MY SITE

Ok..so here's the quandary...
I've heard from practically everyone trying to scratch their way up the ladder of success, that you gotta  know someone in the industry if you want to get that foot in the door.. Well,  it just so happens that I do know someone who is very high up in the music publishing world, and today  I decide to just buck up and humbly ask this person if I can have a meeting. I even have a direct email address. So  I write a nice brief letter, and what I get back is a detailed explanation of how my request creates a serious conflict of interest, and puts my respected friend in a very awkward situation. Apparently priority one  is to be of service to the songwriters who have been or currently are signed to the company in question,  and that accepting a meeting with me would somehow be irresponsible to them. It seems that I am in a long line of personal relationships who have asked similar indulgences, and that if an exception was made for me, then all those other folks would have to be granted the same privilege.   The bottom line being, that  if my request for a meeting is granted, the boundary between my friend's professional and personal life becomes unclear.
    Now, I completely understand this.. and have every respect  for this..however, my question becomes:  if you don't know someone in the industry, and as a result, can't get a meeting, and now it seems that  even if you do know someone in the industry, you still can't get a meeting.. how Does one get a meeting??
   And all this is before any songs have been presented.. For all any of us know..we Sugars could be the next Beatles..and I would feel very bad to see all that success go to someone other than my lovely friend whom I truly respect and admire.
I  recall a quote  that I am very fond of,  that I believe to be from the late Margaret Thatcher (regardless of what I think of her work..as that's another matter).
When she lost the election she shook her head and said: "It's a funny old world."
I couldn't agree more Maggie.

Gazing over my shoulder through the window behind me, I take in a 3rd story view of beachfront San Diego.  A quiet city street runs down to the sea, where the eye moves on through a handful of white sailboats scattered across the surface.  Following the view to its conclusion, contrasting hues of sky and ocean blue meet in one fluid, seamless horizon.  A high lone palm tree rustles in the breeze; petite white breakers gently tease the shore.  Here I sit writing my first Sugar in the Gourd blog post, to the strains of a new song by Miss Merrily.  While She and Lisa are working on Ms. Weber’s latest swanky musical masterpiece, Lynn is cozied up with her signature hot tea and the ever-polarizing mac laptop.

It all started when Lisa suggested a writing retreat in the desert to do something about the abundance of creative juices overflowing from our notebooks and recorders. Then Lynn, with her myriad of resources and relationships mentioned that she had lovely friends with a beautiful home in San Diego where we could hole up.  Aubrey & Merrily cleared their calendars and now here we are.  Four new songs already on the table being refined Sugar-style for debuts at future shows, including the first Sugar incarnation of a song by yours truly.

Last night our gracious host prepared an amazing dinner of grilled Lemon Tequila Chicken, Roasted Veggie Kabobs, and red wine; precluded by a nice white wine with our cheese, and bread from the Worlds Greatest Bakery.  After a heated conversation decrying the disappointing conclusion of Downton Abbey Season 3, and all agreeing that it has officially jumped the shark, David had us watch the new Internet sensation of Downton Arby’s, and then with some dessert & coffee in our tummies we headed back up to the writing loft for some food induced musical hallucinations. 

Speaking of hallucinations….somewhere in between songs and asides about Monsanto, I had a small epiphany about an unlikely heroine: enter Suicide Chicken (Aka. Kamikaze Chicken, Rambo Chicken, Chicken’s United Against Poultry Abuse, etc). The picture became much more vivid as each Sugar added their own crazy ideas in between the riotous cackling.  Picture this: A lone hen, clothed in warrior-garb; a Native American headdress with an Eagle feather; a peace-sign on her forehead, a cross hanging around her neck.  She rubs her rabbit foot as she deliberately stalks forward toward the Golden W.  This is a chicken on a mission.  Suddenly we get a bird’s eye view into her mind, as it flashes back to memories of her tragic past.  Emerging from her shell with hopes and dreams, only to live out her days stuffed in a cage, jostled and trampled by a mass of feathers and feet.  Watching her friends and relatives be executed one by one so that ignorant junkies everywhere can get their fast food fix.  Mom, Dad, her little sister, her first grade teacher, her one and only love.  All gone.  This was an atrocity against poultry everywhere, and someone had to send a message that the world would hear.  Cut back to present and you see the dynamite strapped to her body.  She walks up to the entrance, opens the door and goes in.  She calmly tells everyone to leave the building then triggers the detonator.  The rooster alarm sounds.  We look into her eyes one last time; then cut to exterior shot as the building explodes.  Cue Forest Gump theme music as feathers float down amidst the debris of McNuggets and hamburgers.  The golden W crashes upside-down to the ground.  Our heroine may be gone, but her legacy lives on. 

Add Comment  Welcome..it's about time! The adventures and misadventures of an all gal Americana Band in Los Angeles... 04/06/2013

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