Brian Michael Bendis, �Daredevil: Volume 6�
Let�s give this a subtitle � something like �my near-brush with fame spoiled by Stephen King and my general cheapness.�
So the complaints from post previous still hold true. I�m overworked and overwhelmed. There are still basically two of us at the paper putting it all together every week, and it�s been like that since September. One of the other bartenders at the other job has to cover shifts with his main employer, meaning the rest of us have to take up the slack. In the meantime, there�s still all the things going on with my father, which I�ll have to save for another post. The result is that pretty much every waking moment with me is spent working or researching, along with writing. Of course, the logistics aren�t always easy to convey to others.
Take last Friday, for example. Somewhere around 4pm, we finally accepted that the other writer for bar reviews was flaking on his assignment, meaning I would need to write it myself. In the meantime, I had an assignment to produce a fucking gift guide for the issue due out December 5th, meaning I would have to wander blindly among the shoppers of the damned over Thanksgiving weekend, attempting to find unusual items that could be featured. And then, we found that our page count had been extended, meaning we needed another film review to fulfill the page count. Since I also had to work Saturday, beginning in the early afternoon, the only day I could do all these assignments was on Sunday.
Two hours later, I was at my bar, ready to start my shift there. I mentioned all the stuff that I had to do for the paper to my co-worker. She looked unimpressed.
�So what you�re saying,� she said, �is you have to go shopping, then go to a movie, and then to the bar. It sounds rough.�
�Yeah, OK, I�m an asshole,� I said. �I�ve had worse jobs.�
.I take all of that back, however. Because now I�m convinced that the only reason that shopping malls weren�t included in Dante�s circles of Hell is because he lacked the imagination. Four hours of wandering around blindly around Ala Moana Shopping Center is punishment enough, so much so that I found a bar in the food court to write about, simply so I could say how much I hate shopping malls.
Then it was time for the movie. I drove for about 10 minutes to get to yet another shopping mall (just in case you thought we were an island paradise), and found out I had missed the start by about 25 minutes. I had enough things to write about, and waiting for another hour and a half to see a two-hour movie. I decided to go home and write what I had.
On Monday, I finished up what we could for the newspaper and headed to yet another shopping center so I could review the newest Stephen King adaptation, The Mist (hey, it was either that or Enchanted). I�m not a movie reviewer, though I�ve done a couple, mostly things that I wanted to make sure were treated by somebody who knows something about the film itself. Since I joined the staff, the only movie reviews I�ve done have been for Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Danny Boyle�s Sunshine, 300 and Michael Moore�s, Sicko. Though I also did last-minute reviews of post-Mystery Science Theater 3000 people in lieu of The Film Crew and The Muppet Show.
Anyhoo, as for The Mist? Well, Shawshank Redemption, it�s not. I read the story when I was 15 and loved it, so much so that I thought it would be a great movie. Of course, I didn�t have a whole lot of sense at 15. But I was optimistic. The story has the potential to be a great horror movie. Which it wasn�t. But it wasn�t bad either. Believe it or not, that makes it harder to write about, because you want to let people know that there might be parts that they like � they just won�t really like it.
This is where the brush with fame comes in. It was 9:30 in the evening. I had to be back at work at the paper in 12 hours, but first, I needed to write this review (sorry, but I can�t post a link yet). I drove to my house. Or at least I tried. I decided I would have a beer and mull over what I wanted to write.
Now, my bar is next to The Hideaway. Both have their advantages and disadvantages. My bar has air conditioning and is better lit on the positive side, but there was a live band playing at the time making it harder to concentrate and write. In addition, I knew that there would be a good chance of some regulars being there, and I would need to talk to them instead of working on the article. The dive bar also had the possibility of seeing people I knew, but a lot of them were used to seeing me huddled over notes, working on a story. I decided to go to the dive bar next door to try and piece together what I had just seen in a coherent review. Plus, I have to admit, I knew I could tip less, seeing how they weren't people I worked with.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst by me, Eddie Vedder was drinking and cavorting at my bar, eventually joining the house cover band for a few songs.
My first reaction after hearing about his appearance is, �who the fuck cares?� I never liked Pearl Jam, and I couldn�t give a shit about some rock star appearance. Apparently, it was just what one would expect, with awe-stuck people buying drinks for the one person who can afford to buy his own. But I�m still sorry I missed the chance to meet him, if only for one reason, I would have finally had the opportunity to tell him that I thought he was a phony piece of shit.
See, I�ve been making that statement for over a decade now. More important, I can back it up. There was a time when Pearl Jam decided to campaign for the rights of their fans. They stated publicly that ticketmaster, the organization that makes it possible to get advance tickets for big concerts, had a monopoly on venues. Which is absolutely true. But what Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam were upset about was that ticketmaster tacked on a $2 fee for their service. They, Vedder and company claimed, were exploiting their fans.
To which I said from the beginning, �bullshit.� If they were so concerned about their fans, they could have lowered their ticket prices to make up for it. At the time, Pearl Jam tickets were going for an average of $45 to $75 dollars. I say anybody who is willing to pay those prices for a flash-in-the-pan copycat grunge band deserves to get fleeced an extra two dollars. But even so, if they were that concerned, I say they should lower their ticket prices. It�s not unusual. Shortly before their rise to fame, every stadium rock band tour except for the Grateful Dead lost money (and I�m assuming that�s only because people who are actually willing to go to a Grateful Dead show are too stupid to know they�re being ripped off.)
Eventually, the market reacted. Van Halen played in the Bay Area with tickets lowered to a $15 starting price. Other big-name acts followed with discounted tickets. And then Lollapalooza happened.
I admit it � I went to the first Lollapalooza. Why wouldn�t I? It was the Violent Femmes, Butthole Surfers, Rollins Band, Ice T & Body Count, Nine Inch Nails, Living Colour, Siouxsie & the Banshees and Jane�s Addiction, and lawn seating cost twenty bucks. (Violent Femmes ended up not playing our show, and I was blacked out during Living Colour and most of Nine Inch Nails, so don�t get too jealous.) In any case, I�m glad I went, but in a way I�m also sorry.
Lollapalooza was the first stadium tour to make its money back in five years, and from it, I believe, people remembered that they liked seeing concerts. Ticket prices shot back up to unreasonable levels and I was so indignant over price gouging that I probably missed my only chance to see Tom Waits. (Yes, Klugarsh, I should have been at that same show and heard all about it, including the �you still live out by the airport?� comment by the people who offered to reserve my ticket. You can make me a copy of the show if you still love me.)
In the meantime, Fugazi�s approach was getting wide press coverage. For the un-hip, Fugazi was, and probably is, one of the most important bands in the musical pantheon. From their inception, they played by their own rules, recording albums out of genre, but more importantly, never relying on the mainstream to insure success. They refused to do interviews for any mainstream magazine that had advertising for tobacco. They never were enticed by major labels and their promises of money and fame. And most important, they refused to play any venue that insisted charging more than (at the time) $5 for a ticket. (By the time of their last tour, that price had risen to $8.)
And they were succeeding, hence the media attention. I saw them a few times, but I�ll never forget seeing them in with 10,000 other people in Oakland. I don�t normally like huge shows, but this was great, and I knew even with my poor math skills, that $5 times 10,000 tickets still equals a fuckload of money.
Other bands tried to emulate their philosophy. We booked Green Day at a bowling alley in Sunnyvale just before their major label release of �Dookie,� where they insisted on the same restrictions on ticket price. But Lollapalooza changed all that. And a few months later, Green Day was playing stadiums run by ticketmaster with prices starting in the $25 range. And prices kept getting higher.
That�s when Pearl Jam came along with their marketing about protecting their fans from a $2 service charge. The newspapers, either ignorant of the Fugazi phenomenon or intentionally ignoring it, spoke of their efforts in breathless adoration. And Eddie and company kept up their pretense of outrage all the way to congressional hearings. All the while I was screaming at the television and newspaper reports that they should simply lower their prices if they were so worried about �protecting their fans.�
As a statement, Pearl Jam played in an untested field, like in the case of the original Woodstock, simply to avoid having to play in a venue not controlled by the advance ticket giant. Ticket prices started at $40, with a two dollar service fee for advance tickets. And none of the media covering the event said shit.
Soon after, the media attention died down. Ticketmaster still has their stronghold over the larger venues, assuming they can still fill said venues. Pearl Jam broke up, or at least stopped being relevant in terms of media coverage. Ticket prices are still in the upper stratosphere, which is too bad, considering The Police will be playing here in February, and I�ll probably skip it due to outrageous ticket prices, even though I�ve always liked The Police.
And so I stopped in to my bar tonight to make sure I wasn�t working tomorrow (as it turns out, I am). That�s when I heard about Vedder�s appearance. I asked around, to see what happened. What I�ve heard so far is that everybody bought him drinks (who, of course, is the one guy in there who can afford to buy his own, yet didn�t seem to reciprocate), and then, after trying to stay disguised for a while, decided to jump on stage to sing a few songs with the cover band. Way to stay in the shadows, Eddie.
The people who told me about what happened last night with his appearance were ecstatic about witnessing the event, and good for them. I was sorry I missed it too, particularly as I was apparently next door when it happened. But I�m sorry I missed it because I�ve been saying this for the last decade, and I have this strange feeling he would have been willing to discuss it, if only to get away from the adoration.
Somehow, I feel Stephen King would have approved, and yet it�s his fault.
