Off the Wall

It's the title of Michael Jackson's 1979 solo album. It could also be used to describe his behavior and lifestyle from that point on. Or to describe the level of journalistic responsibility displayed by the media in reporting on his death. Or, simply to describe the fact that his father, Joe, has seemingly gotten a free pass on the suspected abuse he inflicted upon his kids. There have been some details over the years of how he whipped the boys, with Joe even admitting it himself. But, I have a feeling the truth goes way deeper than a leather belt. You don't turn into what Michael Jackson did without some pretty dark demons lurking in the shadows. Of course, Joe Jackson can't be held solely responsible...legions of golddiggers and power-hungry leeches throughout the entertainment industry hitched their wagons to Jackson's star and undoubtedly manipulated him, all while the mounting fame and untenable media exposure probably had a crushing effect on someone who was likely a fragile individual to begin with. Not to say that he was completely defenseless, but I don't think anyone can truly understand the world this guy lived in. He was quite bizarre, but also many of the "wacko" stories were fabricated and leaked to the media by Jackson himself. And were the sexual abuse allegations true? We'll likely never know for sure. Would it be surprising to learn that Jackson inflicted abuse on a child, given his own history? No need to recite the textbook cycles of abuse. But, as during his lifetime, the media continues its gross irresponsibility in reporting on the death of the King of Pop. You can see the reporters salivating at the thought that there may be some nefarious activity surrounding the circumstances of his death. Oh my God...what drugs was he taking? Did the doctor inject him? How much was in his system when he died? How many millions of dollars did he owe? Except they don't phrase them as questions...they purport that it's already a forgone conclusion that all kinds of crazy stuff was going on. How about reporting on the one thing that has been glossed over? The hideous nature of Joe Jackson. Time to stop portraying him as a sweet old man and expose him for the lecherous beast that he was and is. One only need to listen to the recording of this past weekend's phone interview with Geraldo Rivera to see the truth. All Joe Jackson could say was that the world had lost its biggest superstar, and that he would be bigger in death than in life. Not one word about missing his son. That's all Michael was to this man: a star...one to which this beast hitched his wagon of failed and unfulfilled personal dreams. One that undoubtedly provided him with a lifestyle he (Joe) didn't deserve.

I've never been the hugest Michael Jackson fan. I'm probably one of five people in the world who has never purchased a single Jackson song. But his legacy is part of many of our childhoods. And the guy contributed more to charity and social causes than probably anyone else in history. Yeah, he was bizarre, but with what he endured, it's incredible that he was simply weird and not dead much, much earlier. Instead, he managed to accomplish the incredible, despite everything that came along with it.

RIP...somehow.

The End of an Era in Music

The last Virgin Megastores in the United States have now closed. With them, and the recent shuttering of the remaining Tower Records' stores, goes a piece of our youth. It represents an unbelievably unceremonious end of an era in the music business. As someone who is just entering the industry, the landmark occasion, if you can call it that, carries a heavy significance. My early adolescence through my early adulthood was marked by frequent trips to the record store...The Wiz, Tower Records, Coconuts, and later on...Virgin. As I developed a stronger interest in music, and more importantly, the ability to drive, these trips became part of my weekly routine. Other kids were playing sports or whaling away on a Nintendo controller...I was at the record store...especially after the advent of the in-store listening station. What a concept...you could listen to the entire album BEFORE you bought it! I don't know if the digital revolution represents progress or not, but ITunes and others should wake up - the thirty-second sample does me absolutely no good whatsoever. Nothing will replace the experience of spending a couple hours in the record store, meticulously calculating what my next incredible music purchase would be. At one time, my dream was to open my own record store. In crafting that fantasy, I tried to think ahead of the curve; to figure out how I would make my store bigger and better than any that had come before. Little could I know then that it was a pointless endeavor. I was chasing a dinosaur, an old relic, a memory of an era near its end. Oh well...guess I'll dream in digital now.

MLB Draft

Stephen Strasburg is projected to be the #1 draft pick in the upcoming Major League Baseball amateur draft. He's already being proclaimed one of the hardest-throwing pitchers ever, has been linked to psycho-agent, Scott Boras, and is expected to be asking somewhere around $50 million to sign with whichever team takes him (presumably the Nationals). This is all before ever having thrown a pitch in the minor leagues, much less the majors. I sincerely hope the Nationals pay the $50 million. I also hope the franchise collapses within the next 5 years, while Strasburg watches from home, his blown out arm now useless for any professional-level sport. No, I don't really wish that fate on Strasburg or anyone else. But something has got to happen to give MLB a severe wake-up call. Has anyone bothered to check the history of first-round pitchers in the draft? Sure, there are the occasional gems like Roy Halladay. And young guys like David Price and Luke Hochevar still have a chance to turn in stellar careers. But anyone know where Bryan Bullington is? Mark Prior? How about the other 3 pitchers who went in the Top 5 of the 2002 draft along with Bullington - Chris Gruler, Adam Loewen and Clint Everts? All future hall of famers, right? I'd venture a guess that the majority of pitchers who go on to lengthy MLB careers are picked in the middle of the draft. Jake Peavy - 15th round. Roy Oswalt - 23rd round. Andy Pettitte - 22nd round. John Smoltz - 22nd round. Johan Santana wasn't even in the regular draft. He was signed by the Astros as an undrafted free agent. The fact of the matter is, pitching is too unpredictable of a position to risk anything close to $50 million on one college player. Throwing hard does not, by itself, punch your ticket to the hall of fame. In fact, it can often be the downfall that prevents many talented kids from ever throwing a pitch in the major leagues. The injury risk with pitchers is too great to be able to tell in advance who is going to make it. The body motion required to be a pitcher in baseball runs is simply unnatural and puts undue pressure on the muscular and skeletal framework of the arm. Go out and try whipping your arm in that motion 90-100 times in a row over a 3-hour period every 5 days for an extended period of time and see what kind of condition you're in. All the physical conditioning in the world can't always offset the longterm effects of the torture these kids inflict on their arms.

So I really wish the best of luck to Strasburg. But if I were the President of a major league ballclub, I would never ever choose a pitcher with my first-round draft pick.

The birth of a company

ProGenitor Entertainment Network is officially up and running. As I attempt to launch my own business, after years of apprehension and excuses, I pause to reflect upon the meaning of life. No, actually, the pause is just me holding my breath as I dive headfirst into this pitch black ocean and hope I know what the hell I'm doing!

I wish I could just skip to the good part and start promoting my sister's CD already. The sneak listen of the halfway produced versions of the three songs have given cause for excitement. But all the annoying setup stuff that has to take place beforehand - dealing with lawyers, Quickbooks, my new and frustrating laptop, applying for business licenses, being bled dry of investment dollars - that stuff, I could do without.

Hopefully, next year at this time, some good shit will have happened.

The A-Hole Gene

Another biological mystery for our world's most accomplished scientists and researchers to unravel. If they can decode the human genome, maybe they can determine what causes people to be A-Holes. I feel lucky not to have been cursed with the gene that causes this affliction. Unfortunately, this is an insidious disease that wreaks havoc on others' lives.

Say, for instance, you are a tenant living in a house owned by someone else. Say that you have paid your rent on time for 3+ years, kept the place in great condition and generally have caused no headaches for your landlord. Then, without warning, the A-Hole gene kicks in. You fall behind on rent by almost two months. Then, after several months of your landlord trying to work with you, you decide to break your lease and move back to A-Hole-ville...I mean, California. You give your landlord 5 days notice, and set a day/time for him to come and inspect the condition of the house and collect keys/garage remotes/back rent from you. And finally, to cap off months of A-Holity, you bolt before the arranged meeting time, leaving the house in precarious condition, taking the keys (to the locks on the doors, which you had changed without informing the landlord, who is now locked out of his own f-ing house), garage remotes and money with you.

Do everyone a favor please, and donate your body to science so we can isolate this malicious gene and spare future mankind a lot of heartache.

SXSW Part 7 - Softball

The last day of SXSW was reserved for the softball game. I was on the record label team, and incredibly, we schooled our first round opponent (the agents, maybe?) 27-12. Second round was not quite as productive as we got mercy-ruled (there was no mercy rule in Round 1) 14-4 by the SXSW staff team. Oh well...better luck next year. We won one game, which is something my regular team here in Vegas can't seem to grasp the concept of.

Overall, I had a good time at the festival. Would have been more fun if I had attended with someone else. I hope a few of the contacts turn out to open some doors. Otherwise, I'm not sure the $1,500+ I dumped will be worth it.

Anyway, I hope you all (and by all, I mean the 3 people who may be reading this) will continue to follow my adventures in the music industry. ProGenitor Entertainment Network is in the setting-up stages, so I will try to post entries on a semi-regular basis to keep "everyone" updated on how things are going. Coming soon will be the "It's Alright EP" by Faryn Sand and farynsand.com. Stay tuned...

SXSW Part 6 - Day 4

Saturday got off to a somewhat inauspicious start. The shuttle was a no-show so I had to call the folks running the service to get one to swing by. The plan was to grab food before the day's festivities began, but I ended up not having time. So onto the...

12pm Quickie Session - "In the Studio." This turned out to involve highly technical discussions regarding recording equipment, the engineering process and the like - way over my head. When I posed questions that were specific to my situation and interests, I got some rather broadbased answers. Not too helpful.

For some odd reason, I was totally fried at this point, so I scrapped plans to participate in the Mentor Session, and picked up some much-needed nourishment. The Mentor Sessions were designed to offer an opportunity to speak one-on-one with a number of industry "experts," but I didn't even see anyone particularly intriguing on the list. Looked like a bunch of local Austin-ites.

At 3pm, I attended a panel discussion on fan-based marketing. A few interesting ideas were thrown out, but again, a little underwhelming. That did it for the seminar portion of SXSW. As you can tell from my comments, I was a little disappointed at the perceived value I got for my money, but I think time will have to tell. If even one of the little tidbits I picked up turns out to lead to something good, then it will likely all have been worth it.

Crashed for a few hours back at the motel and headed back downtown around 10pm. I couldn't for the life of me find anything that piqued my interest on the show schedule prior to the Third Eye Blind set, which was scheduled for 1230am. So I had some dinner at a Thai/Vietnamese restaurant, which was pretty good.

Got to Stubbs about 1145pm, which was about half hour into the Indigo Girls set. I caught the last 4 or 5 songs they played. Surprisingly enough, they were really good. I've never been a fan, and know practically nothing that they sing, but they sounded spot on. Glad I got there early.

After a riveting 50-minute equipment check, Third Eye Blind came on at 1250am. I have mixed feelings about this one. The songs of theirs with which I was unfamiliar (read: most of them) did not blow me away. A couple were decent. And I have to hand it to Stephan Jenkins; he's an undeniably charasmatic front man. I'd heard that they had a rabid following - even years after their commercial peak - and accordingly, the place was packed to the rafters. They did play "Jumper" and "Never Let You Go," which were probably the two lesser-known of their four hits. But continuing in the mind-numbing tradition of one-hit or few-hit wonders who seem to have an aversion to playing songs for which they are best recognized, they left out "Semi-Charmed Life" and "How's It Gonna Be." If you have fewer than seven hits or so in your entire career, your setlist shouldn't really involve that much guesswork. They're about to put out their fourth album. It's not like they've been around since 1972. Unless the set is otherwise blistering, this "hit neglect" automatically ruins the whole experience for me. Sure - the die hard fans knew the other songs. But there's a reason why these songs were hits - they were probably amongst your best. And there were several other fans expressing dismay when the lights came back up. You're there for the fans, not for you. Play the freakin hits. Especially when one was arguably one of the catchiest pop tunes of the 90's. GRADES: Indigo Girls B+/Third Eye Blind (A for stage presence), (F for setlist) - C overall