Truth is, we are not even friends.
I used to work at a record label. And the other day, while walking down the street I work on now, I happened upon a spate of posters (lost among a much bigger spate of posters hawking that very sexy little nano-pod) advertising a new album by one of the artists I worked with there. This particular artist, unlike so many of the others I came to know, was one I had a tremendous amount of respect for, and genuinely liked both professionally and personally. Her music was hard and different, and she was a friendly, good-natured, hard-working person.
Unfortunately, she was also one of the many that got royally screwed in one of the completely unapologetic roster purgings that came as a result of the industry-wide belt tightening that began several years ago (and has never really stopped since).
She was a prime example of the type of complete and utter betrayal that became commonplace in those days. But we can’t really call it “betrayal,” because it’s just business. Business, like war (and love), is hell. And when you’re an artist signing with a major record label, you know that, right? You know that the contract you’re signing, ostensibly to protect both you and them, has the potential to leave you feeling raped and destroyed. That like any relationship, this particular relationship has the potential to suck up years of your life and then evaporate without a trace, leaving you with nothing more than what you had at the start of it. Except maybe some hard-won knowledge, some sexy battle scars, and a few more years tacked on to your own personal tally.
But I guess that’s a lot, really. You can never underestimate the value of the knowledge gained at the hands of trauma and trial. And the sight of her on those posters, looking better and stronger than ever, was inspiring in some way. A reminder that, while particularly painful to endure, betrayal at the hands of a trusted party still doesn’t have to end in destruction. I often put so much emphasis on trust and loyalty that sometimes I forget that.
Unfortunately, she was also one of the many that got royally screwed in one of the completely unapologetic roster purgings that came as a result of the industry-wide belt tightening that began several years ago (and has never really stopped since).
She was a prime example of the type of complete and utter betrayal that became commonplace in those days. But we can’t really call it “betrayal,” because it’s just business. Business, like war (and love), is hell. And when you’re an artist signing with a major record label, you know that, right? You know that the contract you’re signing, ostensibly to protect both you and them, has the potential to leave you feeling raped and destroyed. That like any relationship, this particular relationship has the potential to suck up years of your life and then evaporate without a trace, leaving you with nothing more than what you had at the start of it. Except maybe some hard-won knowledge, some sexy battle scars, and a few more years tacked on to your own personal tally.
But I guess that’s a lot, really. You can never underestimate the value of the knowledge gained at the hands of trauma and trial. And the sight of her on those posters, looking better and stronger than ever, was inspiring in some way. A reminder that, while particularly painful to endure, betrayal at the hands of a trusted party still doesn’t have to end in destruction. I often put so much emphasis on trust and loyalty that sometimes I forget that.
posted by P/O at 9/19/2005 10:51:00 AM
3 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
i do too! trust and loyalty are everything and it's hard to get past the "broken" but i guess it's possible to come out better and stronger... :) maybe WISER!
A~
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Post a Comment
<< Home