I tried to fix Alanis Morissette's seminal hit "Ironic," by making it so the lyrics are actually demonstrating "irony."
I think it went pretty well. I completely ignored meter and rhyme...because I'm bad-ass and punk rock like that.
An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery, and his name was "Yung Poorman."
It's a black fly in your "Black Fly Winery" Chardonnay.
It's a death row pardon for a member of "Death Row Records."
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought it figures?
Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
But when he got to the airport, he found out
They had placed his name on a no-fly list.
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought it figures?
Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face.
A traffic jam caused by a jackknifed trailer carrying strawberry jam
A no-smoking sign at the headquarters of Phillip Morris
It's like ten thousand spoons found in the city of Forks
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And finding out we're related.
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
A little too ironic...and, yeah, I really do think...
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought...it figures?
Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you.
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 2
If you missed part one, click on the blue underlined word, right here: here.
If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.
If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.
Still here?
Ah. Good.
Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?
Sorry.
Um...
GET ON WITH IT!
All right. Fine.
So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.
At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.
And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:
Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:
1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."
2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.
3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."
Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.
Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.
But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.
So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).
We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.
I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).
So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."
This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."
So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.
But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...
After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.
I probably spent it on groceries.
Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.
It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).
The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?
One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.
So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?
So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.
"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."
Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.
The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.
Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.
Would you have advanced?
Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?
DING!!!!!
Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.
After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.
Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.
"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"
"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."
"Who do you dance with."
"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.
"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"
"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")
"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."
Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."
Then she moved to the next contestant.
"And this young lady is..."
Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.
Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.
The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.
My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."
Shit.
How would you have done?
Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.
Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."
He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.
Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."
You get five points for every correct answer.
I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.
Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.
The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.
Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.
One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.
Uh oh.
And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).
If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.
If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.
Still here?
Ah. Good.
Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?
Sorry.
Um...
GET ON WITH IT!
All right. Fine.
So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.
At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.
And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:
Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:
1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."
2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.
3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."
Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.
Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.
But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.
So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).
We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.
I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).
So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."
This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."
So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.
But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...
After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.
I probably spent it on groceries.
Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.
It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).
The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?
One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.
So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?
So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.
"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."
Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.
The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.
Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.
Would you have advanced?
Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?
DING!!!!!
Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.
After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.
Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.
"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"
"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."
"Who do you dance with."
"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.
"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"
"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")
"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."
Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."
Then she moved to the next contestant.
"And this young lady is..."
Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.
Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.
The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.
My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."
Shit.
How would you have done?
Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.
Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."
He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.
Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."
You get five points for every correct answer.
I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.
Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.
The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.
Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.
One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.
Uh oh.
And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).
Monday, July 12, 2010
Piracy
I blame the RIAA.
Those are the geniuses who decided to start suing people who were "file sharing" music starting in 2003. They took hundreds of people to court. The vast majority of the defendants were totally and undeniably guilty of theft, but some of them were baffled, confused, and quite photogenic. Consequently, when the public thinks of online pirates, this is what they think of:
Those are all people that were all sued by the RIAA for "stealing music." And that lineup doesn't include the deceased grandmother, the family that didn't own a computer, the 12 year Brianna LaHara, and the 13 year old Brittany Chan.
These lawsuits were, in a word, "monumentally stupid."
It made the corporations (the ones spending all the money, and taking all the risks to produce this stuff) look like bullying assholes. It made Metallica (METALLICA!) look like a bunch of corporate shills. It made the layperson believe that software pirates were terrified single mothers, children, and the elderly.
But I have a secret. Here's what online pirates really look like:
Yarr.
Or, at least, that's how I picture them. They're actually (primarily) male, ranging in age between late 20s to early 40s. They're intelligent. Sophisticated. Incredibly well-organized. Usually foreign. And relentless.
To top it all off, they're also wealthy. Pirates make a lot of money doing this. A lot. Don't let the sob stories fool you. Don't think they're just providing some kind of free public service to "fight the man." The people running online piracy sites make a comfortable living, selling other peoples' creations. It's no different than a person walking into a store, stuffing a bunch of DVDs into their backpack, then walking out to the sidewalk and selling those DVDs for a dollar a piece. It's not noble. It's not "taking on money-hungry corporations." It's just straight-up stealing.
I mean, most people would never grab a DVD off of a store shelf and sneak it outside...but they'd be more than happy to watch a pirated movie online. The crime is no different...really. It's just more anonymous, and far less risky.
"But hang on a second, Tyler," you wail. "How could they possibly make money doing this? Doesn't it cost a lot of money to host these sites?"
I'm glad you asked that.
First off, any pirate site worth its salt does not host any videos. They post links that redirect you to video hosting sites (which are, a lot of the time, subscription-based...in addition to selling ad space).
But on top of that, any time you go to one of these pirate sites, you'll still get advertisements. These range from "kind of annoying" (pop-up ads and banners) to "pretty irritating" (non-skippable video ads, forced redirects) to "straight up dangerous" (adware, malware, viruses). Every site has them. And the more traffic they get, the more money they make. The more irritating the advertisement, the bigger the payout.
Consequently, these link sites encourage users to record and post movies (often without paying them a dime), while the admins sit back and collect any profit (paid to their anonymous PayPal accounts via the scammy advertising sites).
In fact, one of the major operators of these link sites is the Russian Business Network. This is a cyber-crime organization that takes the revenue earned from these pirate sites, and feeds it into child pornography, identity theft schemes, prostitution rings, the black market, and an army of malware scams. Essentially, when you go to a site run by the RBN, you're helping pay for all of these illegal activities.
And the infuriating thing for me is: these people have created nothing. They've contributed nothing. They've just set up a website, loaded it with ads and bullcrap, then pawned it off on the unwary public...because who wouldn't want to watch any movie or TV show ever filmed for free? When the RIAA filed all of their idiotic lawsuits, the pirates (and their proprietors) look like the victims! It's incredible.
"So," you snivel, "what can I do?"
Well, in spite of all my rantings, I won't ask you to stop watching pirated movies. It's a losing battle...I know...and I don't want to seem like a square. I get the appeal. Heck, I'd be lying to you if I told you I haven't ever downloaded something illegal.
But, there's stuff you can do. Little stuff, to encourage networks to start migrating their material online. For instance, if you're presented with the option -- take the legit one. Like, instead of watching Modern Family on some shitty pirate site, just go to Hulu and tolerate the 30 second ads (you can navigate away from the screen, check your e-mail, read my blog, etc.). I think you'd feel a lot better knowing that your money is going to the people who make the stuff you watch, and not this smug little foreign dude:
Problem?
This is especially true if you're an actor, writer, director, or someone who'd like to eventually make money doing something in the arts. That guy pictured above? He's not an artist. He's not Robin Hood. He's just a thief...a bushy-eyebrow'd thief.
And if you can afford it, just rent movies or go to the theater. There are so many good, inexpensive options out there now (like Netflix, On-Demand, etc.) that you shouldn't have to cry "poverty" every time there's something good you want to watch. Again, this is especially true for the aspiring professional artists out there.
But like I say...if you watch this stuff, I ain't mad atcha'. I was a lot like you...but I've recently come to the realization that I need to be a little bit less anarchic, and a little more responsible (must have happened when I turned 30). I think we're going to get to a very exciting point where every show ever made will be available to watch at any time, anywhere (for a monthly fee). If we let these pirates dictate the rules, then none of the money will get to the people who deserve it -- these are the actors, writers, directors, producers, and studios.
That little Russian dude up there? He shouldn't be getting jack squat...because he created nothing and risked nothing...so he deserves nothing.
Those are the geniuses who decided to start suing people who were "file sharing" music starting in 2003. They took hundreds of people to court. The vast majority of the defendants were totally and undeniably guilty of theft, but some of them were baffled, confused, and quite photogenic. Consequently, when the public thinks of online pirates, this is what they think of:
Those are all people that were all sued by the RIAA for "stealing music." And that lineup doesn't include the deceased grandmother, the family that didn't own a computer, the 12 year Brianna LaHara, and the 13 year old Brittany Chan.
These lawsuits were, in a word, "monumentally stupid."
It made the corporations (the ones spending all the money, and taking all the risks to produce this stuff) look like bullying assholes. It made Metallica (METALLICA!) look like a bunch of corporate shills. It made the layperson believe that software pirates were terrified single mothers, children, and the elderly.
But I have a secret. Here's what online pirates really look like:
Yarr.
Or, at least, that's how I picture them. They're actually (primarily) male, ranging in age between late 20s to early 40s. They're intelligent. Sophisticated. Incredibly well-organized. Usually foreign. And relentless.
To top it all off, they're also wealthy. Pirates make a lot of money doing this. A lot. Don't let the sob stories fool you. Don't think they're just providing some kind of free public service to "fight the man." The people running online piracy sites make a comfortable living, selling other peoples' creations. It's no different than a person walking into a store, stuffing a bunch of DVDs into their backpack, then walking out to the sidewalk and selling those DVDs for a dollar a piece. It's not noble. It's not "taking on money-hungry corporations." It's just straight-up stealing.
I mean, most people would never grab a DVD off of a store shelf and sneak it outside...but they'd be more than happy to watch a pirated movie online. The crime is no different...really. It's just more anonymous, and far less risky.
"But hang on a second, Tyler," you wail. "How could they possibly make money doing this? Doesn't it cost a lot of money to host these sites?"
I'm glad you asked that.
First off, any pirate site worth its salt does not host any videos. They post links that redirect you to video hosting sites (which are, a lot of the time, subscription-based...in addition to selling ad space).
But on top of that, any time you go to one of these pirate sites, you'll still get advertisements. These range from "kind of annoying" (pop-up ads and banners) to "pretty irritating" (non-skippable video ads, forced redirects) to "straight up dangerous" (adware, malware, viruses). Every site has them. And the more traffic they get, the more money they make. The more irritating the advertisement, the bigger the payout.
Consequently, these link sites encourage users to record and post movies (often without paying them a dime), while the admins sit back and collect any profit (paid to their anonymous PayPal accounts via the scammy advertising sites).
In fact, one of the major operators of these link sites is the Russian Business Network. This is a cyber-crime organization that takes the revenue earned from these pirate sites, and feeds it into child pornography, identity theft schemes, prostitution rings, the black market, and an army of malware scams. Essentially, when you go to a site run by the RBN, you're helping pay for all of these illegal activities.
And the infuriating thing for me is: these people have created nothing. They've contributed nothing. They've just set up a website, loaded it with ads and bullcrap, then pawned it off on the unwary public...because who wouldn't want to watch any movie or TV show ever filmed for free? When the RIAA filed all of their idiotic lawsuits, the pirates (and their proprietors) look like the victims! It's incredible.
"So," you snivel, "what can I do?"
Well, in spite of all my rantings, I won't ask you to stop watching pirated movies. It's a losing battle...I know...and I don't want to seem like a square. I get the appeal. Heck, I'd be lying to you if I told you I haven't ever downloaded something illegal.
But, there's stuff you can do. Little stuff, to encourage networks to start migrating their material online. For instance, if you're presented with the option -- take the legit one. Like, instead of watching Modern Family on some shitty pirate site, just go to Hulu and tolerate the 30 second ads (you can navigate away from the screen, check your e-mail, read my blog, etc.). I think you'd feel a lot better knowing that your money is going to the people who make the stuff you watch, and not this smug little foreign dude:
Problem?
This is especially true if you're an actor, writer, director, or someone who'd like to eventually make money doing something in the arts. That guy pictured above? He's not an artist. He's not Robin Hood. He's just a thief...a bushy-eyebrow'd thief.
And if you can afford it, just rent movies or go to the theater. There are so many good, inexpensive options out there now (like Netflix, On-Demand, etc.) that you shouldn't have to cry "poverty" every time there's something good you want to watch. Again, this is especially true for the aspiring professional artists out there.
But like I say...if you watch this stuff, I ain't mad atcha'. I was a lot like you...but I've recently come to the realization that I need to be a little bit less anarchic, and a little more responsible (must have happened when I turned 30). I think we're going to get to a very exciting point where every show ever made will be available to watch at any time, anywhere (for a monthly fee). If we let these pirates dictate the rules, then none of the money will get to the people who deserve it -- these are the actors, writers, directors, producers, and studios.
That little Russian dude up there? He shouldn't be getting jack squat...because he created nothing and risked nothing...so he deserves nothing.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
We Are the Crap
Here's the 2010 version of We Are the World, officially titled "We Are the World 25 For Haiti":
Here's the original 1985 video:
And here's an SNL cold open, which was the first I'd heard of the 2010 version being released:
Finally, Huey Lewis gained "thirty points worth of awesome" (redeemable at my house) for his Jimmy Kimmel-produced parody video.
You still with me? No? Dammit. That'll teach me to lead off with 20 minutes of video for you guys to slog through to get to the meaty, sweet, tasty written-section of this blog.
Okay, well, since only the true die-hards are left...I'll tell you all what Mr. Jones could have done to fix the new, suck-tacular "We Are the World."
First off, here's what I liked:
But, since I have you all here...let me be honest. I've always liked the idea of a "singing super-group." I like watching famous singers get one or two lines of a song, then over-sing it as much as they possibly can -- it brings me joy. I even liked Voices that Care (featuring a strangely attractive, non-skeletal Celine Dion), and the MTV All-Star's remake of What's Going On? And, of course, I frigging loved the original "We Are the World." I pretty much have every inflection from every soloist in that song memorized. That's how much I listened to, and loved that song.
However, this We Are the 2010 World 25 Haiti Are The thing is just a heaping pile of fail...and I use that word sheepishly, because I'm starting to tire of people using "fail" as a noun.
So if I'm recording legend Quincy Jones...and I'm raking this dung heap into a manageable pile, here's what I tell the people:
What do we take away from all this? Well, hopefully I've given you the malady that's been with me for the last couple of days. That is -- this goofy song is stuck tight in my head. I thought blogging about it would make the music go away...but I'm afraid that it just made it worse. Damn.
Here's the original 1985 video:
And here's an SNL cold open, which was the first I'd heard of the 2010 version being released:
Finally, Huey Lewis gained "thirty points worth of awesome" (redeemable at my house) for his Jimmy Kimmel-produced parody video.
You still with me? No? Dammit. That'll teach me to lead off with 20 minutes of video for you guys to slog through to get to the meaty, sweet, tasty written-section of this blog.
Okay, well, since only the true die-hards are left...I'll tell you all what Mr. Jones could have done to fix the new, suck-tacular "We Are the World."
First off, here's what I liked:
- Wyclef Jean's crazy demon wail (let him do whatever the hell he wants, the man's Haitian, and as far as I know, he's the only Haitian singer in the entire world).
- Pink and Kelly Clarkson (one of the few singers who could sounded like they could sing without digital assistance).
- Jeff Bridges (one of my favorite actors...casting pearls before swine).
- Pretty much everything else.
But, since I have you all here...let me be honest. I've always liked the idea of a "singing super-group." I like watching famous singers get one or two lines of a song, then over-sing it as much as they possibly can -- it brings me joy. I even liked Voices that Care (featuring a strangely attractive, non-skeletal Celine Dion), and the MTV All-Star's remake of What's Going On? And, of course, I frigging loved the original "We Are the World." I pretty much have every inflection from every soloist in that song memorized. That's how much I listened to, and loved that song.
However, this We Are the 2010 World 25 Haiti Are The thing is just a heaping pile of fail...and I use that word sheepishly, because I'm starting to tire of people using "fail" as a noun.
So if I'm recording legend Quincy Jones...and I'm raking this dung heap into a manageable pile, here's what I tell the people:
- If you require the use of Auto-Tune to sing, you can help lend your voice from the security of the Dan Ackroyd Memorial Bleachers. I'd rather have a room full of Bob Dylans and Cyndi Laupers than a single T-Pain.
- Leave the drippy, self-important, blow-hard sincerity at the door. See how the 1985 singers were all smiling, and having a good time (except for Springsteen...who looked like he just got over food poisoning)? You don't have to look like you're in pain to show you care. In fact, all the serious faces make you look like a bit of a knob-job.
- If you are barely notable enough for a Wikipedia article, you are not welcome. Yes, I'm looking at you, Nipsey Hussle.
- Jamie Foxx -- go away.
- Seriously. Just go away. Ray was a massively overrated movie, and it doesn't make you a musician. The Soloist sucked too. I don't care if you know how to play the piano. Go away.
- No old people singing solos. Sorry. I respect your body of work, but your voices don't match the "pop" feel of the song. Feel free to join us from the bleachers.
- "Change" has three syllables, Celine. It also has an "I." Trust me, it does.
- Rapping in unison hasn't been cool since Run DMC did it. Break that section up. Each of you gets a line. Except for you, Swizz Beatz. I have no idea who you are. How did you get past security?
- Why on earth would you drop the dynamics going into the first chorus? You've got Celine doing her wacky French-Canadian run-a-thon which leads to.......a quiet, down-played chorus. It gave me whiplash. Shouldn't the chorus come in over the top and soar like a soaring eagle soaring over the Azores? I mean, that's what the build-up is for, right?
- Everyone take off your damn sunglasses. You're indoors. I know you need them to look cool, but you don't look cool. You look like you're high. Plus, your unnecessary sunglasses cost about as much as a Haitian makes in 3 months. You can only wear sunglasses if you're blind, and there are only three blind singers...one of which is six feet under.
- Who are those two strange looking old guys in salmon-colored button-up shirts? Did they win this opportunity from a silent auction at their country club?
- Everyone wears a pair of headphones. Everyone. No exceptions. Even if they're not plugged in to anything, you wear them. This is essential. Bonus points if only one ear is covered. Also, at some point you must press the headphones to your ear with one hand, because...how else are you going to be able to hear the music?
- DO IT LIVE!!! Seriously, how cool was it to see Tina Turner throw it to Billy Joel? Or to see Willie Nelson miss the first couple of notes in his duet line with Dionne Warwick (who then held up the words for him to read)? Or how Bruce Springsteen leaned into the microphone like he was mad at it? Now we get snapshots of a bunch of static, lifeless, studio sessions? That's just lame, and uninteresting.
- No, Jamie Foxx, your Ray Charles impression was not funny. It was stupid. Especially after the little cocky laugh and swagger you gave when it was done.
- Please don't play to the cameras. In fact, please just ignore the cameras. When you look down the barrel it's creepy. Besides, this is about the music, not the video...you egotistical weirdos.
- Everyone needs to be holding sheet music. I know you have it memorized. Good for you. It doesn't matter. Hold the music. It looks better. Trust me. I'm Quincy Jones.
- Could we possibly inject a little "Haitian Folk Music" into this thing? I mean...Wyclef tried, but the rest of the piece was so bland and poppy that he just came off sounding like a wailing maniac in the final cut.
- Less head-bobbing and false sincerity on the chorus, more swaying. Swaying is cool, and it creates the appearance that you all actually like each other.
- Let the ladies from Heart sing, for God's sake. People need to be made more aware of this band, and the fact that Ann Wilson still has a ridiculously awesome voice.
- Jamie Foxx, are you still here? Go away.
What do we take away from all this? Well, hopefully I've given you the malady that's been with me for the last couple of days. That is -- this goofy song is stuck tight in my head. I thought blogging about it would make the music go away...but I'm afraid that it just made it worse. Damn.
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