In November 1999 North Carolina band Jolene found themselves out of favour with their big money record label and a little disillusioned with it all. Then the call came to do a UK tour organised by the newly formed (and possibly a little disorganised) Cosmic American Music Club. Guitarist Dave Burris tells you what happened....
 

Part 1 - A lesson on the nature of the Music Business (Below) Part 2 - Getting the tour together Part 3 -Arrival in London Part 4 - Birmingham to Manchester Part 5 -  Scotland Part 6 -  London to er...Coalville Part 7 - Yorkshire and home..

(ABOVE - Dave Burris your author)

 
 

Part 1 - A lesson on the nature of the Music Business

If you're in the music biz or near the music biz or read about the music biz or have a loved one (bless their little hearts) in the music biz or even if you are one of the very few who still actually buy records (and realized that a good song on the radio does not a good album make) you've probably sorted out that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. I personally haven't decided whether it is the sickly sweet stench of death or the pungent, bilious odor of sewage and human detritus. Either way it fucking stinks and I for one have put on one of those little rubber nose-pinchers that you can strap to your head. I'm either too stubborn or too stupid to get out of Denmark.

So what does one do? The record business has gone through ups and downs before, so logically one can believe that sitting back and biding one's time for the MP3, internet, etc. Revolution to roll down our own Odessa Steps (where is our Trotsky?) might not be such a bad course of action. But what to do to keep your head above water (besides sitting around thinking up excessive amounts of metaphors to accurately describe your position)? Well you gotta take the horse that is your career and your creative drive and your sense of self-worth by the reins (will the metaphors never end? My answer is 'no' - the distance from the blunt pain of the unveiled issue provided by metaphors is the only thing keeping you from hanging yourself in the bathroom of the Del Taco down on Tujunga Blvd.) and gallop off to other more fertile pastures. And believe me, fertility comes best with heaps of your steed's manure spread around nimbly and intelligently.
 

So you're a band. You've ascended to that near-pinnacle that all bands attempt to summit (like Mallory) and then winter hits. That is, you've released a record on a 'major' (major pain in my ass) and the single did respectably well (top 50 on the rock charts in our case) but like every other band last year, sales were disappointing and the 'major' decides they don't like you anymore. Which is fine because you sure as hell don't like them anymore because they are impotent frauds and they know it but it makes them uncomfortable that you know it so it's probably best if you just part ways. Right? Fucking right.

It's not totally unlike a love relationship. It might unfold like this:

A year or so has passed since you broke up with your first girlfriend who you really liked but who just wasn't mature enough to carry on a serious relationship (your Indie label goes bankrupt) but you developed a reputation as a good guy and a bit of a ladies' man so some really attractive gals (the 'majors')are calling you up and conveniently 'running into you' at the club and, without a doubt, being highly flirtatious. Cool. These ladies seem like they could be the real deal - attractive, strong, independent and sometimes even witty. Your friends are saying "no way, dude, you know those chicks are teases and star-fuckers. Save yourself. Stay away." And you kind of know that they are right but the next thing you know the flirtation has turned into proposition and BOTH ladies finally ask: "Do you want to come up to my place and 'watch a video'?"

Yes, you do.

But you have to choose. On the one hand there's the super-hot, knock-out who bears an uncanny resemblance to Catherine Zeta Jones (this company starts with a "C"). And she's loaded. And on the other there is the cute blue-eyed red-head who has a great smile, adorable freckles and even likes watching hoops with you (this company starts with a "S"). She's not as rich as Catherine Zeta Jones but she's rich enough and you can tell she's resourceful and perhaps a little less fraudulent than her competition. It's a deal. You go with the cute red-head because you're an idealist (what good musician isn't?) and because you've always had a thing for red-heads (the Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, the Replacements). For a while everything is hunky-dory. You have fun on your dates and the sex is great. She's got a great apartment in New York and a cool bungalow in Santa Monica. You spend a great, sexy week-end in Montreal and take an exciting, fun-filled vacation to London. It looks like this may be "it". You've even stopped looking at all those hot women on West Broadway.

AND THEN, certain aspects of her personality begin to rear their ugly heads. She starts acting like all the other shallow women you've run across in the past and nimbly avoided. She loses her temper with you for NO REASON and starts flirting with other guys at parties (I thought we were a 'priority'). She irrationally begins to objectify you based on standards outside of your relationship (why aren't you Matchbox 20?). She has become irritated by the qualities in you that initially caused her to fall in love with you (why are your songs so weird? Why can't you write a single? Whine, whine, whine..,). In short, you don't like her anymore, and she doesn't like you anymore. You break up. Typically it takes too long and there are a lot of angry words and hurt feelings, but you made a good deal when it started and the bitch has to pay you one way or the other. So there. Good riddance. And no, we can't be friends. And yes, I probably will tell all my buddies how nasty you are. But what do you care? You're a girl and can get some sucker to take you to dinner anytime you want. And you'll probably fall asleep during desert with him too.

So now what? Do you chuck all your romanticism out with the bong-water and become a misogynist? No. Do you hang out in the parking lot behind your apartment building kicking an empty Schlitz can around playing the "aw shucks" routine? No. Do you immediately go out and try to find another 'hot-chick' to jump back into a relationship with? NO.

This is what you do. You circle the wagons, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, take lessons from the pain so as not to repeat a cycle of failure, and figure out how to be a  strong man of the new millenium who can retain his ideals and still move forward without getting kicked in the shins with every other step. And continue to mix metaphors a good bit as well.