There are three kinds of people that’ll be offended at what I’m about to say; Those currently laughing aloud at something they think is dryer than talcum powder, those sitting on a bare mattress, those on the floor of an otherwise empty one-bedroom apartment in Okokomaiko, staring at their business card which says ‘CEO’ or something similar, and wondering why they blew their annual earnings on Ace Of Spades at Rehab last night, and those standing in the bathroom while last night’s victim lies smiling like an idiot in the bedroom, having yet again failed to spot a faked orgasm. What do they all have in common? Well asides from a stern aversion to facing reality; they’re all members of the same industry; entertainment.
Entertainers aren’t bad people, in the same way that the bird that poops white splatters on your freshly washed and waxed car isn’t bad, or in the same way that the car that sends a spray of water all over you while you walk on the side of the road isn’t bad, or in the way that the pilot who sticks to his timetable and takes off before you get to the airport isn’t bad. You get the idea right? (PS: that last part about pilots? I’m not entirely convinced)
But there are a few things that need pointing out. First, a great many ‘entertainment people’ are liars of such a calibre as to physically stun the recipient of the lie into a coma upon hearing it. The men lie about the women they’re with, the women lie to the other men they’re with, who lie right back to the women about what they do/where they are/what they’re worth, and then lie to wives and fiancées about what they were just doing. But the lies that worry me are the ones that didn’t need telling.
The small-time musician who somehow got in the club, who insists that Akon mailed HIS record contract to WizKid mistakenly, and that it’ll all be sorted in the morning; dude, I have never seen you before in my life, why is this something you think I NEED to know?
Then there are the A&Rs and managers who listen to the absolute worst, headache inducing noise from ‘artistes’ with such little musical talent or know-how that the society of deaf people worldwide are petitioning against them, and nod their heads wisely, smile like they just ate a whole chicken, and swear that this is the best jam in the world. “Tuuune!”.
Oh, and while we are at it, there are the groupies. You know the type; if HE’s hot right now, they’re doing him, or her, and not necessarily in he-to-she order either..yeah you know the type. The lies these ones tell, are mostly to themselves; “I’m not a hoe, I’m just looking for love”. Yeah, we’ll Amber Rose; good luck finding it, but keep in mind that gravity and ‘wear and tear’ will bring those boobs down the ladder before it begins to do the same to you.
Why didn’t anyone stop Vic-O while he was carefully writing the 4th stanza’s ‘youp youp youp’, late one night in the studio, and ask him if he could HEAR himself, or if he wore rubber ears, which would of course explain why he thought ‘Afterparty’ was a hit in the making.
Would someone tell @ms********* on twitter that when we smile at our phones as she walks into the spot, while we’re all having beers on Friday night, (as she comes to meet the Ace-drinking guy who will eventually be seated on the edge of a mattress on Saturday morning wondering why the people in his village have sought his downfall) we’re all comparing the angles in pictures we have of her bare ass, and realizing without saying that said booty looks progressively less ‘hittable’ in each one.
Don’t even get me started on the new artistes though. You can’t all be Banky & D’Banj & WizKid. Take deep breaths and ask yourself if the skinny dude with the mohawk who’s currently writing this, whom you met at that event REALLY believes that your label in the UK has just wrapped up the formalities of sending your BMW 755i over. Chances are; I’m wondering what you’ll be doing for a living in 3 months.
I know, this isn’t what you want to read here on this beautiful new day. But this is the truth. And the truth is; it’s all fun and games till someone commits suicide because he can’t pay the N50,000 he owes that hole-in-the-wall shop in Surulere for clothes he’s been buying on credit to attend Industry Night, or Vic-O finally gets a deal based on his YouTube views, and I have to go to shows with ear plugs and aspirin, knowing he’ll be performing, or until someone takes @Uberfacts too seriously and winds up with HIV because he thought chewing a condom after unprotected sex with one of these groupies would have the same result as wearing it.
Turn to your neighbour in the industry. Grip him/her firmly by the shoulders, and tell them; “you suck. Now do something about it.” and let the revolution begin. Thanks for reading. Peace, love and awesomeness.
Written by Andre Blaze