Sometimes being legitimate in business puts you in strangely illicit situations, even as you uphold the law. Such has been the case with me over the years, across several states and countries, through jobs at other people's companies. Mastery means that I make it look good and easy, though in truth, my composure is based on many years of hard work, most of which I will never really be compensated for, but that's my vocation; not yours. It's kind of funny at times, because the rigorous discipline I bring to any workflow is out of necessity from the sheer volume of it (and also as an underpaid, high-performing woman), after which I am just as often unceremoniously dropped when I'm seen as "done" in Corporate LaLaLand, which is as bizarre as it is untrue. Illuminators never really die; we just go out of print.
One of my East Coast bros from New Jersey (hey, Eddie) called it running "The Gauntlet" from my time with him at a post-production recording studio with a DVD replication division I ran for the team, because it's true. I "run a tight ship" because I have to, to keep employees paid and the income flowing through the business for all of our benefit while I'm working for a company, and that includes "dependents" in Taxology (also known as "children") who rely on their parents to provide for them. It's part of the deal as a parent, and it's not their fault when employed parents can't function well. My biggest problem as the "goose" laying all those beautifully-designed golden eggs (most of the time) is to skillfully have the client with no skills removed from the process, because my schedule is the protection we have in a business against people who can't work without sabotaging their own product. I protect people from their ignorance, ego, vanity, pride, and spite.
That doesn't mean we didn't work with genuine talent at our studio. One of our better clients was Alex, who ran his own indie label of hip-hop and rap for the "Four Corner" African-American audience out west by selling CD's out the back of his car. His fanbase was small, tightknit, and loyal. His "Mid-Coast Mafia" label showcased local talent, in a situation me and my team knew really well. You see, the two studios (production and post-) were owned by the wealthy son of an Italian-American man from Philly, flush with his dads' cash from the family crane-operating business back east, which meant (for him and his family) that it didn't matter if the studio ventures turned a profit, but not so for the rest of us.
Eddie (our de rigeur pushy, aggressive Jewish sales guy from New Jersey: c'mon, you gotta have at least one of them) had real cred in the music industry as a classically-trained jazz drummer who studied at Rutgers, with actual time be-boppin' and spinnin' on the mats of early break-dancing crews in the 'hood, after leaving a bad home and taking to the streets early in his game. He'd spent time as a homeless teen living on the streets, like a lot of us from around the way do when we're forced (as minors) between a rock and a hard place. Then there was me, ethnic as fuck and much fresher "off the boat" from the city than my two friends runnin' our small crew. We had "chops" in creative businesses and that was about it, unless we brought it in-house for everyone to take a cut from.
With Alex, we knew the deal from the beginning. He sold his CDs anywhere he could draw a crowd: at local flea markets, shows, or making a deal on the corner. It was as "indie" as you could get and their sound was raw, which is exactly what real aficionados look for; that legit story told in sound before "The Majors" (big record companies) signed them to a deal, then blow the sound by over-producing tracks in the studio that the talent can't produce live on the road, which makes them look weak as fuck onstage. We had a lot of talent that stayed defiantly unsigned to maintain creative control, and as real artists working together, we all understood that point of view. So much mainstream music sucks big time.
Besides, as long as all of us sold product (and we sold it pretty much consistently), we could stay afloat for a little while longer, because the west is a lot cheaper to do business in than the Northeast, and we knew it. We ran our business causally at times, like a frat house party sponsored by the pros from Julliard looking for that next big thing coming down the pike, with me as the designated House Mom, because that's exactly what it felt like. We were cool, glamorous, sexy (at times), and real, which every musician from an area flush with poseurs and wanna-be's really liked and respected. How could they not?! We gave them our expert time and attention, at Denver prices they could actually afford.
But, Alex was different. We did a lot of projects for him and after I left the studio (it went bust like the corrupt newspaper I worked for; shocker, that), I did freelance design for him out of my apartment. He hit on me once which was charming, since he did it via email and not in person because of the large, occasionally angry Scotsman and Giant Mal I lived with, but I really liked his heart. He gave young "Up-and-Comers" a shot regardless of their race, sex, gender, or socio-economic status, and as outsiders, we could relate. Despite his gang-bangin' lifestyle with several "baby mamas", the best packaging I did for him was a CD/poster/postcard/DVD project that was a collage of him and his crew in front of a chruch, titled "Family Values"; a direct pun over the voraciously right-wing wackos living in Colorado Springs.
I eventually lost contact with Alex after moving back East (he still liked to hit on me via email and text, even with his labels and seven kids, with the same quirky charm: "I will always love you Marie but I understand"), but the last project I did for him at the studio was so good that "Family Values" got New York City media attention when they saw it in my book. We "hit it" with that one, and we all knew it, because the buzz it created made the big-time stand up and take notice of a bunch of "nobodies" from the 'hood, even though it was at least partially sponsored by dope deals done on the side.
How did we know? Because, mes amis, when Alex made a cash drop-off as his down payment for the project, Eddie came running down the hallway after he left to let us all know that his money just gave him a "contact high" from the weed he sold to finance his ventures. That's how we knew. That, and his red-eyed mellow in the studio. His pile of cash reeked of pot smoke we could all smell, because homeboy had just lit up and toked in the parking lot before coming downstairs to the studio to do business with us, and ain't that the way we do it in the 'hood, rats? Ain't that the way?
(design by a young, hungry Marie "MadDog Burke" Doucette)
