I don’t take myself or little gig so seriously, but when a band is too self-conscious to answer questions directly, when certain members unload a vat of unimaginative rock cliche dung all over me, I think I’m entitled to be a little put off.
Is it really that much of a coup to get one over on a modestly paid freelance writer?
Is it really a good idea to attempt a John Lennon-A Hard Day’s Night verbal tango with as much style and finesse as Rosie O’Donnell cutting a rug on Dancing with the Stars?
I’m not saying who, nor will if you ask me, but one of the area’s newest bands might be canceled post-interview for the first time in Meet the Band history.
I might just politely inform them that their column will not run as scheduled.
Not the message I had originally written.
The first message was written angrily and hastily after a second round of questions, asking them to clarify a few points.
It was in response to a second onslaught of jibberish and evasions, in addition to an “I’m too hungover to be bothered with this – sorry” lamentation.
In my response I said, “I suggest you recover from your hangover and take another stab at these questions. Try next time not to come off so much like a spoiled little bitch and jackass caricature of an irreverent rock star.”