It’s a 323 number. I call it back because I miss L.A. You know once all those 323 numbers were 213?
They want to promote my music. They want to put it right out in front on their page. They want to get it to music supervisors, and those are the people that put music in movies. They want to get it to fans, and everybody knows that a band can blow up on social media if they just hit that algorithmic perfect storm and these guys can add that kind of momentum for me. They want to get it to record execs and labels and A&R because actually, the latest numbers say that everybody knows you really need those people to get to the fans, because social media doesn’t really work without them because they’ve got the algorithms.
They want 59 dollars a month and failing that, 2.95 for a ten day free trial. Well it’s basically free. They want a credit card number.
I want to ask them for specifics on which of my recordings out there in the free market made them realize I could find my way to fans; tell them you know at one time the prospect of promoting a musician was based on at least some form of belief in what they were doing rather than blind faith on the balance of his credit card. That’s one more, one more organization out there with office space in Santa Monica making its rent via another of hundreds of bloodsucking sucker cuts more than ready and willing to help you add your way up to that deadly thousand; but I’m halfway through a REM cycle and think if I let myself go back to sleep before I get worked up about all this again, maybe I’ll have a dream where I’ve still got the energy to put my band on the road using credit cards, and by making clever use of the twenty-five dollar a night employee rate I get at the national hotel chain I’m currently working for again.