Tip No. 1: get a job at crashingly bland pseudo-punk Chicago label Victory Records. Proceed to mail out a 132-page stack of Xeroxed clips to as many newspapers as possible—postage costs of which easily exceed five bucks per—touting a whiny, dopey, probably smelly “emo” band whose name rhymes with Faking Black Scum-day. Be sure to also include only the lamest ink possible about the band you can find—breathless jerk-off retardo prose like “[name deleted to avoid this very clipping being included in the next stack of Xeroxed clips] gets ready to take America” and “Remember what I say now and remember it well: in a few months' time, these guys will be huge. Everyone will know who these guys are” (er, no, they won't). Know that the music writers you're mailing this swill to kind of hope [name deleted again] will indeed get big, but only so they'll get $5 for the CD when they sell it instead of the presumed $1.
Tip No. 2: be a Connecticut singer named Denise Nicole. Have the head of your label mail off copies of the ultra-schmaltzy, supposedly patriotic song you recorded, “Spirit of America”—where your vocal shrieking approaches the level of aural obnoxiousness only matched by the sound of a cat caught beneath car tires—to as many newspapers as possible. But don't stop there: also send a bazillion copies to assorted governmental higher-ups—governors, senators, even George W. and Acting President Cheney—and include their “responses” in the press pack (which really only proves that their interns know how to write decent thank-you letters). Eventually realize that if you really wanted to contribute something to the cause of fighting terrorism, you'd also have a copy sent directly to Osama bin Laden, who'd surely want to kill himself on first listen as badly as we did.
Tip No. 3: be a strange, mysterious, shirtless man who drops off a long, rambling, handwritten letter to the Weekly, addressed to “Beth”—does he mean our publisher? In the letter, scribble about how a band called the World is the greatest thing, like, ever. Mention how the singer, Jim, is “a dream, and he parades around bringing joy to everyone—even Hell's Angels come to admire his magic. He's like a giant, all blond and sexy, and he gives good eye contact to everyone.” Tell how Jim has “been recognized by Hillary Clinton to be 'profound,'” how Dennis Hopper once told Jim “I know you,” how Jim is “like the religion of music personified,” and how, when you hear Jim's music, you think of a range of musicians stretching from Neil Diamond to Ozzy. Know that the way you describe this Jim character, you make him sound really, really creepy and that we couldn't write about him anyway because you didn't bother to include any of his music. But we at least enjoyed making fun of you. (Rich Kane)
Can I still get a date?
SUPER ESTUPID
The folks at KSSE-FM 97.5 Super Estrella seem to only want critics who write blowjob reviews of their annual Reventn Super Estrella concerts (held July 20 at the Arrowhead Pond). Within hours after my article previewing the show ran (“Five-Year Flop,” July 19), the Weekly got a call from a publicist informing us of ultra-offended Super Estrella's demand that I be “uninvited” from the event and that my press pass had been revoked—even though it had been requested and approved two weeks earlier. Maybe I wouldn't have been 86'd if I had said that the Reventn would have “a handful of Latin pop's hottest acts” (The Orange County Register), that the show “is distinguished by the Super Estrella DJs' enthusiasm” (the Reg's Spanish-language weekly Exclsior), or that the festival is known for “showcasing the hippest, most happening acts in Latin music” (the Los Angeles Times' website). Instead, my concluding prayer to God in the hope that He “smite this [Reventn] pestilence from musicdom forever” probably did me in. Or was it because out of the five artists I mentioned, I had kind words for only three and made some particularly pointed comments about the atrocious Paulina Rubio (“Too bad her talents didn't grow along with her cup sizes”)? Perhaps it was my accusation of the Reventn audience as not knowing political subtext “if it rifle-butted them across their dancing-fool kneecaps?” Or was the reason for my persona non grata status at Super Estrella because the article denounced the station for not living up to its professed mission of bringing the best Latin alternative acts to the Southland? All we can tell the folks at Super Estrella is that if you can't take the heat, then stop giving us reasons to set you on fire. (Gustavo Arellano)
