Pagan
4-12-02, 09:42 AM
The music biz, that is....check this shit out....
You all know we have the gig with the Bulletboys & Pretty Biy Floyd, right? Well, this is how it all came about.
It seems that the promoter for the BB's heard about us and got Gregg's # from our soundman, whom she hired for the show. She calls Gregg and asks him if he wants us to play the show. Gregg says yes, and she replies "Well, it's not that simple. We don't hire bands without hearing them first." She then asks Gregg to drive about 75 miles on a Wednesday night to get her a CD. Gregg tells her to call the owner of the Chance, that we play there all the time and he would be a good reference. She says she'd rather have him get her the CD. Gregg tells her no thanx, and that we'll pass on the gig.
She responds with, "Oh, but you don't understand...this is an opportunity for a local band to open up for a national act!" Gregg is giving major :rolleyes:'s now, and tells her "Lady, we do that all the time. This isn't some garage band you're contacting." Needless to say, he told her to forget about it.
The next day I get home from work and there's a message on my answering machine, "Hey Alan, it's Frank at the Chance. You want to open for the Bulletboys?" After laughing my ass off, I call Gregg and give him the message. He calls Frank and tells him all about his convo with the promoter. Frank gets annoyed and calls her, telling her that we have the gig. She says, "But we don't hire bands without hearing them." Frank pretty much tells her that unless she's paying us, she isn't hiring anyone, and it's his f**king club, so we're playing. She still wants a CD, so Frank tells her that we'll mail one, but no one's going to drive up there. She agrees to that.
Now, we mail out the CD, but with the full intention of waiting until she calls to tell us she loves it and we have the gig, and then telling her to go f**k herself. Frank calls and tells us he really wants us to do the show, just to shove it up this woman's ass. We agree to do the show....
Two days later this airhead bimbo calls Gregg and congratulates him on us getting the gig. (wow...the Bulletboys! Whooopie!!!) Then she reminds him that the BB's are a national act, and therefore need their - now get this - national space. Gregg asks her what the hell that means, and she basically tells him that we can't bother them while they're in their dressing room.
Gregg by now has had enough, and tells her "Lady, no offense, but I really couldn't give a shit about the BB's. We have our own dressing room at the top of the stairs that we use. I warm up in there and the guys hang out. We don't care about any other band. So don't worry, there won't be any requests for pictures or autographs. We could care less." She actually doesn't get annoyed at this, and so the show is on. This is clearly a case of someone who thinks that they're waaaaaay more important than they really are. I mean, we didn't go through this shit opening for RATT, Warrant or Dio. The Bulletboys? Pretty Boy Floyd? :rolleyes:
So...we go into this gig fully expecting it to be a nightmare. It's not always smooth and easy, folks! We have a pool going. Which one of either the band, the road crew, the soundman or the club owner will tell this woman to go f**k herself first? My money's on Gregg! :lol:
You all know we have the gig with the Bulletboys & Pretty Biy Floyd, right? Well, this is how it all came about.
It seems that the promoter for the BB's heard about us and got Gregg's # from our soundman, whom she hired for the show. She calls Gregg and asks him if he wants us to play the show. Gregg says yes, and she replies "Well, it's not that simple. We don't hire bands without hearing them first." She then asks Gregg to drive about 75 miles on a Wednesday night to get her a CD. Gregg tells her to call the owner of the Chance, that we play there all the time and he would be a good reference. She says she'd rather have him get her the CD. Gregg tells her no thanx, and that we'll pass on the gig.
She responds with, "Oh, but you don't understand...this is an opportunity for a local band to open up for a national act!" Gregg is giving major :rolleyes:'s now, and tells her "Lady, we do that all the time. This isn't some garage band you're contacting." Needless to say, he told her to forget about it.
The next day I get home from work and there's a message on my answering machine, "Hey Alan, it's Frank at the Chance. You want to open for the Bulletboys?" After laughing my ass off, I call Gregg and give him the message. He calls Frank and tells him all about his convo with the promoter. Frank gets annoyed and calls her, telling her that we have the gig. She says, "But we don't hire bands without hearing them." Frank pretty much tells her that unless she's paying us, she isn't hiring anyone, and it's his f**king club, so we're playing. She still wants a CD, so Frank tells her that we'll mail one, but no one's going to drive up there. She agrees to that.
Now, we mail out the CD, but with the full intention of waiting until she calls to tell us she loves it and we have the gig, and then telling her to go f**k herself. Frank calls and tells us he really wants us to do the show, just to shove it up this woman's ass. We agree to do the show....
Two days later this airhead bimbo calls Gregg and congratulates him on us getting the gig. (wow...the Bulletboys! Whooopie!!!) Then she reminds him that the BB's are a national act, and therefore need their - now get this - national space. Gregg asks her what the hell that means, and she basically tells him that we can't bother them while they're in their dressing room.
Gregg by now has had enough, and tells her "Lady, no offense, but I really couldn't give a shit about the BB's. We have our own dressing room at the top of the stairs that we use. I warm up in there and the guys hang out. We don't care about any other band. So don't worry, there won't be any requests for pictures or autographs. We could care less." She actually doesn't get annoyed at this, and so the show is on. This is clearly a case of someone who thinks that they're waaaaaay more important than they really are. I mean, we didn't go through this shit opening for RATT, Warrant or Dio. The Bulletboys? Pretty Boy Floyd? :rolleyes:
So...we go into this gig fully expecting it to be a nightmare. It's not always smooth and easy, folks! We have a pool going. Which one of either the band, the road crew, the soundman or the club owner will tell this woman to go f**k herself first? My money's on Gregg! :lol: