Tales From The Music Industry: Showcase
by Justin Anderson
My boss - I only really have one now, not counting my editor. I have an Editor, to whom I answer for writerly things, and I have a Boss, to whom I also answer, for office-y things, like do I hate any of my co-workers (I don't) or do I need more tapes for my tape recorder (I do). Anyway, my boss - not my editor, my Boss - is putting on a showcase. A showcase for her ex-boyfriend, who's also a musician she still manages. (Odd parenthetical note: I just found out they were no longer dating, like, a few weeks ago, despite the fact that they've been broken up for almost a year now. When I first really got to hang out with him - Mr. Rockstar-In-Waiting - I thought they were still together, but they weren't. Then we watched porn in our publisher's hotel room. But I digress.)
Anyway: Boss is putting on a showcase for her rockstar ex, who's last name, if you can fucking believe it, is actually Rock. He may be the first musician who might have to change his name to something less rock n' roll in order to get a contract. So Rock's been working on demos - they're good, from what I understand - and he's got lawyers and agents and label folks buzzing. Next step towards getting a contract is the showcase.
A showcase is: putting on a small show - not a lot of publicity, strict invite list, etc. - to showcase Rock's (ample) singer/songwriter talent. A showcase is: held usually pretty early in the evening (in this case, 7pm sharp). A showcase is: a pretty good place to get drunk, as most of the time the bar is open.
So we head on over to the rock club for the showcase after work. Myself and a co-worker and her roommate and an intern. The roommate either thinks I'm hot or really doesn't like me. Such are my interactions with women. It's early - about half an hour before the big show - but there's a fair amount of people here already. Some of them I recognize, but they're too important to talk to me. Some of them I don't recognize, and are not important enough to talk to me. Lucky for me, I dislike people. I down some free booze with the intern, make small talk with my editor, who will only stick around for two songs before leaving to play a volleyball game that will be cancelled.
I am accosted (along with the intern) by an attractive girl with pigtails. She is attractive for exactly two seconds, which is how long it takes me to see her eyes. I have seen this before. She is here to network. Why else would an attractive girl approach me? I am not homely, but I'm giving off my strongest don't approach me vibes. I wish to talk to no one I don't already know. I am here for the radio rock and to do the Boss a favour. Nothing more, so get the fuck away from me. No, we haven't met.
Pigtails approaches. She is hot, so the intern and I give her our attention. At least until I see her eyes. They are empty. She only wants information, to know who I am and what I can do for her or who I can put her in contact with to maybe get her husband(!), who's a musician, who's working as a roadie for Rock right now, some in with a label guy or maybe get her and the recording studio she's opening some business.
Stop talking to me! I just want to drink! Here! Take my card! E-mail me tomorrow! Just leave me alone!
I down my beer in about 4 seconds. Hey! Excuse me! I need to get another drink! I leave the intern with Pigtails. I find my other co-workers and we laugh at his misfortune. His eyes shoot cartoon daggers at me over her shoulder. Every man for himself. It's another 10 minutes before he can get away from her.
Show's starting. Rock takes the stage. He plays six songs. He is good. The band is pretty tight, but he - who's looking for a solo deal - only put them together a couple of weeks ago. He's up there and he's rocking. He's got one the foot up on the amp. (I think he's doing that for me, as last time I saw him we joked about how lame it is to sing with one foot on the amp, like the Creed guy. Or did he just get lame?)
Bang. Six songs are done - kinda early Stone Temple Pilots and some 3 Doors Down and maybe some other bands whose names I can't remember. Not my thing (really not my thing), but it's selling these days, and Rock's about the nicest, coolest, best-looking guy you've ever met, so I hope he gets a big fat record deal. Then I will hang out at his rockstar mansion and we will do blow and eat sushi off strippers and watch porn. We are buddies. He calls me "J-Man," which no-one has called me since high school. I normally hate that fucking name, but he's very attractive, so I don't mind when he calls me J-Man. Hey, J-Man! What's happenin', dude?
He and my boss are doing the meet-and-greet with the bigwigs. I'm trying to avoid Pigtails and her empty eyes. The crowd is petering out. Another band is setting up for their show. Do they know half the Canadian music industry is leaving the room as they set up? They are probably crying.
Drinks are being had at a Mexican restaurant across the street. I am drunk. My co-worker with the roommate is leaving. I grab the magazine's art director - he's talking to Pigtails! - and literally shove him out the door. He tells me later that I rudely brushed past Pigtails on my way out, and she looked at me funny. But I don't care. She's a soulless monster! I saved your ass, dude!
At the Mexican restaurant I drink and share my scorn with the business with the intern. He is interested in my drunken ranting, for some reason. He wants very badly to be in the music business. Meanwhile, I have decided that, with the exception of most of my co-workers at the magazine and a small number of actual cool people that I have met so far, the entire music business can kiss my ass. I would tell them all, gather them all together and give them the finger with both hands, maybe wave my them around for emphasis, but it's just me and the intern. So I tell him. He does not look impressed with my hatred.
I almost miss a streetcar on the way home.
