Why trying to get a book published these days is like trying to suck your own cock By Opium Dennis

I wrote a book. It’s not Thus Spake Zarathustra or A Clockwork Orange, but it’s decent enough for a first effort. Now I want to get it published. So would you if you’d literally been driven mad in the process of writing and editing the swine. I was possessed to the point where I saw blue spiders burrowing into my palms. I spent weeks without speaking to a soul and with only my fracturing psyche for company. Of course, it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to flagellate yourself to create great art. But for this particular story I had to live it, no acting or contrivance, feeling the way the character felt, even if that meant feeling like fucking the wet sand your sister just pissed on. Problem is, our dear friends in the publishing industry have little interest in whether or not your work is authentic, from a real place that will connect, perhaps, with others. It sounds so obvious, but they want work that is GUARANTEED TO SELL. Doesn’t matter if it’s the most spineless, yellow-bellied, cookie cutter shit you’ve ever clapped eyes on – if it’s been written by a celebrity cook or singer then those pound signs start pulsing in Jemimah Bookseller’s noggin, down come her coolots and there’s Satan’s black cucumber fucking her in the ass before you can say ‘Henry Miller wouldn’t have stood for this shit’.

It’s enough to make you sick. Just a peep in the window of your average bookseller and you see what gets those registers a-singing: books by The Stig (lord love a duck), Jeremy Clarkson, Alan ‘fucking’ Sugar Tits, Cheryl Cole out of Girls Aloud, Dannii Minogue – and then of course the parade of cuntdom that is the ‘celebrity cook TV series spin-off’ by a variety of the country’s most fuckhanded individuals – Jamie ‘please piss on my face’ Oliver, Nigella ‘my Dad looks like a used condom but I’m happy to lick the cake mixture off your terrific cock’ Lawson, Huge Fearnley Cripplestalk and, of course, England’s number one cunt (sorry Bono, you’re Irish) and bully, Gordon Ramsays. He says ‘fuck’. It’s his trademark. “Make sure you put a few ‘fucks’ in with the recipes, Gordo, give the punters what they want, eh?” Page 78 - Chicken fucking curry with a side fucking garnish of fucking mindless bullying because Daddy didn’t love me, and I felt so, so small, now fucking cook it again and don’t burn it this time or I’ll say fuck again, or maybe even something really scary like I’M JUST A FRIGHTENED LITTLE BOY AND I’M GOING TO BULLY YOU SO I FEEL BETTER, EVEN THOUGH I’M 50 AND LOOK LIKE GRANITE MAN.

However, the book that really, really got my goat was Food for Friends by Levi Roots, featuring the Reggae Reggae Sauce man on the cover laughing like a Rastafarian hyena at the bewildering fact that he’s got a book on the shelf when all he’s ever done is jazz up tomato sauce a bit and wank off a dragon. I’m sure he’s a real nice guy, but that image and that book summed up for me what has gone wrong ACROSS THE FACE OF WESTERN CIVILISATION. Yes, Mr Roots, you are the epitome of the downfall of all that is sacred to God and man. It’s not your fault. Like so many, you’re just a puppet. But you symbolize the rot at the heart of the modern age, a disgusting disease that has been going on for some decades and has now reached epidemic proportions. It’s called ‘progress’… and it kills.

Look at how music used to be recorded (and still is in some enlightened quarters, like my kitchen) – analogue, none of this digital malarkey to ‘make things easier’. And guess what? 90% of digitally recorded music sounds like a dog turd in the ear compared to the lovely angelic golden masterpiece of heaven that is analogue sound. Maybe it’s just my luggers, but I can barely fathom how we could have mastered such a wondrous process only to desecrate it in the name of ‘progress’ – meaning convenience. Now you can replicate virtually any sound and ‘it sounds just like the real thing, yeah?’ Does it fuckola. The point is that there is SOUL in doing something, anything IN THE MOMENT, FROM SOURCE, and to condense these magical experiences into easily approximated mutations for the sake of convenience is to entirely miss the point, and DIE LIKE A SYPHILLIS-RIDDLED WEASEL IN A JELLY OF YOUR OWN PUS.

And so the ghouls and vampires of the advertising/marketing deathzone centre in on what they perceive as the ‘value point’ in anything, the soul or magic or wonder of a thing, and extract it and reduce it into a quantifiable and sellable product, usually these days in the form of an ‘experience’. Yet to do as such renders the true magic of the moment, the real experience, a lifeless facsimile of itself. Life is a living thing, and these murderous and vile roosters would sell their own babies’ quivering labias to the highest bidder, obliterating the life force from Life itself, reducing the gardens of Eden into parking lots for mummies as they drink the blood of virgin midgets and fellate camels in hospital waiting rooms.

Where was I? Oh yes – Levi Roots. These fidgety, cock-headed, whelk-pussied, juggle-nosed piss drinkers called publishers love fellers like Levi - instantly recognizable, ‘celebrity’ product. And the programmed masses lap it up like bukkake veterans. Of course there are novelists aplenty of merit on the shelves, yet a cursory glance at the bestseller list reveals a festering heap of clowns’ cocks, homogenized literary sick rice, a dizzying succession of ‘meaty’ novels about someone’s uncle in Ireland who fucked a tree and now the Pope’s got a hardon (just as a little aside, don’t you think the Pope looks the very ARCHETYPE OF A PAEDOPAPA?)

Phew, maybe I’ve got a little worked up under the collar about this, and maybe I’m actually adding to the overall malaise, but WHY CAN’T THEY JUST RECOGNISE A GENIUS WHEN THEY SEE ONE AND GIVE ME A BIG BAG OF MONEY?

bikes and rock climbers...

…new bike? By Judge DAmNation.

Oh, have you bought a new bike? Great, what make is it? That really well-known purveyor of bikes everyone who knows anything about bikes says us good? That’s cool. Do you have a photo of it, or lots of pictures from different angles? Brilliant… You’ve got Spizz-Monkey 10k Shock Absorbers? Wow, cool. Do you have a reflective badge shaped like the Honey Monster, or those stupid clacky beads that go on the spokes? They come free in Sugar Puffs…

Hang on, what year is this? It’s not 1992 – you mean I’m a grown up, not a child, and subsequently I don’t give two shrieking fucks about your bike? That’s alright then – to be honest, even if I was bud I still wouldn’t be interested – whereas if you happen to own a Red Venom Spaceship from Manta Force I ight still be impressed…

So you have a bike, do you? Well congratulations, you are now officially a “Fucking Menace” (registered Trademark.)

Yeah, it does look like a lot of fun freewheeling down that hill, feet motionless on the pedals- I’ll be it’s even more of a treat for the snaking queue of cars tailgating you down that hill, foot hovering desperately over the brake to prevent momentum from dragging you under their wheels, a precaution I fail to the point of frankly.

Isn’t it annoying though, having to wait at traffic lights along with the other – oh wait, you’ve just sailed on through without stopping. Oh I see, you’re above the laws of the road because you’re an eco-warrior, saving the planet one little bell-tinkle at a time? ….

You just ride on the pavement. No, fair enough….

Yeah I know trucks and Hum-V’s are bad for the environment – they also look fucking cool, don’t they? You’re unlikely to see Christian Bale in the next Batman film, careering out of the Batcave on a stupid long handled contraption, before folding it up into a suitcase and going into his council meeting about new dustbins, still wearing his highlighter-pen yellow trousers like a dick, now are you?

And at least I can count on a Hum-V to stay in the fucking road, regardless of how many lanes it may take up – I’m not going to suddenly see one wobbling down the pavement towards me, chopping down pensioners in its wake with your stupid helmet-wearing face in an expressions of imbecile obliviousness.

Oh you don’t wear a helmet. I’m sure you’re keen to do your bit for good old Mother Earth, and save a few pennies against petrol or bus fare while you’re about it, but to be honest I care a bit less about your Carbon Footprint than I do about your handlebar currently impaling my pancreas. How much have you saved by the way? Make sure to bring it with you to court on Monday…

…some rocks? By Judge DAmNation.

Who’s that mate of yours, what’s he looking so smug about? Oh he does climbing does he? I’d love to see a Facebook App saying where he’s been….

“Mike has just been climbing on Some Rock that’s near a Bridge.”

Wow, I wish I could have been there. I might download that App myself…

“Judge DAmNation has just been climbing out of a Monumental Trough of Boredom.”

Hey, this is fun! Yes, I know he likes climbing. Why doesn’t he do it without a rope then? Well, it’s kind of pointless otherwise, isn’t it? People go rambling or walking in the mountains, but they don’t stablisers to their fucking legs do they?

“Judge DAmNation walked from Rusty Cattle Grid across a field to poky looking turnstile Cowpaths trodden in : 1. Human Fatalities : 6.”

I’m beginning to understand that “buzz” or “rush” you were talking about now.

Remind me again how you delete friends? No, I mean in real life, lol.

Write your own title. Heart Alice Damages...

When asked to do 'something' for the next 'Supergeräusche' issue the singular 'Damages' mind quivered with a kind of excitement over the vast number of possible subjects to pick from. However, trying to fit 3 almost fully grown people onto one keyboard to write something readable by human eyes is harder than you might think, so we drew you a picture, it's possibly the diagram of the perfect being. I mean, SEE FOR YOURSELF.

Seeing as I'm doing so well at writing all by myself, maybe I'll extend what was to be a simple introduction of a joint effort into something more of a short story I've been wanting to write for a while. Here we go. You can write your own title on the dotted line, you can call it just about whatever you like.

Love From Alice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"There's this place I've been going, this point between a light and a shade. Just below the morning, underneath the settling of dew. I have to climb through that thick black air that covers the night, as it gently recedes it feels like it could be satin; and I'm there. Have you ever stepped into a complete hollow Elizabeth?" He questioned, while deciding between plain or chocolate coated digestive biscuits, an extremely difficult and crucial decision.

She crushed a beige crumb to dust on the perfectly flat and solid table the couple had come to see as a friend. "I don't believe i have." She paused, as if to reconsider her answer before continuing with a hasty "Go for a chocolate one."

"Your right, chocolate it is. How could someone hesitate over a choice like that. It's crazy."

"It really is Henry, are you sure everything is alright, this place you were telling me about..."

"It's slowly becoming more difficult to see where the chocolate digestive begins and the plain one ends, but it's not that that bothers me. If anything it's been making the real problem slightly easier to deal with. Every morning, i wash, i dress, i check my reflection to be certain I'm still here, i sit, opposite you, and upwards from the table, day in, day out stare two biscuits identical to the ones the day before and the day before that. Everyday my hand reaches towards the chocolate coated one without fail. So why everyday is there still a plain biscuit staring up at me?"

"I thought you might like something different for a change, I'm sorry if you find that life altering proposal intimidating Henry." Elizabeth rose, removing the constantly rejected biscuit from the table and placing it into a small brown paper bag, walked straight out of the front door, laying the package on the road, standing back and watching as the tyres of strangers cars smashed the poor morsel to dust.

Henry smiled to himself, at least it couldn't get to him now. "Today will be a good day."

Blackjack, the magic detective cat.

Blackjack, the magic detective cat.

Every now and then a little memo card comes in the post for Blackjack the cat. He's always up before his owners so they don't know he gets the mail, it’s only the Postie who thinks a person called Blackjack is a bit queer but it’s another piece of his job. On this morning Blackjack got on such memo card... "Dear Blackjack, I would be humbled by your assistance since my Grandfather Waffles has gone missing and we've been unable to contact him. Yours Faithfully, Shimla."

She seemed desperate. Blackjack who stood strong to his true moral heart decided his bowl of Whiskers could wait a few hours and headed out of the house to the address on the card.

On arriving at the house Blackjack gave that native cat meow greeting to call out Shimla, who pottered out looking rather lost and upset. She explained that her Grandfather Waffles had been kidnapped and she had a ransom note demanding 1000 litres of fish paste. No cat apart from the Kitten of Brunei could afford 100 litres of fish paste!

On looking at the note Blackjack deducted it was a male cat from the aggressive tone and claw writing style. He decided however based on the lack of information in the note, further investigation would be needed and Fred owner of Das Tot Maus Bar would be the ideal informant...

Blackjack told Shimla to stay home and he'd sort the whole thing out. Das Tot Maus Bar was on the other side of town, a rough neighbourhood full of multiple seedy characters. The interior of the bar was dated and unclean, Blackjack however had himself a double Cream on the Rocks. He drank it in one and began to speak with Fred.
"How's business Fred?", "Slow Mr. ...jack, no one really comes here now. I only ever see you when you want information?", "I'm sorry Fred about the business, some information would be appreciated and I could give you some extra income for your troubles?", "What you wanna know Mr ..jack?" Blackjack shows Fred the note and it turns out he knows about the matter...

He's a mean one, don't know his real name. Everyone calls him 'No Tail' on the account of a bad scrap once, he lost his tail but the other cat's dead. I heard this old guy Waffles had created a crazy invention that will change the world of cats. All I can give you is No Tail lives down by Dockyard, dock number 17. Blackjack handed over some Kitty Treats, thanked him and headed towards the dockyard.

The docks were another notoriously rough area, stalked by Sailor Cats. There was a large group of Sailor Cats on the end of dock 17, it appeared the SS Pussy was back and its crew were on shore leave. The crew seemed ready to unleash pent up sea anger with a good bout of fighting, this didn't worry Blackjack who was a high level belt in the ancient art of Catjitsu.

One of the crew, Baggins, shouted at Blackjack and demanded some action fresh from his battles against the sea. Before Blackjack could reply Baggins was swinging his huge fists about like the huge oaf he was, a quick cat kick and paw swipe to the neck rendered Baggins unconscious The rest of the crew parted like the Red Sea when they saw what Blackjack was capable of, he continued his journey to the end of dock 17....

At the end of the dock was a large ominous looking warehouse. Blackjack found a backway in that was unguarded. He heard voices behind the massive crates. "Only you know how to work the device, you must tell us how to use it." "NEVER! You want to use it for evil!" "Haha, you know my kind too well. If you don't I will eventually kill you with all this torture." "I'd rather die than unleash your twisted mind on the world!" "Very well..." Some horrid electric noise was made and there was an awful smell of burning fur. Blackjack looked from above the crates to see No Tail with his henchmen flicking a switch which sent electric currents through a wire coat hanger Waffles was strapped to. On a table was the device they were talking about, it looked like a walky talky in a collar.

Time to put this mistreatment to an end, thought Blackjack as he jumped into the centre of the action.
"WHO ARE YOU?" screamed No Tail.
"I'm here to rescue a friend and put an end to your shenanigans. Now! You either let the device and Waffles go or else!" replied Blackjack.

"Oh hahaha, you are going to stop me and my henchmen? I'm keeping both and you're going to be dog meat. Henchmen attack!!!"

Half a dozen henchmen flew at Blackjack who sprang in the air and used the surrounding crates to bounce off and unleash chops and kicks. Within minutes him and No Tail were the only ones standing. "Right, time to finish you properly!"

No Tail ran straight at Blackjack who with a swift kick launched No Tail out of a window into the sea. Through the sea howls you could remotely hear No Tail screaming as cats do when dropped into water.

"Time for you to see Shimla!" said Blackjack to Waffles who was slightly burnt but very thankful to be going home. Blackjack picked up the invention, they left and walked along the dock which was getting misty now with sea fog.

As they walked Blackjack's Great Uncle Jasper suddenly appeared in a fog. This was bizarre because he'd been dead the last 2 years however in Blackjack's line of work nothing surprised him anymore. Great Uncle Jasper said that kitty heaven was great but he'd foreseen a horrible future where Waffle's invention had been used for evil purposes and cats had enslaved the human race! Some humans are indeed evil to their pets however the majority are not and we should live in harmony. The invention needed to be destroyed! Waffle's agreed with Jasper, if one evil cat wanted it for bad uses imagine what the rest might do. And with that Waffle's took the invention from Blackjack and tossed it into the sea, the caustic seawater instantly blew up the invention’s circuitry.

Blackjack and Waffles walked to Shimla's house talking about the whole ordeal. When the pair got outside the house Waffle's asked how he could repay Blackjack, to which Blackjack replied "Its my job, as long as you're safe and sound that's my repayment." "There aren't many cats left like you", was the response as he went in the house. As Blackjack walked home he caught a glimpse of a happy Shimla hugging her Grandfather, which warmed his heart as did the thought that his bowl of Whiskers was waiting at home for him. Fini.

Von Rutter Ping Pong Delay

Ping Pong Delay is a digital delay that uses two short digi chips in conjunction to give a longer sound.
Although digi tends to = cheap Mr Rutter has tried to play to digitals advantages, get analog type sounds and attempted to deliver additional benefits/functionality not always offered by digital or analog delays. Its a complex little beast to get a grip of espically if you've only used a basic MIX/REPEATS type echo.

There are two on/offs a true bypass for tone clarity and effect on/off, both must be on for it to work however the effect switch off allows feedback trails to continue and fade off.

An Expression Pedal is offered to remote control the feedback level of one delay chip, allowing for self osc craziness.

The size is nice, about 2 MXR style boxes stuck together. Gives enough space to allow both foot switches to be depressed but allows it to be small enough to fit on a crowded pedal board.

Having the two chips allows for dual repeat times and adds a bit of complexity to the standard setup, they are both linked to the same feedback.

There's a few toggle switches to add features. A bright/dark switch (a low pass filter) to change the sound of the echoes, the dark effect gives something like a tape delay repeat. A type switch, selecting an echo type gives echo echo echo trails and a ping pong type sound with a single repeat.
Finally a switch to select whether to use the effects loop or not. The effects loop, like you would find in an amp, allows a series of pedals go before the delay circuitry (allows tone junkies to open up all kinds of possibilities and end with the delay as you'd expect). Its a shame the effects loop isn’t a stomp switch since being able to select the loop without bending over would have been handy, its a nice feature though.

With all these functions its a nice little delay that's different enough. Overall it does feel like its not totally sure what it is though, a digital delay like the Akai E2 provides a low pass filter, trailing echos with tap tempo or a MXR Carbon Copy provides similar length analog delays with dark delays. The Akai doesn't have true bypass, the MXR doesn't have trails so maybe a half way house like this is a gap.

Being from such a limited edition batch (this was among the first he produced) its not likely many of these will ever come up but its nice to have something documented on it somewhere.

Von Rutter produces all kinds of pedals now either singly in MXR style containers or dual ones like this in the bigger enclosures, he seems to have rectified some issues with this pedal on newer ones. He allows you to mix and match various circuits from what he's produced (e.g. a fuzz into a delay). You could do worse than to check out his current range ...

Burford Electronics 'Cybertron'

I recently came across this little beast on an ebay mission, described as ring modulator esq sounds with a filter sounded like a good addition to a skronkers pedal board.

Having now got it, the 'ring mod esq' is firmly in the 'esq'. The 'Cybertron' takes your guitar signal and modulates it with an internal oscillator, giving a synthetic quality to the original guitar signal.
"What are you talking about? Your ring mod article a few months ago described this concept as ring modulation." you say to yourself. True this is ring modulation; however there is some additional circuitry at work.
There appears to be some find of mild fuzz circuitry in the mix along with the VCF (voltage controlled filter). Unfortunately you cannot adjust the fuzz level, gain or colouration.
A gain control overall would have been a nice addition since there is a slight volume drop, but on the plus side there is a noise gate in there so no osc sounds leak out while you don’t play.
The VCF switch adds a sweeping sound based on the pitch you play at, it adds a bit of variety to the box and definitely helps make it a more skronky number. When the VCF is off its usable as a half way house between modulation and fuzz, plus it doesn't sound exactly like anything else you'd have got your teeth into before. It seems to work best picking individual notes or power chords, however it isn’t monophonic so you wont get confused circuitry sounds if you hit two strings at the same time.

To my mind the 'Cybertron' feels like the guitarists useable mxr blue box, its doesn’t do the octave down thing but you can make weird noise that still sounds like a guitar. Alan Exley at Burford Electronics has designed this specifically for guitar it feels, unlike similar effects (refering to the blue box, again) you can't use that many other instruments on it other than stringed numbers with a pickup or a keyboard (i tried an analogue casio number and it sounded sweet).

The 'Cybertron' is no longer made as 'Cybertron', probably due to the Transformers franchise connotations. Reading up on the Burford Electronics site at projectguitarparts.co.uk I think 'Techno lo – fi' is probably the closest match, it seems the VCF on/off is now an adjustable pot, which would be better, and you have some control over the fuzz colouration.

I think if you're after something a bit different there are plenty of options out there, however a gander at the Burford site might be a starting place, esp when Alan's boutique pedals are available at a reasonable price compared to the Z Vex

The Internet Hates You...

The Internet Hates You And Everything You Do. James Cole.
You used to be a little band, playing a few gigs locally, building up fans, working on your material. You were aiming for bigger gigs in bigger cities. You wanted to get noticed, first by journalists, then by the record labels. Maybe not the big ones, but you thought you had a fair shot at a credible indie label. You were a growing fish in a small pond and you had every intention of being in the right place at the right time to upgrade to a bigger pond, with gravel, and bitches. Then you posted your music on the internet.
It seemed like a good idea, didn’t it? The Arctic Monkeys did it and went straight to number one. Besides, it can’t hurt to let people hear what you do. Maybe a few more people will come check you out live. Perhaps even a journalist or label scout will come across you and accelerate your rise to that coveted third slot on the Rhombus Stage at Glastonbury. You never know your chances, right?
True. And it’s entirely possible that these things could happen. However, let’s have a closer look at those chances. Roughly 1.8 billion people have access to the internet at this moment in time. Even acknowledging that the bulk of those come from Westernised democratic countries (sorry Somalia, you can have broadband when the last man standing lets us know it’s calmed down a bit), it seems reasonable to assume that a screamingly small percentage of those 1,800,000,000 people are music journalists or record label minions. It’s much like real life in that respect, only in real life you’re still far more likely to be in the right place at the right time. Stepping up to the internet and hoping you’ll be noticed is like taking a piss in the Atlantic and hoping it gets to Boston. Two years ago Google announced that it had found and cached one trillion unique urls, and the indexable web as it stands has a minimum of 25 billion pages. It’s a big place.
At this point you might be thinking “Shit. I’m going to need to stand out in some way”. You would be right. In my personal opinion this boils down to one of two things, either:
a) A gimmick, which you create, send to your friends, post wherever you can and which, you hope, will go viral and get you noticed, or:
b) Being really fucking good.
Guess which one of these is most popular. Now guess which one works. Hint: it also works in real life, too.
Any number of bands have gone online with their music and their gimmick and had a crack at winning the hearts and minds of everyone who sees it. Well done them. Every time I get an email with the subject line “OMG you HAVE to see this band video!!” I know I’m about to have an encounter with a group of wannabe rock stars and the things they’ll do to their dignity in order to make it. It will be buried under a ton of After Effects ‘magic’, and it will probably feature some attempt at humourous self-deprecation, which I guess at least cuts out the middle man. Even the best gimmicks rarely work, the classic example being Ok Go. They’ve released two excellent YouTube videos, one featuring a treadmill dance, the other a Rube Goldberg device timed to the song’s beat. These guys are clearly bright and creative, but did it benefit their music? No. The first video helped Here It Goes Again to creep into the bottom of the top forty, the second is widely considered to have had a negligible effect on the sales of both the single itself and the album it came from.
At this point you might justifiably be thinking that some successful bands have gimmicks. To some extent I would agree with you. I would, however, point out that none of those gimmicks were created for, or based on, the internet. They also tend to belong to those who also fall under the category of being really fucking good. Kiss dress like tin foil wizards on stage. Is that their gimmick? No: their gimmick is looking like Hogwarts Vice and being really fucking good. David Bowie used five or six different personalities in the seventies. Was that his gimmick? No: his gimmick was a slightly cracked mind and being really fucking good. Gimmicks work if, and only if, they are part of the character of the band and backed up by genuine talent. Kiss are show-offs, and it works, because they’re very good at what they do. Bowie is a chameleon, and it works, because he took that side of his personality and used it as a channel for his musical gifts.
Back to the internet, then. What happens to the average gimmick? If you’re lucky, it does go viral. People pass it on, watch it, are entertained by it, and then forget about it. If you’re unlucky, well... Remember those 1.8 billion net users? A significant proportion of them will delight in your inadequacy. I know. I’m one of them. And either way, you lose, because the entertainment value is all right there in the gimmick itself. Whether it works or not I don’t need to click on your homepage and listen to your music, because the gimmick gave me all the amusement I needed and it didn’t cost me anything. Why should I pay for your product when I can just wait for the next viral video to entertain me instead? The internet has plenty of advice on how to create your own gimmick, so I can reasonably assume I won’t be waiting long.
I don’t understand where this desperate ‘look at me’ style of internet marketing has come from. I genuinely believe you are no more likely to be noticed on the internet than in real life, and significantly less likely to be noticed at all unless you fulfil the really fucking good clause. There are constant references to the Arctic Monkeys being the start of a period of internet discovery, but they weren’t. And they didn’t need a gimmick. They just put their songs online and enough people thought they were really fucking good. If they’d turned out to be a fifty-something man who liked the adoration of teenagers we might be telling a very different story, of course.
None of this means that I’m in any way against the use of the internet for musical purposes. I just don’t think it’s being used properly. By all means maintain a website and have your songs online to listen to, even to download if you want. A free song for your new fans isn’t going to hurt you at all. Just don’t go online expecting to get discovered, and definitely don’t go online with the intention of ramming your gimmick down people’s throats. I hate that, and by extension, so does everybody else. The internet has opened up a million useful possibilities for your new band: you can create band merchandise, get your records duplicated and packaged, get your recordings properly mastered, and get in touch with venues and promoters much more easily. The internet has given every band the advantages previously only available to the wealthy or to those on labels, and it has had the added bonus of increasing competition and thus lowering prices. This means you can get out there gigging, making real fans, and attempting to beat the real competition of other bands by doing the one thing you can do that makes you stand head and shoulders above the 1,799,999,999 other people online.
Being really fucking good.