Unfortunately they surround us.
Recently I posted an ad looking for musicians to score my new film, and/or to provide additional songs for the sountrack. I wanted to see what was out there.
One particular West Coast musician responded and provided two links, neither of which I could get to play. I wrote back and said as much, asking politely for another link. As a response I am told that my computers are not working properly and/or perhaps I don’t know how to use them. But the bright young lad does provide a working link this time. After hearing the music, I write back telling his thanks but it’s not really what I’m looking for…I had in the ad requested a Replacements-like sound, i.e. drunken bar music…guitar based rock n roll. (He seemed to overlook the description of what is was looking for.)
This musician in question responds, telling me that I should have known that because of his training classical music he could write a drunken rock song in his sleep…anyone could.
Now, yes, I should have lived by my asshole rule. Instead I rightfully argued that no one genre of music was easier or harder than the next if done to perfection. That “Here Comes A Regular” by the Mats was just as hard to create as any piece by Bach, Chopin, whomever. I also tried to (again politely) inform the musician that when attempting to get a job attacking the potential employer is not the best way to go about it.
Of course this unleashed a torrent. My films sucks. My novels suck. Lots of big words, like a 5-year-old jacking off with a thesaurus. He just knew from the ad that FWB sucked. (Not really sure why he answered the ad if that was the case.) The emails get longer and longer, despite my one line replies. I finally tell the asshole in question I don’t read long emails. I don’t. This is a fact, a rule, that I live by. I simply refuse to. If you can’t say it in a couple of lines, then don’t bother saying it at all. Or pick up the goddamn phone. Yet he continues writing these thesis-length missives, of which I read the first line, then delete…and delete again…until I finally block his email.
Of course, instead of listening, instead of taking a hint, he throws a tantrum, and writes me from another email address. It’s another long one. Didn’t read it. As soon as I realized who sent it, I reported it as spam. Hopefully the spam police beat him to death with their billy clubs. Save me the effort.
I guess this leads me to ask, why? Can a musician in a band (note, I never insulted his music, though I might say now he listened to a little too much Emerson Lake and Palmer in the womb) whose claim to fame is a MySpace profile really think that much of themselves? Does one really believe a degree from any university makes their shit not stink? Does any musician worth the weight of their string actually believe their genre of music is the hardest? And hold other genres in little respect? (Really now, to write a great piece of music, no matter the genre, takes a lifetime of pain, or experience. And to think otherwise is nothing short of, well, a racism of sorts…genre-ism…bigotry…the MySpace lad might as well wear a white sheet over his head ready to lynch the blues, rock, CW, folk, etc., and so on.)
I hope not. Because if this were true we are in a sadder shape than even I first believed.
And wow…I don’t have much faith.
(and the Replacements)