By befriending, or, GASP, "becoming involved with" any longtime musician, you will invariably and without exception have the good fortune of moving the same lame-ass box(es) of unsold records and CD's that have come to be in their possession; many from bands long since dead and forgotten.
If that sounds like a good way to spend the occasional weekend every few years or so - "Did someone say 'free beer'?" - then, by all means, jump in with both feet, but, be warned: There will always be more. New bands require new albums, t-shirts, & beer coozies. Old bands, too. Before you know it, you and the lifelong musician will have settled into a comfortable life together competely uninterrupted by any level of sudden success, yet more albums will be recorded and some will even be released.
Heck, some will even sell a few dozen, but the unsold EIGHT BOXES will follow you around like Sgt. Columbo, slowly wearing you down with every move.
Before you know it, a bigger truck will be required just to move the "crap that will never sell" and a frustrated spouse begins gazing lustily at the nearest construction dumpster. With one late-night visit, all of your future back problems could be avoided and just think of all the space you'd have for your Beanie babies!!
It'd be months before your musical half even realizes they're gone.
Before long, it isn't just the devil on your shoulder, but the angel as well, both screaming "DO IT!!"
Nah, you say, too much sentimental value.
And then the unthinkable happens: After decades of TRYING to give the people what they want and failing miserably, you're finally a part of something that people actually want to buy.
How did that happen, you ask?
It takes a little while to get used to the sensation of reaching into your pocket and there actually being a few crumpled up dollar bills in there, but you eventually adjust and then the unthinkable happens again: You sell through all of your shit.
In the same split second, you feel complete joy and then, BOOM, total heartbreak.
The joy hits the moment you see the words "SOLD OUT" on your website and realize that you finally sold every - last - single - fucking - copy of something that you made. Your dad says "Quit while you're on top" - haha, thanks Pop.
The heartbreak comes when you realize that you have to...RE-ORDER.
Oh shit, is THIS what it feels like to call the pressing plant and actually talk to the person who sold you the first batch and tell 'em that you need more? I thought that only happened in the movies.
It isn't always just a matter of ordering the same quantity, either. I mean, if you blew through 300 copies of your new 7" single and the west coast tour doesn't start for another month, you might wanna double the quantity...or did we blow through all the money thinking such a day would never come and haven't got the liquidity at present to re-order?
Man, have you ever had to borrow money to re-order t-shirts or vinyl because you honestly didn't think such a day would ever come and the person you're borrowing from (Hi Dad!) just scratches their head at how you couldn't at least have imagined such a scenario...and, if not, then why are we doing it?
Ouch, Daddy-O. Make check payable to my LLC, thanks.
Tags:
time to re-order