I've spoken at length in the past about how, in the places that I hang out, most of the music that's played is Rock N' Roll/Pop Music from the 70's through the 90's, more or less, regardless of the age group of the bar patrons at that particular time and place. It's strange how, in a bar full of people of different ages, from their early-20's to mid-40's, they all love the same music, whether it be Guns N' Roses, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Soundgarden, or whathaveyou. I'll be dj-ing, and 22-year-old girls want me to play more Motley Crue and Depeche Mode....and they weren't even BORN yet when a lot of these bands' songs were originally released, for Christ's sake!
Which begs the question: is music itself becoming something archaic...something antiquated...something that's purely vintage in quality, like a really expensive red wine, or a roughed up pair of Beatle Boots?!!
Is it nothing but pure nostalgia? If so, that's sad. Because that would imply that it's merely, as Leonard Cohen sang, "A shining artifact of the past." FUCK that! What about NOW?!
Day-in and day-out, I hear from people that they miss the sound of Loud Rock N' Roll, and they wonder where the hell it went. And that is a REALLY good question. I mean, seriously, I usually dj at least twice a week, in the dark Rock N' Roll dives in New York's East Village and Lower East Side, and the only modern bands I can think of that I play with any regularity are my band (the Dirty Pearls, if you live under a rock), my friends' bands, and....bands like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, A Perfect Circle, Queens of the Stone Age, HIM, etc. Other than that, it's like, my favorite Rock N' Roll bands from the 60's, 70's, 80's, & 90's. Go figure. Am I part of the problem? Is it a problem at all?
I know why it is. Generally, nobody's buying recorded music anymore, so, no new bands are being marketed (or shoved down the American Public's throats) anymore. The Music Industry and all its money basically disappeared up its own asshole, due to blind greed, and an overwhelming lack of quality in the music ("product") it generated.
So, with few exceptions, in order for Rock N' Roll fans to get their rocks off when they go out, the classics have to suffice. The funniest thing about is that younger Rock N' Roll fans were RAISED on that music by their PARENTS of all people. So much for Rock N' Roll being "rebellious music." But that's ok. Hell, my band has parents bringing their kids to our shows, and for that matter, some people bringing their parents....and that's pretty cool, if you ask me.
But, someone needs to carry the torch for Rock N' Roll, and define the time we're in NOW, don't you think?
These are open questions; ones of continuous discussion for some time in my case.
What do YOU think?
Thanks for your time!
Marty E.
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Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
It's a long way to the top of you wanna Rock N' Roll & eat too....Part 1: My Days as a Temp
When I moved my crazy ass to New York City 10 years ago, I really didn't have a plan whatsoever; no apartment, no job, no band, and I knew maybe four people here. All I had was a few earthly possessions, a few grand rolled up in my sock, and a committed determination to make something of myself.
The first things always being first, I knew that I was going to have to get a roof over my head (which I documented some of in a previous entry and will more in the future) and find a way to support myself and the fulfillment of my dreams.
My good friend Alfredo, who was kind enough to let me crash on his floor in Bay Ridge for a week or two while I got my sea legs, suggested that I apply at some Temp Agencies, like the ones advertised in the back of Backstage (a magazine for aspiring actors and actresses). So, I typed up a decent resume, and faxed it to about 10 of these places.
Within a few days, I'd had interviews with three of them, and made a good enough impression, I suppose, because I started getting work within a week or so.
Life is about pros and cons, as we all know.
The pros w/ making your way this were that the pay was relatively good, and most of the assignments lasted for weeks or months. If you were reliable, you could pay your rent and get by. The work itself wasn't difficult at all, and sometimes was all but nonexistent.
The cons? Tthe 9 to 5 work schedule wasn't exactly conducive to Rocking and/or Rolling, and....well, because I've always been a man to enjoy his late nights out, waking up and going to work was often....well, to put it as appropriately as I can, a fucking NIGHTMARE. Also, I wasn't allowed to show up for work in jeans, t-shirts, biker boots, long, loose hair, and jewelry....no fucking way. I had to tie my hair back, and put on a white dress shirt, dress pants (I drew the line at khakis though....fuck THAT shit) and black wingtip shoes. Yeah, I looked as fucking ridiculous as I felt.
But what made me feel even more ridiculous was the people I did the actual work for. Granted, my bosses at my first assignment, which was the New York branch of a French pharmaceutical company, were pretty cool, none judgmental, and took the time to realize that I was an intelligent guy who just happened to be a recent Midwestern transplant, struggling to make his way. But that lasted maybe about six weeks.
My next job was for some Chinese company, which again, did pharmaceuticals, if I remember correctly. I walked into that job, and without even saying hello, or even taking the time to introduce herself, some crusty old Chinese executive hag handed me 5 pamphlets of some sort, and coldly told me to make 10 copies of each. I felt like she was looking down her nose at me, and didn't respect me in the least. I was so pissed off and degraded, that I just about walked the fuck out....but, again, I needed the money, and had nowhere else to do so at the time, so...I made her fucking copies. Your welcome, Bitch!!!
The funniest place I worked at...(you're going to LOVE this)....was at a non-profit organization....of the Methodist Church....that sent missionaries around the world, evidently, to feed the hungry or whatever, and spread the word of God. Hell, even the Temp Agency I get that job through called them, "The God Squad." Holy FUCK, I wasn't a sore thumb in THAT place, as much as I was an amputated fucking leg. The first guy I worked for there was alright...but, he was looking for someone to be his "permanent" assistant...and didn't waste any time asking me if I was interested in doing that, and if I was a, "good Methodist." Um....no....and no. The second guy I worked for was way cooler...but, I remember one week, his secretary, whom I was helping out, told me that morning that I might not have a job there after the end of that day. Since I still had a big Excel project to finish, I told her that if I didn't get to stay for at least the rest of that week, that I was leaving immediately. I wound up staying for another two weeks. Hahahahahaha. But what I really hated about that place was the bitch who signed my time card every week, which, I might add, she did reluctantly. She clearly hated my guts; for what reason, I don't know....maybe it was my appearance! But for someone who ran a faith-based, humanitarian organization, that struck me as being rather odd. Hell, I doubt that old battleaxe ever got laid in her LIFE!!! She would bitch at me for working "too many hours" which was "too expensive", etc. I was thinking, "Look, bitch, no one is FORCING you to get temps to work here, ok?!" But I acted respectful because I needed the money....even though that old bag, of ALL people, had no right to look down her nose at me! It still kind of pisses me off to this day, hahahahaha. I should add that I got food poisoning from the spinach soup I had in the God Squad's cafeteria for lunch. That was a whole fuckload of fun!
I have a million stories like these.
That all being said, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to afford any drumsticks, beers, or to even EXIST here, I was going to have to bite the bullet. I wasn't working these jobs w/ aspirations of becoming the world's most asskicking office worker, for Christ's sake....I was doing it to support myself while working on my music , making myself known, and having as much fun as I could. I justified the shit that I had to put up with by telling myself that it was ALL for ROCK N' ROLL....and looking back, I was absolutely right. Life, especially in New York City, is about doing what you have to do to survive and get to where you need to be. If you work hard enough, and do what needs to be done (and if you're any good at what you do), you get your rewards, with a little luck....and a few stories to tell on top of it!
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
The first things always being first, I knew that I was going to have to get a roof over my head (which I documented some of in a previous entry and will more in the future) and find a way to support myself and the fulfillment of my dreams.
My good friend Alfredo, who was kind enough to let me crash on his floor in Bay Ridge for a week or two while I got my sea legs, suggested that I apply at some Temp Agencies, like the ones advertised in the back of Backstage (a magazine for aspiring actors and actresses). So, I typed up a decent resume, and faxed it to about 10 of these places.
Within a few days, I'd had interviews with three of them, and made a good enough impression, I suppose, because I started getting work within a week or so.
Life is about pros and cons, as we all know.
The pros w/ making your way this were that the pay was relatively good, and most of the assignments lasted for weeks or months. If you were reliable, you could pay your rent and get by. The work itself wasn't difficult at all, and sometimes was all but nonexistent.
The cons? Tthe 9 to 5 work schedule wasn't exactly conducive to Rocking and/or Rolling, and....well, because I've always been a man to enjoy his late nights out, waking up and going to work was often....well, to put it as appropriately as I can, a fucking NIGHTMARE. Also, I wasn't allowed to show up for work in jeans, t-shirts, biker boots, long, loose hair, and jewelry....no fucking way. I had to tie my hair back, and put on a white dress shirt, dress pants (I drew the line at khakis though....fuck THAT shit) and black wingtip shoes. Yeah, I looked as fucking ridiculous as I felt.
But what made me feel even more ridiculous was the people I did the actual work for. Granted, my bosses at my first assignment, which was the New York branch of a French pharmaceutical company, were pretty cool, none judgmental, and took the time to realize that I was an intelligent guy who just happened to be a recent Midwestern transplant, struggling to make his way. But that lasted maybe about six weeks.
My next job was for some Chinese company, which again, did pharmaceuticals, if I remember correctly. I walked into that job, and without even saying hello, or even taking the time to introduce herself, some crusty old Chinese executive hag handed me 5 pamphlets of some sort, and coldly told me to make 10 copies of each. I felt like she was looking down her nose at me, and didn't respect me in the least. I was so pissed off and degraded, that I just about walked the fuck out....but, again, I needed the money, and had nowhere else to do so at the time, so...I made her fucking copies. Your welcome, Bitch!!!
The funniest place I worked at...(you're going to LOVE this)....was at a non-profit organization....of the Methodist Church....that sent missionaries around the world, evidently, to feed the hungry or whatever, and spread the word of God. Hell, even the Temp Agency I get that job through called them, "The God Squad." Holy FUCK, I wasn't a sore thumb in THAT place, as much as I was an amputated fucking leg. The first guy I worked for there was alright...but, he was looking for someone to be his "permanent" assistant...and didn't waste any time asking me if I was interested in doing that, and if I was a, "good Methodist." Um....no....and no. The second guy I worked for was way cooler...but, I remember one week, his secretary, whom I was helping out, told me that morning that I might not have a job there after the end of that day. Since I still had a big Excel project to finish, I told her that if I didn't get to stay for at least the rest of that week, that I was leaving immediately. I wound up staying for another two weeks. Hahahahahaha. But what I really hated about that place was the bitch who signed my time card every week, which, I might add, she did reluctantly. She clearly hated my guts; for what reason, I don't know....maybe it was my appearance! But for someone who ran a faith-based, humanitarian organization, that struck me as being rather odd. Hell, I doubt that old battleaxe ever got laid in her LIFE!!! She would bitch at me for working "too many hours" which was "too expensive", etc. I was thinking, "Look, bitch, no one is FORCING you to get temps to work here, ok?!" But I acted respectful because I needed the money....even though that old bag, of ALL people, had no right to look down her nose at me! It still kind of pisses me off to this day, hahahahaha. I should add that I got food poisoning from the spinach soup I had in the God Squad's cafeteria for lunch. That was a whole fuckload of fun!
I have a million stories like these.
That all being said, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to afford any drumsticks, beers, or to even EXIST here, I was going to have to bite the bullet. I wasn't working these jobs w/ aspirations of becoming the world's most asskicking office worker, for Christ's sake....I was doing it to support myself while working on my music , making myself known, and having as much fun as I could. I justified the shit that I had to put up with by telling myself that it was ALL for ROCK N' ROLL....and looking back, I was absolutely right. Life, especially in New York City, is about doing what you have to do to survive and get to where you need to be. If you work hard enough, and do what needs to be done (and if you're any good at what you do), you get your rewards, with a little luck....and a few stories to tell on top of it!
Thanks for reading!
Marty E.
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