News Alert — Not

Let me see if I’ve got this straight:  you’re reporting on an industry which is peopled top-to-bottom with lowlife scum and where the amoral depravity of the performers is matched only by the greed, avarice and venality of their managers;  and when you discover that the place was basically Sodom & Gomorrah squared, you clutch your pearls and reach for the smelling salts?

Porn, sex toys, cocaine, a Rolodex of groupies and boasts about manhood size – the sordid truth about life inside Atlantic Records, the label behind Aretha and the Rolling Stones

This is like finding condoms in Bill Clinton’s wallet:  not news.  And lest we forget:  it’s not like journalism is much different, morality-wise.  What a bunch of tools.

As for the [whistle] blower:  she lived in a world of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll for year after year, but didn’t quit.  Then she jumped a few musicians and wondered why she was treated like a spare piece of ass in the office.

Sympathy have I none.


  1. That reminds me of why I got into chemical engineering in the first place – the unspoken promise of unlimited access to crazy women, wild sex, booze, parties, the whole scene!

    It’s been damn near 30 years – sooner or later I’ll get to the fun stuff. Just as soon as I sort out a dozen spreadsheets of simulation data and perform a couple of field inspections. I know the fun stuff is right around the corner!

  2. As you know, I spent a lifetime in the music bidness. A couple-three years ago, I occasioned to watch a rockumentary called “Running Down a Dream” — a biography of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. In one passage, the keyboard player, Benmont Tench, roughed out a sequence in which he, a music industry veteran, once became disillusioned at the number of hard, heartless, cruel, unusual, and greedy bastards there were/are in this business we call show. Until he “got out of it” and really-ized that you’ve got the same collection of eevil bass-turds and low-life cruds in EVERY business. Music is no different.

    I gotta feel pity for the aforementioned dizzy bimbo. You don’t happen to have her number, doya?


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