It is with considerable sorrow that I must announce the passing of former 12XU publicist Drinky McGlugglug. Drinky, known to his close friends as “Drinky”, served the label tirelessly in London during the early 2000′s and though he was forever pissing himself at record-release launches and being hauled into court for leaving his children at the playground unattended, I’ll still remember his love for the music, the backyard bbq’s, the drinks and the repartee. Mostly the drinks, however.
It was Drinky’s dying wish that 12XU and it’s cavalcade of stars would emerge from the darkest, cowebbiest corners of the underground and someday scale the P.R. heights of his former clients like Men$wear and Dodgy.
“Drinky, you do realize that cobwebbiest isn’t a real word.”
Alas, he couldn’t reply. Because he was dead.
So it is in the memory of this wonderful music industry veteran that I am extending an invitation to a young person (well, younger than Drinky, hopefully) ready to get his or hands (very) dirty in the P.R. game on behalf of this label. Clearly, ownership hasn’t simply burned bridges, they’ve been fucking napalmed. Perhaps by providing a buffer — perhaps one with fewer anger issues/personality defects —- positive changes will occur.
There’s no money, not even what Mo Fuzz would call an “on spec” arrangement*. But there’s piles of records, intense glamor and loads of good stories for the magazine article or blog post you’ll someday write about how poorly you were treated.
(* – if you get one of the bands booked on Uncle Floyd or Wally George’s TV shows, we’ll talk about it)
inquire via info@12XU.net. Your physical appearance is of no consequence, though if you are hideously ugly, you might be asked to utilize an avatar (that’s even uglier). Maybe we’ll play it by ear.
sonor 1985 this is tommy lees set from the theater of pain tour purchased from his sister ATHENA 2 24S 14 15 16 18 ALL QUESTIONS WILL BE RETURNED (((((( CLYDE IF U R OUT THERE CONTACT ME)))))) there was 2 snare drums this is the second 1 we all know who has the first one some guy in Sweden who runs a motley crue show and he has all kinds of sik stuff
If Barneys can charge $265 for a Black Flag shirt (echoes, I reckon, of Kayne’s $8K Discharge jacket) there’s some serious money being thrown around/flushed in the pursuit of authenticity. Comical, yes, but I would truly like to see the people I love and respect hop on this gravy train:
Don Walsh’s Rusted Shut Fantasy Camp ($3000 for two days, Don might not attend due to other obligations) Von LMO Segway Tours of Coney Island ($350, must supply your own Segway) Taylor TX, SST Superstore “Supermarket Sweep” For Charity* ($1000 for 90 seconds, all the Jambang overstock you can fit in a shopping cart) touring company of “Joseph & The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” starring Curt Low (understudy, Neil Patrick Harris)
* – cat rescue, of course
For 316 Hartford residents, the majority of whom live in the North End within walking distance of the incomplete ball field, minor league baseball’s delayed arrival is more than just an inconvenience.
“Right now, we’re doing horrible,” said Davila, who was counting on the food-service job as her primary source of income. “It’s stressful and depressing. The kids are asking for stuff we can’t give them.”
Tim Restall, the Yard Goats’ general manager, said he understands the employees’ frustrations. He attended the team’s job fair, even interviewed many of the more than 1,000 applicants that afternoon.
“There’s a lot of disappointment. These people are eager and want to get working,” he said. “People see the park and wonder ‘When can we get in it?’ and that’s the tough part. We don’t know.”
The team says its hands are tied, and most of the people they’ve hired understand that — especially, Jashira Gonzalez, who said she doesn’t aim her frustration at being functionally unemployed at the Yard Goats’ front office.
“It’s not the team’s fault. It’s just that the city is messed up,” the Sigourney Street resident said. “I’m looking for a job, but there are no jobs out there for me.”
If you’re like me, and I suspect a few of you are, you’ve got no shortage of friends who are contending with troublesome roommates. Since you can’t simply dump a co-tenant’s shit on the sidewalk, consider the advent of the Licki Brush. Imagine the look of sheer terror on the face or Mr. or Ms. Thing That Wouldn’t Leave when they stumble thru the front door at 1am and find you GROOMING A CAT WITH YOUR MOUTH on the living room floor. PRESTO, you’ve got plenty of space for more records.
Or cats. Because after word gets ’round the neighborhood, they’re all gonna be lining up for licking.
(above : despite an impressive rebound from his recent pitching struggles, Matt Harvey disrespected America’s fallen heroes yesterday by failing to wear camo sleeves)
As you probably noticed, all 30 Major League Baseball clubs donned camouflage caps and jerseys with camo lettering during Monday’s Memorial Day contests. Aside from the obvious aesthetic atrocities (not nearly as bad as Randy Myers modeling for the Cabela’s catalog, but too close for comfort), The Spitter’s Keith Good finds the camo choice, well, inappropriate.
The camo-splashed designs ignorantly disregard the spirit of Memorial Day. Dating back to the Civil War, families set aside a day to commemorate those who died in service of their country. Nothing in MLB’s camogasm costumes commemorate the fallen.
The uniforms instead fall back on the tired trope of blind military glorification. Memorial Day isn’t about glory but the somberness of men and women who left families and never returned. If baseball truly wanted to Memorialize fallen soldiers, their caps and jerseys would feature traditional memorials like poppies, gold stars, and black ribbons.
The truth is a tasteful cap, embroidered with black and poppies, probably wouldn’t move as much merch for Dick’s. Camo is a proven, profitable design. Yes, MLB is donating the profits from their camo caps to charity, but what about the countless sales partners?
“It won’t be a place to get high and just screw around,” Jim McAlpine, founder of the cannabis event series 420 Games and cofounder of Power Plant Fitness, wrote in a blog on the company’s website. “We are focused on the athletic side, not the cannabis side.”
In an email to Tech Insider, McAlpine explains that the gym looks to cannabis as a tool for focus and recovery. New members will take a “cannabis performance assessment” under the supervision of staff to determine the “most optimal ways to consume.” Some might find a bite out a pot brownie gives them the push they need to complete a circuit training workout, while others find it knocks them on the floor.
“We will be helping our members figure out how is best for them to ingest their cannabis,” McAlpine tells Tech Insider in an email.
In the summer of 1984, I was employed as clerk/bag security schmoe at the Copley Square location of Strawberries Records and Tapes, the New England chain store owned by Morris Levy (who may or may not have been the inspiration for “The Sopranos” Herman “Hesh” Rabkin). This was a pretty wild time for the music business with a plethora of blockbuster albums by veteran acts competing for shelf space. In the wake of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’, industry expectations were sky-high for The Jacksons’ ‘Victory’, to say nothing of Bruce Springsteen’s hotly anticipated ‘Born In The U.S.A.’. But both would ultimately be overshadowed (in the aisles of that Strawberries, anyway) by Prince’s 6th album, ‘Purple Rain’.
The store’s buyer loaded up on ‘Victory’ LP’s to an insane degree. THOUSANDS of the fuckers, overstock crammed into every available corner of the store’s back rooms and behind countertops. As you may or may not remember, the album was poorly received, the subsequent stadium tour (co-promoted by New England Patriots exec/heir Chuck Sullivan) bombed and well, the staff of Strawberries had boxes of ‘Victory’ hanging over their shoulders all summer long.
‘Born In The U.S.A.’, was of course, another story. Huge critical acclaim, immensely popular videos (even if the Boss was pissing on the flag, see above), and most importatly, the store had enough stock to satisfy demand, but just barely.
‘Purple Rain’, however is where things got crazy. The film wouldn’t open until late July but the album dropped in June, weeks after “When Does Cry” had pretty much blown everyone away. Despite the fact we had real-live-human beings walking into the store several times a day asking when ‘Purple Rain’ would be out (amongst them, the J.Geils Band’s Peter Wolf, who lived across the street) our store’s manager, for reasons known only to herself, determined that Prince Rogers Nelson was some product of hype and a couple hundred copies of the year’s most eagerly awaited album would be enough.
We blasted thru the available stock within a couple of hours of the doors being unlocked. Customers were outraged, apoplectic that the record they already knew would be the soundtrack to their summer wasn’t available.
An edict came down to tell aggrieved consumers that while we were out of stock on ‘Purple Rain’, we could, however, furnish them with copies of Newcleus’ ‘Jam On Revenge’, which just so happened to be released by the Morris Levy-owned Sunnyview Records.
This suggestion did not sit well with inconvenienced Prince fans. I’d previously not been cursed at in the store before, save for the time Monoman came in to yell at me about a middling review for The Lyres’ ‘On Fyre’ in Matter Magazine (“you should be in prison,” Jeff said…and he was right!). Let’s just say this was my one and only experience being on the retailer end of the Great American Bait & Switch and either I wasn’t very good at it…or Newcleus were way, way out of their league. Maybe a little of both.
So there you go. The music business when it still existed. Needless to say, ‘Purple Rain’ was great, some of us saw the movie twenty times or more and that was the summer Prince went from merely being super popular to the sort of megastardom that caused geniune panic & anxiety in Copley Square.
All kidding aside, this seems kinda sketchy and the best possible thing I can say about it is that at least it’s not nearly as bad a look for Jarrett as those econo razor commercials are for Brett Favre.