice in chains and left her lying in the corner. My mind raced frantically to come with some simple plan of escape when out of nowhere light poured into the dark room as Smith broke down the doors with a small posse of officers behind him.

Jack: “Well it looks like Smith saves the day”

Smith: “Get those two untied, then we’re going to the beach boys!”

As we walked through the sand I wasn’t sure what sort of lead Smith had come up with but I had a feeling that the next body was just up ahead judging by the flock of seagulls flying up above in a perfect circle.

Smith: “What in the name of good charlotte is that?!”

Jack: “It’s an aero Smith, this woman was shot through the heart with a crossbow while applying her sunscreen. Get on the horn with dispatch Brian. Adams, call in a death cab for cutie here”

Blood staind the white stripes of her swimsuit. I looked up and saw that Smith was looking severely disturbed.

Smith: “Ever seen a cheap trick like that before sir?”

Jack: “Just in Timberlake valley that one time during the string cheese incident Smith”

Smith: “Well by golly I don’t understand what would ever fuel such evil-doers!”

It was becoming everclear what an evening at the Smiths house was like. As he walked through the door his lovely wife would switch off the radio, head to the parlor and greet her prince with a soft kiss. That’s just about when Smith would say “Oh I’ve missed you Pearl! Jam and toast? Oh Pearl you always know the cure to my rough days!”

Smith: “You know you don’t always have to be so cold. play around once in awhile Jack and remember that people are grateful for what we do”

Jack: “Tell it to the grateful dead girl back there Smith. Now shut up and let’s get a warrant. I know who the killers are…”

To Be Continued… (not really)

I hereby solomnly swear that my posts will not contain anything regarding band titles for at least another month and a half.