A friend of mine called today... His latest releases (3 of them) are all averaging over four and a half stars and he's having a shit fit over a couple of 1-star reviews by people were friends with someone he cut off working with.
He's panicked.
Fuck. No wonder Brian Wilson went fucking nuts. So, I yelled at him for 5 minutes and told him to grow some balls.
It's fucking music and it isn't the fucking Beatles. I went on to yell at him that if he wants to appeal to a bunch of losers make low 5 figures a year in Western Wyoming, that's great but, if he wants to appeal to Quincy fucking Jones, he needs to put that pussy away.
Goddamnit, his office costs more in a year than my latest car did.
He better leave me something in his estate. He's going to pop an artery the way he's going.
I want to be his legacy squatter!