You see in England they still believe.  In the power of rock and roll.  In
the artistic statement.  In the music industry.

It’s very different in the States.  Everybody’s jaded.  It all comes down to
the bucks.  It’s totally o.k. to go for them, and he who collects the most
wins.

Maybe it’s that Englishmen have a long history of not winning.  Against
institutionalized classism.  Across the pond we’ve got the American dream.  Work
hard enough and not only can you be rich, you can possess power too.  Whereas no matter how hard you work in the U.K. you’re still the punter, the poor chap
from the midlands.  On the cover of the NME on one day, back at work in the
shop almost the next.  So, in your limited time in the spotlight you want to make
a statement.  You’re not so worried about endorsements, if you get any,
they’re not going to last.  The system is against you, so you might as well rail
against it.

The system is beyond rigged in the U.S.  Radio spins very few records and MTV
plays almost no music.  And on some level the major labels, in control, like
this.  For it keeps the indies out.  What did Tommy Silverman say?  The indies
have 27% of sales and less than half of that in airplay?

Whereas they tell me John Kennedy, as head of the BPI, got rid of
chart-rigging.  There’s a sense that there’s a level playing field, and anybody can
compete.  In the U.S. we know better.

Will the U.K. follow the U.S?  Unclear.  Maybe they’re just that different.

One of the big points of discussion here is why U.K. hip-hop can’t connect in
the U.S.  I tell everybody they’re under the illusion it’s about MUSIC,
whereas in the U.S. hip-hop is about culture.  They don’t want some middle class
limey invading their territory.  It’s not that different from a battle between
the Bloods and the Crips.  Only, in this case, it’s more like the Bloods and
the Suburbanites.

You see in the U.S., the major system is dying, it’s shrinking.  That indie
airplay statistic?  That’s for terrestrial radio only.  Indie records match
their sales in airplay on satellite.

You see, America is indie heaven.  The indies are about to take over. 
Whereas the indies in the U.K., the land of the traditional renegade, are bitching
and whining that the majors are fucking them.  Whereas the true indies of the
U.S. are taking matters in their own hands.  Doing what the majors don’t. 
Developing career bands.  Marketing them on the Internet.  Using fan clubs to fill
venues.  It’s all about the music in indieland.  And that’s exciting.

Then again, in the U.K., music never lost its exalted position.  It’s not a
second-class citizen.  People still follow the acts, and go to see them.  Hell,
I even heard a rock song in a fast food joint today.  Startled me.  That it’s
not only hip-hop on the Top Forty.

The day started off with Seymour Stein being interviewed by Tony about his
top ten records.

All these years later it was stunning to see Seymour’s track record.  And
Seymour told the story of how he signed these acts.  But that was a different
era.  One wherein you had to fly to a different country to experience a band.  A
day before e-mail and webcasts.  You can’t be early anymore.  Everybody knows
everything almost instantly.  And the majors only want hits.  And a hit is no
longer gold, but double platinum.  Still, to see the introductory videos… 
Seeing David Byrne floating on the water in "Once In A Lifetime".  Madonna in
"Borderline".  It reminded one of those days.  When we still believed in the
U.S.  When MTV was more exciting than network television.  When acts were all
about creativity, stretching out, testing the limits, not being in fashion
spreads.

But those days are gone.  The videos on MTV today don’t resemble these quaint
clips of yore.  Today’s videos are slick mini-movies.  They don’t have the
heart of rock and roll.  And without the heart you’ve got no soul.  And the
American business has got no soul.

Oh, Seymour told some great stories.  Reading in the NME about a band playing
that night in the U.K., picking up his credit card and driving to Kennedy to
take the Concorde for the very first time, barely making it to the gig. 
Insisting Madonna come to the hospital so he could sign her, for fear she’d be
picked up by somebody else.  Getting a shave and haircut and sending out for a new bathrobe but the soon to be Material Girl not caring, being just so thrilled
to be signed.  To a deal for ONE SINGLE!  With an option for a SECOND single. 
And then a THIRD single.  And THEN an album!

Running out of money in his A&R budget and getting the head of Warner
publishing to start a new label and then pay for him to sign Echo & the Bunnymen, who he’d seen the night before.  And, really, they were called the Bunnymen, and
Echo represented the drum machine for this drummerless band.

And towards the end, Jimmy Pursey of Sham 69 walked by the stage and said
that Seymour owed him forty quid.  For a cab ride long ago.

And then Seymour departed for the train station, for London.  And I went on. 
And then the aforementioned Jimmy.

Turns out that Tony Blair used one of the old punk’s compositions as the
underpinning of a new campaign.  Jimmy was just sitting at home, contemplating how broke he was, and a friend called him and told him to turn on the tube, that
Tony Blair was using HIS SONG!

Usually these old musicians are broken men.

And although Jimmy seemed to have broken teeth, he was eloquent, and what he
said rang true.  That punk was not about talent, but having the balls to get
up on stage and be yourself and get people to LISTEN TO YOU!

Actually, that was similar to Seymour’s single point of advice.  Have the
courage of your convictions.  Believe in yourself.  His biggest regrets are when
he listened to other people and passed on bands, did what he didn’t believe in.

And Jimmy went on to speak of how he thought punk was the biggest musical
movement EVER in England.  Which sounded ridiculous until he started talking
about everybody and their spiky hairdos, their leather boots, their attitude. 
But, what he couldn’t understand was the people running around in the FCUK
t-shirts.  All it represented to him was they were half-DANGEROUS!

And then a group of us went to Piccolino for dinner.

At the end of the table was the photographer Mick Rock.

Who Tony said went to Cambridge.

My jaw dropped.  I didn’t believe it.  So Mr. Wilson shouted down to the end
of the table to this scruffy rock photographer and over the table in this
Italian restaurant they reminisced about the old days, the individual colleges,
the automatic M.A. degrees.

And, as I’m sitting there, listening to Tony talk about how the Oxbridge
system worked, how you had one exam at the end of the year, how you had to write essays every week but they didn’t count, how you were expected to participate in extracurricular activities and if you starred you immediately flew up to the pros, like Monty Python, I knew England was different.

And then we stepped outside into the rain.