America now has a Pay Czar. It seems that some rather large financial institutions have a man who now tells them how much they can pay some of their executives because they failed at some task or another. I am going to have to disagree with this concept.
Where do we draw the line on this concept? The Pittsburgh Pirates have not made it into the playoffs in 17 years but every member of their team is guaranteed a League Minimum Salary. Four members of their team earn more than two million dollars a year. Between their 26 players they spend over $25 million a year. That is a heck of a lot of cash to represent America’s 56th largest city so poorly.
There are a number of actors who I have enjoyed the work of only to be disappointed in some effort or another of theirs. I have enjoyed quite a few Brad Pitt movies. I enjoyed the movie Troy. In the movie Troy Brad Stunk up the screen the entire time. Tyler Durden may have been iconic and changed the way a generation of men viewed their place in the world but given what could be arguably better material, certainly material that has withstood a long test of time, Mr. Pitt delivered a performance that made me wish I was watching a 3rd grade Easter play. Is the Fed ready to cut his salary?
What is my government willing to do about moments of erectile dysfunction on porn sets? The poorly waxed alley I tried to bowl on last month? How about that craptastic burger I got from Wendy’s last week? Why do so many people in our country fail so spectacularly and evade the Sauron-like eye of our Pay Czar but somehow the folks doing an amazingly difficult job where they cannot control the circumstances of the market face retribution?
What we have on Wall Street is not a pay problem. We don’t have an incompetence problem either. What we have is a morality problem. Don’t we all know that you “Cannot legislate morality?” Do we? I have to disagree there. Legislation is a broad agreement on morality. Killing and stealing are widely, nearly universally, agreed to be immoral and we legislate that.
My biggest problem with art school was that the entire purpose of the institution was to create self-employed small business people and we were never prepared to run a small business. I have since become a strong component of most, if not all, majors being bound to have some kind of business training. Why can we not institute the same principles towards those who study business? How about a few classes on morality for America’s business people in training? A solid foundation in philosophy coupled with an agreement between employer and employee about the appropriateness of their financial decision would go much further in solving our current crisis than any pay strictures our government can provide.
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Ripe and Rotten Fruit...On Tour Now!
“With so much drama in the L-B-C
Its kinda hard bein Snoop D-O-double-G
But I, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day”
-Snoop
But he doesn’t, does he? I mean, has Snoop come up with “…funky ass shit, like, every single day?”
No. And it isn’t his fault. Well, it is partially his fault but that is as far as I will go. Do you remember Pearl Jam’s first album? Remember the first time you heard the now worn Welcome To the Jungle? Remember Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic before it became Scabby, Saccharin, Masturbatory, Mundane? What happened? Are you really so much more sophisticated now than then?
No offense to you but I doubt it.
That first public work, at least for musicians, is a monumental task of epic worth. It involves blood sweat and tears, sometimes literally, and changes the band as much as it changes all of us, if done correctly. This awesome act of birth, yes, birth, is painful, beautiful to watch and inspiring even when it brings us something that will later turn into the current Metallica or dump someone like Axl Rose on society at large for the next two to three decades. So why is that the second, third and fourth album so frequently fail to impress? I would argue that there are several reasons.
Me, me, me, now, now, now!!! is the first problem. Not the whiny artists, the whiny consumer. Yes, I loved the subtle grooves and funky lyrics of that first album, too. But can we all stop and realize that, with the exception of pure evil such as Miley Cyrus and Tiffany, talent that inspires many takes a long time to develop. Twenty years is no tome at all to produce a decent singer or guitarist. Twenty five is a decent number and no one ever got hurt by waiting to serve the wine until it was time by letting an artist reach their thirties before wringing some genius and cash out of them. So how is it, that after letting a childhood, lessons, early performances, failed attempts, club dates and broken hearts produce a work of genius, or at least dancability, that we want a follow up within 18 months? Sure, the Beatles kicked our ass over and over again but they are the exception to the rule. Don’t believe me? Go break out all your Led Zeppelin vinyl and listen to them on order of their release. Led Zeppelin rocked, Led Zeppelin IV set a standard, and Physical Graffiti can be listened to but Coda? Seriously? Coda? Get outta here!
The second is need. Not want, need. This secret doesn’t work for sex, well, it doesn’t work for guys and sex, but it does work with music. Hunger makes even Captain D’s seem like good food if you wait long enough. Once the adulation, eager groupies, travel and big money start to sink in you are no longer dealing with the same artist. You are dealing with a spoiled dweeb. Spoiled dweeb is if you are lucky. Frequently you are dealing with a megalomaniacal ass of epic proportions that would make Darth Vader look like a pony-tailed church girl with candy to share. I consider myself a decent human being but if you offer me my fill of nubile college girls, wads of cash and my own jet with a list of riders on my contract letting me describe under what conditions I am willing to pursue my passion with all the free, kinky sex I can take and a small army of sycophantic suck ups I am under no delusion that I will be throwing temper tantrums over my tea being 3 degree off my preferred temperature in just under a heartbeat. You would too, trust me.
This situation cannot be helped by record companies that pursue a steady supply of cash like fat, single girls treat wedding cake. There is maximizing what you have and then there are record companies. These over-industrious leeches think that if an artist doesn’t produce 3 top 10 hits a year they have wasted their investment. As if their investment somehow entailed driving a precocious Kurt Cobain to his guitar lesson at the age of 9 and being forced to sit through his early adolescent poetry. These epic level morons wait until the tree ahs fruit and then stand around looking sharp but useless whining through three seasons that it isn’t time to make jam again yet. But that is another rant.
So, what now? Do we eliminate long-term contracts? Visual artists spent a few centuries showing that they were only as good as their next painting or sculpture and it seemed to work for them. Executing record company executives seems appealing but there are legal difficulties in the effort and there will always be another crop of cocksure asshats lining up to take their places. Educating the public seems like it would work but if that was possible it would have been done by now, Van
Gogh would still have both ears and someone would have kicked the shit out of Mozart’s father when it would have done some good.
What if everyone was a little more patient? You, me, record company executives, that whore who got Van Goghs ear, and even the artists themselves. Is there not enough music? Wouldn’t you rather have your favorite artist produce a whole, heaping mess of genius twice a decade than sit through another mediocre attempt?
Its kinda hard bein Snoop D-O-double-G
But I, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day”
-Snoop
But he doesn’t, does he? I mean, has Snoop come up with “…funky ass shit, like, every single day?”
No. And it isn’t his fault. Well, it is partially his fault but that is as far as I will go. Do you remember Pearl Jam’s first album? Remember the first time you heard the now worn Welcome To the Jungle? Remember Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic before it became Scabby, Saccharin, Masturbatory, Mundane? What happened? Are you really so much more sophisticated now than then?
No offense to you but I doubt it.
That first public work, at least for musicians, is a monumental task of epic worth. It involves blood sweat and tears, sometimes literally, and changes the band as much as it changes all of us, if done correctly. This awesome act of birth, yes, birth, is painful, beautiful to watch and inspiring even when it brings us something that will later turn into the current Metallica or dump someone like Axl Rose on society at large for the next two to three decades. So why is that the second, third and fourth album so frequently fail to impress? I would argue that there are several reasons.
Me, me, me, now, now, now!!! is the first problem. Not the whiny artists, the whiny consumer. Yes, I loved the subtle grooves and funky lyrics of that first album, too. But can we all stop and realize that, with the exception of pure evil such as Miley Cyrus and Tiffany, talent that inspires many takes a long time to develop. Twenty years is no tome at all to produce a decent singer or guitarist. Twenty five is a decent number and no one ever got hurt by waiting to serve the wine until it was time by letting an artist reach their thirties before wringing some genius and cash out of them. So how is it, that after letting a childhood, lessons, early performances, failed attempts, club dates and broken hearts produce a work of genius, or at least dancability, that we want a follow up within 18 months? Sure, the Beatles kicked our ass over and over again but they are the exception to the rule. Don’t believe me? Go break out all your Led Zeppelin vinyl and listen to them on order of their release. Led Zeppelin rocked, Led Zeppelin IV set a standard, and Physical Graffiti can be listened to but Coda? Seriously? Coda? Get outta here!
The second is need. Not want, need. This secret doesn’t work for sex, well, it doesn’t work for guys and sex, but it does work with music. Hunger makes even Captain D’s seem like good food if you wait long enough. Once the adulation, eager groupies, travel and big money start to sink in you are no longer dealing with the same artist. You are dealing with a spoiled dweeb. Spoiled dweeb is if you are lucky. Frequently you are dealing with a megalomaniacal ass of epic proportions that would make Darth Vader look like a pony-tailed church girl with candy to share. I consider myself a decent human being but if you offer me my fill of nubile college girls, wads of cash and my own jet with a list of riders on my contract letting me describe under what conditions I am willing to pursue my passion with all the free, kinky sex I can take and a small army of sycophantic suck ups I am under no delusion that I will be throwing temper tantrums over my tea being 3 degree off my preferred temperature in just under a heartbeat. You would too, trust me.
This situation cannot be helped by record companies that pursue a steady supply of cash like fat, single girls treat wedding cake. There is maximizing what you have and then there are record companies. These over-industrious leeches think that if an artist doesn’t produce 3 top 10 hits a year they have wasted their investment. As if their investment somehow entailed driving a precocious Kurt Cobain to his guitar lesson at the age of 9 and being forced to sit through his early adolescent poetry. These epic level morons wait until the tree ahs fruit and then stand around looking sharp but useless whining through three seasons that it isn’t time to make jam again yet. But that is another rant.
So, what now? Do we eliminate long-term contracts? Visual artists spent a few centuries showing that they were only as good as their next painting or sculpture and it seemed to work for them. Executing record company executives seems appealing but there are legal difficulties in the effort and there will always be another crop of cocksure asshats lining up to take their places. Educating the public seems like it would work but if that was possible it would have been done by now, Van
Gogh would still have both ears and someone would have kicked the shit out of Mozart’s father when it would have done some good.
What if everyone was a little more patient? You, me, record company executives, that whore who got Van Goghs ear, and even the artists themselves. Is there not enough music? Wouldn’t you rather have your favorite artist produce a whole, heaping mess of genius twice a decade than sit through another mediocre attempt?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Too Much Free Time...
I am consistently amazed at people using the phrase “Too much free time on their hands.” It is almost always spoken in response to someone producing, with no damage to anyone else, a quirky, odd or mildly entertaining bit of creative output.
Put a costume on your pet duck? “That guy has too much free time on their hands!”
Edit a video to make it funnier and post it online? “That woman has too much free time on their hands!”
Decorate your entire basement with nothing but Sharpie markers? “That idiot has too much free time on their hands!”
What if this criticism had struck Walt Disney, Leonardo Da Vinci or Mikhail Baryshnikov while they fumbled around looking for the best way to express their vision?
I would like to ask a favor of you. The next time you feel the urge to utter this phrase stop and think. Why are you pointing it at the people who manage to combine creative with harmless and entertaining?
Let us try a slight paradigm shift. How about we all save this particular phrase for the non-creative, for the harmful and for the not so entertaining?
Protestor who avoids constructive action or debate in favor of standing in the street with a sign? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
Nuisance lawsuit? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
Attempting to FORCE your beliefs on others? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
I realize that criticism of the harmless is far from the worst of our culture’s ills but perhaps for just a day or a week we could aim this particular criticism away from the harmlessly creative and towards the maliciously disruptive.
Try it for a bit. It won’t take much effort and may leave you with a little extra time on your hands.
Put a costume on your pet duck? “That guy has too much free time on their hands!”
Edit a video to make it funnier and post it online? “That woman has too much free time on their hands!”
Decorate your entire basement with nothing but Sharpie markers? “That idiot has too much free time on their hands!”
What if this criticism had struck Walt Disney, Leonardo Da Vinci or Mikhail Baryshnikov while they fumbled around looking for the best way to express their vision?
I would like to ask a favor of you. The next time you feel the urge to utter this phrase stop and think. Why are you pointing it at the people who manage to combine creative with harmless and entertaining?
Let us try a slight paradigm shift. How about we all save this particular phrase for the non-creative, for the harmful and for the not so entertaining?
Protestor who avoids constructive action or debate in favor of standing in the street with a sign? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
Nuisance lawsuit? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
Attempting to FORCE your beliefs on others? “THAT person has too much free time on their hands!”
I realize that criticism of the harmless is far from the worst of our culture’s ills but perhaps for just a day or a week we could aim this particular criticism away from the harmlessly creative and towards the maliciously disruptive.
Try it for a bit. It won’t take much effort and may leave you with a little extra time on your hands.
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