Before I launch into this diatribe on greed in the music industry let me make one thing abundantly clear – I believe that downloading or otherwise copying music without paying for it is stealing. I’m no angel, I have been known to borrow a mate’s album and make myself a copy, but I have never thought of this as being in anyway legal or somehow morally justified. The excuses brought forward for file-sharing; music should be free, the record companies make too much money, freedom of speech etc, are simply ludicrous – crass hypocrisy at its worst.
So what has me riled? iTunes/Metallica decision to stick a price of £10.99 on Death Magnetic that’s what. The standard iTunes album download price is an already inflated £7.99 – so is there any justification for this hefty increase? I can’t think of one but I do strongly suspect that the reason behind this is simple – pure greed.
Metallica, if you remember, were at the forefront of the attack on file-sharing site Napster. We were told that they were championing the music industry in the battle against those who allegedly threatened the future of recorded music - you may have had your own views on their motives…… Now though Metallica can seemingly charge whatever they like safe in the knowledge that their legions of fans (who would most likely have avoided Napster et al and paid for the music anyway) have no option but to fork out. Given that there was a certain amount of career re-building required following the lacklustre St. Anger and the embarrassing Some Kind Of Monster documentary I would have thought a more enticing price would have been appropriate. Perhaps though I was underestimating the rampant arrogance displayed to such effect in Some Kind Of Monster.
But then what do I know? Death Magnetic has roared straight into no.1 in the UK album chart – there are obviously much more people prepared to be ripped off than I thought. Or perhaps many were caught in the same trap I was. Having downloaded a track a week for the last four weeks with the promise of buying the remaining tracks using the Complete My Album function I suddenly found that the remaining 6 tracks were still going to cost me almost nine quid - with a nice little additional catch that prevents me from buying Suicide & Redemption without forking out for the whole album.
So, I think I’ll wait until a used copy of Death Magnetic becomes available at a reasonable price on eBay – content in the knowledge that no more of my hard earned cash will feed the all consuming greed of Metallica.
UPDATE.... well, well, well.... iTunes have dropped the price to £7.99! Whilst I'd love to say that my little rant had something to do with it that wouldn't be true. Not much use either for the die-hard fans who wanted to hear the album as soon as it was released and have already been stroked for nearly 11 quid. A nice little thank you for the fans - eh Metallica?
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Richard (Rick) Wright 1943 - 2008
I was saddened to learn of the sudden death of Rick Wright. Rick was an essential part of the Floyd sound, The Great Gig in the Sky typical of his contribution - a simple, unfussy piano refrain underscoring one of rock's most iconic tracks. Rick seemed to have his ups and downs with the rest of the band over the years but made a very welcome appearance on Dave Gilmour’s last album and tour. My thoughts are with his family at this difficult time - he seemed to be one of rock’s nice guys.
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
How Lemmy Popped My Cherry!
Endlessly Rocking popped down to Dublin recently to deliver a group of 15 year-olds to their first gig – Muse incidentally. Their first solo gig, their first exposure to the true madness that is the front row - exhaustion, carnage, dehydration, pure exhilaration. All of which has prompted me to wax lyrical about my own first experience of such madness – Motorhead, Ulster Hall 7th February 1980 when I was, by a strange coincidence, 15.
Motorhead had been crowned the loudest band in the world shortly beforehand and were ripping up Europe in support of the Bomber album, the second in their triumvirate of seminal albums that had begun with Overkill and was to climax with Ace Of Spades. This was band at the height of their powers yet just short of their commercial peak. Still a cult band that few had heard of, part of a new movement that had caught the imagination of a generation – perfect for a new generation schooled in classic rock and thrilled by punk.
Belfast in the early 80’s was not a popular venue for touring bands to say the least. As a result those who did make the effort to brave the bombs and bullets were welcomed with rapturous glee. Motorhead were regular visitors throughout the bad times and therefore hold a special place in the hearts of Northern Irish rock fans of a certain age. Over the years this gig in particular ahs been elevated too legendary status. The Ulster Hall is a small and intimate venue smack bang (no pun intended) in the bomb ravaged centre of Belfast so, although I arrived around 3 hours before the doors opened, the place was already like a ghost town. There were around 50 or so of us huddled together against the cold when suddenly Lemmy appeared! The crowd surged forward prompting a typical over-reaction from the local police. A school friend of man captured the incident on camera and promptly made a small fortune selling prints. The image is indelibly ingrained in my mind. The cop has a young girl by the hair and is aiming a kick at her backside. Lemmy, dressed from head to toe in black, stands a few feet away, a murderous look on his face and a skeletal finger extended in warning towards the cop. As Lemmy stepped forward the crowd engulfed him and the cop beat a hasty retreat. This was coolness personified - not only coming to play in Bomb City but also walking the streets in broad daylight and tackling armed cops!
Eventually the doors opened prompting a mad rush for the front row – I’m proud to say I was amongst the front-runners, grabbing a space just right of stage-centre. The mists of time have obscured who the warm-up band was but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught to come. Out of the gates of hell came the pummelling drum assault of Overkill. Choking clouds of dry ice enveloped the front rows and the Bomber swooped dangerously close to my head before the earth exploded when Lemmy’s gut-wrenching bass kicked-in. By the time Fast Eddie Clark’s guitar joined the assault I was lost in a frankly terrifying confusion of senses and I loved every second of it. The rest of the gig is lost in a miasma of pure exhilaration and no little pain. It was several days before my hearing recovered (perhaps it never has) and even longer before the ‘buzz’ subsided.
I have been to countless gigs in the intervening thirty years or so but if the truth be told nothing has come close to emulating that February night. If that new generation of 15 year olds sweating on a rainy Dublin night had anything like the experience I had, then they are very lucky indeed.
Motorhead had been crowned the loudest band in the world shortly beforehand and were ripping up Europe in support of the Bomber album, the second in their triumvirate of seminal albums that had begun with Overkill and was to climax with Ace Of Spades. This was band at the height of their powers yet just short of their commercial peak. Still a cult band that few had heard of, part of a new movement that had caught the imagination of a generation – perfect for a new generation schooled in classic rock and thrilled by punk.
Belfast in the early 80’s was not a popular venue for touring bands to say the least. As a result those who did make the effort to brave the bombs and bullets were welcomed with rapturous glee. Motorhead were regular visitors throughout the bad times and therefore hold a special place in the hearts of Northern Irish rock fans of a certain age. Over the years this gig in particular ahs been elevated too legendary status. The Ulster Hall is a small and intimate venue smack bang (no pun intended) in the bomb ravaged centre of Belfast so, although I arrived around 3 hours before the doors opened, the place was already like a ghost town. There were around 50 or so of us huddled together against the cold when suddenly Lemmy appeared! The crowd surged forward prompting a typical over-reaction from the local police. A school friend of man captured the incident on camera and promptly made a small fortune selling prints. The image is indelibly ingrained in my mind. The cop has a young girl by the hair and is aiming a kick at her backside. Lemmy, dressed from head to toe in black, stands a few feet away, a murderous look on his face and a skeletal finger extended in warning towards the cop. As Lemmy stepped forward the crowd engulfed him and the cop beat a hasty retreat. This was coolness personified - not only coming to play in Bomb City but also walking the streets in broad daylight and tackling armed cops!
Eventually the doors opened prompting a mad rush for the front row – I’m proud to say I was amongst the front-runners, grabbing a space just right of stage-centre. The mists of time have obscured who the warm-up band was but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught to come. Out of the gates of hell came the pummelling drum assault of Overkill. Choking clouds of dry ice enveloped the front rows and the Bomber swooped dangerously close to my head before the earth exploded when Lemmy’s gut-wrenching bass kicked-in. By the time Fast Eddie Clark’s guitar joined the assault I was lost in a frankly terrifying confusion of senses and I loved every second of it. The rest of the gig is lost in a miasma of pure exhilaration and no little pain. It was several days before my hearing recovered (perhaps it never has) and even longer before the ‘buzz’ subsided.
I have been to countless gigs in the intervening thirty years or so but if the truth be told nothing has come close to emulating that February night. If that new generation of 15 year olds sweating on a rainy Dublin night had anything like the experience I had, then they are very lucky indeed.
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