Saturday, March 30, 2013

Bus Crackers - Section IX

December 17th, 2014 President Obama officially enacts the National Defense Authorization Act at 09:00 EDT

Friday, March 29, 2013

The Indie Scam

Attention musicians and artists! Have I got a deal for you! Are you looking to record your music, get more followers online, produce a physical CD of your album, and obtain worldwide digital distribution of your music? Would you like to license your music to film and television? Well, my small independent company has what you are looking for. We have a sleek website, people know me, and if the songs are ready we could release your album in a month’s time, less if you like. Satisfaction guaranteed. You’ll have hundreds, if not thousands, of new followers in no time. We produce music videos, and can even help you develop a Kickstarter campaign so that my company can record your album. My company is looking for new artists to produce, and I’m glad that I was able to get your attention. All my company asks for is publishing rights, and a competitive cut of sales much smaller than the industry standard. I’m really excited we have this opportunity. And even if this relationship doesn’t work for you, just know that you are special and I can offer you the services you deserve. There’s a kicker though. Unfortunately, my company is not interested in randomly soliciting musicians, online or in person, and in reality that type of discussion will most likely never happen between us. It’s nothing personal, rather hopefully a manipulative attempt at getting you to read further. Either way, didn’t it sound kinda trashy to begin with? While I do have a small independent company that could fulfill every detail listed, and people do in fact know me, I wanted to ease you into my true motives. Truth.

I have become completely disgusted by hearing this type of nonsense, and reading between the lines of indie record label, producers, and promoters gimmicks. It’s manipulative and a slew of lies by omission. Eager and idealistic artists with life’s lust in their eyes conned into thinking their record label is pure of heart because it has the prefix of indie attached to it. I think not, and that’s why I am here. Forget the banter about my company, because if it could it would be eating a fibrous diet and taking a dump on the crowns of supposed record labels and producers.

First, if an asshole that has his own recording studio needs to get thousands of dollars through a Kickstarter campaign to begin recording your album, he’s an asshole. This is the type of entity that tarnishes the somewhat altruistic and exciting nature of crowd funding. Additionally, there’s an inverse of what should be occurring between the musician/record label relationship. Your record label should be making money by making you money. In other words, if a record label cannot produce your album until it gets money out of you then it’s not a record label. It’s a fucking pyramid scheme. I see so many so-called businesses that offer worldwide digital distribution, film and television licensing, and blah blah blah. “Get you music on iTunes, or in a real-life Hollywood movie all for a low one-time cost of $199.99!” They provide an illusion in which they are doing something more than what you can accomplish at home with your favorite internet search engine and a couple clicks.

It’s called a digital aggregator, and an album costs 50 bucks to accomplish everything they are advertising. That’s it. No, not $50 a year. 50 dollars until the end of time, as it currently stands. You create an account, upload your tracks, type in your liner notes, upload your artwork, agree to the “Terms of Agreement,” process your payment, and presto! In less than 48 hours your music will begin appearing for sale on iTunes, Amazon, Google Play, Spotify, and many others. Oh yeah, and after these retailers take their cut, you get 100% of the sale. This ish that these Susquehanna labels are spewing to you about licensing for film, television, and more is called sync-licensing. It’s a service that comes with the $50 fee for digital distribution. One click. You can either opt-in or opt-out when finalizing the album through the aggregator. Odds are this $50 fee is where your up-front costs, crowd funding, and/or label's justification for a cut is doing most of its work.

“Sir, our record company also produces our physical copies too. At least some of the money is going to that.” Maybe, but it’s 2013. Guess how much it costs an artist to initially press an album to CD these days (if the right place is found)? Zero fucking dollars. That’s right church. You upload your album and artwork, and they send you your first copy of a professionally manufactured CD with full-color cover and CD art, free of charge. You can then, of course, order more copies for generally $1-2 each plus S&H. These services even offer options in which artists could sell their physical copies online without ever paying an out-of-pocket cent. So, while your indie record label sells your physical copies for $12, gives you a couple bucks, and blames the world for not moving more units, you could take your masters, tell a label to piss off, and have a platform for selling your album that does not cost shit. Meanwhile, some douche nozzle will not get an undeserved slice of the pie. Punk rock will always be fashionable.

Only now do I realize that I have just begun to dig under the surface of the bullshit fa├žade that is the indie scam. Classic misdirection. The victims: starry-eyed artists often consumed with a passion in their bellies to create without care of what is going on behind the scenes. It makes me spitting angry, enraged, and more importantly sad. Sad, that “record label” on both sides of the spectrum arouses an icky feeling of manipulation and shitheads preying upon ignorance. Sad, that a knife in the back of art gets a pat on the back in return. Sad, that D.Y.I. does not get the credit it deserves. Sad, that I do not have more time to continue discussing this issue into oblivion.

Maybe one day we can talk about what a record label should be doing for you. You know, how a producer should not be a person you pay. Rather the person that ensures the right resources are utilized for the right reasons, so that you may both mutually benefit from a finished product of excellence. Even some corrupt Hollywood record exec will get you one of those without an up-front fee. In the old days, you use to have to sell your soul to get a record deal. It seems to me most of the indie circuit is mining for souls too, but the little devils want you to write them a check first.

In the above I stated 'While I do have a small independent company that could fulfill every detail listed...' However, considering all of the points I addressed, Burning Empire does not guarantee satisfaction and our website kinda sucks currently. If you got this far thanks for reading my rant. Peace!

That One Word

Humble is now merely a catchphrase they use to create the illusion of accomplishment and success. From my experience, only the most egomaniacal of cowards refer to their disposition as humble.

Bus Crackers - Section IIX

The CDC defines a viral outbreak as, "An occurrence of two or more similar illnesses resulting from a common exposure."

"NORS was launched by CDC in 2009 to collect information on outbreaks of foodborne, waterborne, and enteric disease that spread from person-to-person, animals, environmental surfaces, and other or unknown ways."

The CDC began collecting data on Binary-H24N12 outbreaks July 13th, 2016. Since that day over 4.5 billion people have died.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Bus Crackers - Section VII

Sometimes a silence is necessary. Without it the mind has trouble speaking. There's impulse, persuasion, and influence, but often the traveler is found lost in the static electricity of street lights and madness. I've never been on a subway, but I imagine I would write the best poetry. All of the passengers would become honesty, and for once the static might mean something. There's always another a path. A path I never chose but one that got you here, and rather than ride subways  I walk there. There's meaning but probably no end. I've already died four times, and maybe I'll get seven more. Steve McQueen is bullshit.

The other passengers looked out the windows as if the ranting was not happening. They clutched their purses and fanny packs while scooting as far away from the man as possible. He was once a chemist, but his current affliction was not related. He sat at the back of the bus. Sweat poured down his face. He looked greyed and green and sick.  A couple hours prior he was on his way to the cinema, but could not seem to gather the will to signal the driver to stop. He felt as though he was experiencing early-onset dementia. He began scratching what looked like a rash obsessively. He was not a stranger to losing his temper with friends and family, but screaming like a raving lunatic from the back of the bus was momentarily noticed as a previously uncharted hobby. While everything freezes, the sun flickers on and off, and the chemist continues on.

Bus driver where are you driving us and how did I get on this bus? The world will not wait for me. We live in daring and beautiful times. Once this man was forced to sit in my seat, and now the white man obliges him to drive this awkward and arguably inefficient vessel. 

The bus driver had enough, "Sir, please quiet down. If you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to get off the bus." The driver was using his trained voice. The chemist showed no regard for consequences of the bus driver, as many often do not. The chemist began bleeding as he continued to scratch his rash.

We are but merely an ocean of cells. Dying and giving birth over and over again. Every cell, the entire container in a new phase swimming throughout history. 

 The driver began pulling the bus over. "That's it. I've had it." The driver pulls up to the curb, places the bus in park, the doors swing open, he takes off his seat belt, and begins walking toward the back of the bus. "Look buddy, I don't know what you're damn problem is today, but you have to go now." The driver stopped within an arm's length of the chemist. Finally, silent for a moment, the chemist's eyes raced with blazoned energy. They were bloodshot with a ring of gold around the iris. While a psychedelic could be to blame, it was much more so a symptom rather than a hallucination. "You have to get off the bus right now." The driver realized his passenger was also bleeding. "What the fuck is wrong with you buddy?" Sugar and impulse. We should always be cleaning. Always be cleaning. Raferty must die. Hell is merely the manifestation of men tormented by their own skin. The foul breath of their ancestors permeates their ears in sleep and school. They die only once. While most of the passengers pretended that the incident was not occurring, an old lady, her grandchild sitting next to her, begins to stand up. "Bus driver I would like to get off the bus please." "Please hold on ma'am, just sit down. I'm going to remove this gentleman and we will be on our way." The old lady did not get off the bus, but continued to watch the situation intently while motioning for her grandchild to stand up. The bus driver stepped toward the chemist hunched over, and with meanness began speaking quietly in the chemist's ear. He could hear the chemist panting. "Look motherfucker, yur gonna get off this bus right now. And if yur not going to do it on your own, I'm gonna throw you out on yur head. Do you under-fucking-stand me, cracker?" The driver stands back up straight staring at the chemist and hoping to obtain compliance. The chemist felt the fleeting urge to say something, as a boil began to form on the chemist's face. Grunt. "Alright you gross motherfucker I'm done with you." The driver took his stance and grabbed the chemist by his non-bleeding arm and a bunched up ball of chest flannel. The driver began to pull the chemist out of his seat. Suddenly, the old lady and her grandchild screamed and quickly shuffled off the bus, as the cracker showed his teeth.