Back in the 1990s, when the Chicago Bulls were a dynasty rather than a laughingstock, I remember overhearing a conversation at a diner between two twenty-something women. Apparently, one of them had bumped into Scottie Pippen at a restaurant and asked him for an autograph. As the guy was sucking down a plateful of pasta, he declined. "And you know what I said to him?" the lady telling the story said. "I said, 'I don't care about yo' autograph anyway. You'll never be Michael Jordan.'"
Welcome to Chicago, where Playa Hating is elevated to an artform that only crusty pimps and musical vagabonds just one week of radioplay away from being Bigger Than Kanye can appreciate.
Two years ago, I had this crazy idea to put together a tribute story to Armando, one of House Music's most influential figures, probably most famous internationally for his tracks "Land of Confusion", "151" and "100% of Disin' You". Armando was everywhere when I was first getting into electronic music. He was throwing parties on the Southside for a primarily black audience. He was playing at raves for a primarily white audience. He was throwing his own parties at the legendary Northside spot, Medusa's, for an audience that was a little bit of both. He was dumpster diving in back of Trax Records with Paul Johnson for irregular copies of "Move Your Body" to sell at high schools.
And then this phenomenal talent passed on, at just 26 years of age, and I really don't think Chicago ever really recovered. Following in the footsteps of the movers and shakers of the 1st Wave of Chicago House, many people from the 2nd Wave left town (prompted, of course, for many of the same reasons. And given the level of fame and success many have achieved, it's hard to fault them.)
The music scene became terribly segregated again (not that this had substantially changed, but it seemed that few were even trying anymore).
All of these things might have happened anyway, and who knows - Armando might be living in Amsterdam himself right now, playing to predominantly white-or-green-or-Martian audiences. But it seemed like that center was no longer there, holding things together. To blow the dust off the old cliché, you didn't even realize it was there until it was gone.
The response to the article was overwhelming. It was reprinted overseas by Faith Fanzine and to this day remains one of our most popular features.
But the really overwhelming part was the openness of the people I interviewed. I fully expected the sort of "He was a great guy, helped my career, great records" sort of resumé responses, and to be sure I got some of those.
Mike Dunn bared his soul to recount the last days. I have to tell you, Mike Dunn didn't know me from anyone at that point, but he opened up and trusted me to get it down exactly as he put it.
5 MAGAZINE: Were you around when Armando became sick?
PAUL: Yeah. I'm going to tell you about this. Nobody knows this but one person - DJ Emanuel.
Me and Armando were extremely close when he got sick. But I couldn't handle that. The whole time he was in the hospital - months - everyone was going to see him. He kept saying, "Where's Paul at? Tell Paul to come." I feel so sorry and ashamed, man, but I never went to see him. I couldn't see him. And I was already in a wheelchair myself. See what I'm saying?
I knew he was going to die. I couldn't look at his face because I knew. I knew it'd be the last time I'd see him. I didn't want to remember him that way. I wanted to remember him as the man I'd always known - smiling, laughing, cracking jokes with each other. And that's how I kept it. He was so close to me and trusted me that the 707 that he used to mix with? The reel-to-reels? He left those with me and those were his most prized possessions in the world. With nobody else. I felt pretty good about that, that he felt that good about our friendship, because everybody was his friend by this time.
I just feel bad because I didn't go see my friend. I couldn't see him that way. And I understand why half of my friends never come see me in hospitals. They never come. And I always say, "Why don't you guys come?" They never really give me a straight answer but I get it. I couldn't see him, either. So I finally get it. At his funeral I just sat there and cried, grabbing his arm. Nobody touched me and they let me stay up there. That was my boy...
In the end, with something like 15 hours of interviews, I decided to write myself out of the story entirely and just let Paul, Terry, Farley, Eric Martin, Kevin Starke and others talk. I was aware that I hadn't been able to get in touch with some people who were close to Armando, so I added that I would still be interested in talking to them, but this was something I wanted to get out while I had it and didn't want to delay it for years and years to cover every possible angle. It needed to get out. And I'm glad it did.
And because this is Chicago, and because this is the music industry, that's when the parasites, hangers-on and outright scum moved in.
One of the first comments I received about the story came via an anonymous, moronic email claiming the people we interviewed "didn't give a fuck about him[,] they want to steal from him", and we should talk to a local figure whose name I'm redacting now because I have no proof he was behind this goofy slander campaign, though I have my suspicions.
The tone was basically like this: "Everyone you interviewed is bullshit, you should really talk to Producer X (who hasn't released a record in like 5 years, and a hit record in about 15), and I'll be glad to set that up for you. He's really great and you should interview him anyway because he's a legend and all of these guys wouldn't be shit without him."
Several emails, probably all from the same source, followed, culminating in a threat to kick my ass. About a year later, we received a drunken voicemail - undoubtedly from the same source as it cites the same individuals - threatening to burn our office down.
All of this over someone who had passed on. Tacky? I'm not sure if grave robbing would be more disrespectful to the dead.
I'm bringing this up now as we just re-posted a classic mix in tribute to Armando, with Eric Martin's annual party featuring Paul Johnson, Eric Martin and DJ Urban scheduled for this coming Thursday. This February 12 would have been Armando's 40th birthday, and every year his friends and fans get together to remember this amazing man and his music.
Possibly, the usual suspects will crawl out of the discarded bag of Cheetos they live in to engage in the usual hatefest, which has never been about Armando and all about their own insecurities.
In their desire to have their picture on the front of a magazine, they'll literally crawl over departed friends and try to assassinate the reputation of a dozen people whose main crime is that they're more successful.
But that's Playa Hating for you, and no town excels in this quite like Sweet Home Chicago.
Six months ago in this space, I wrote that "The freedom brought about by the decline of vinyl and the high production costs associated with producing it hasn't led to better music - just more of it."
The signs of the music apocalypse are becoming increasingly apparent. A year ago, 5 Magazine received maybe 40 promos a month. We now receive well over 200. At least half of these are EPs containing three or more distinct tracks (and at least half of those sound like Eric Cartman singing "She Works Hard for the Money" with a disco beat, but anyway...). In other words, the amount of music flowing down the pipe every month has multiplied about seven-fold in the course of a year.
And of those 200 promos, we might print reviews of maybe 20. You can see where I'm going with this, yes?
If you've gone ahead and started your own digital label in this climate, you've got my best wishes and sincere gratitude for getting into the arena in what was a horrible environment even before the great glut fell upon us. I can only assume that you're doing something you believe in. The world needs more people like that.
There's a very big difference, however, between making good music and getting it heard.
There are a number of guides - some good, some bad - on how to start and market your own digital label. I won't write another one here - I'm not qualified, and actually can't think of more than a half-dozen people on the entire planet who are (opinions = assholes, etc.) Everyone seems to enjoy dispensing advice on the subject and there's no shortage of rejects from the music industry selling you ebooks on how to GET FAMOUS NOW!
Instead, I can tell you the things that make me grab a track or press play instead of putting them in the slush pile for later consideration. Considering that I've written probably a few hundred reviews (and decided to write a few dozen feature stories based entirely on promos I've received), this could be useful if you're thinking of starting a label or if you already have one but would like to tighten up marketing.
The most important rule, which I think you can apply to everything nowadays, is: Just because you can doesn't mean you should.
With production costs so low for a digital release, there's a temptation to do all kinds of things that would have been prohibitively expensive with vinyl. This is what's lead to the tremendous glut of filler material. And unfortunately, a lot of really good music is getting buried - not just by the glut of other releases in the market, but by the label itself which hasn't taken these words to heart.
THE REMIX GLUT Just because you can release 12 remixes with a single, doesn't mean you should. In the old days, including a big-name remixer on a single meant shipping more units to distributors and stores. Obviously, you're not dealing with physical units when you're selling MP3s, but having a Johnny Fiasco or Mike Dunn or Louie Vega remix your track is definitely going to get it heard. Period. Stop reading now because if you've got Fiasco or Dunn or Vega remixing your shit, you really don't need to read anything from me.
That hasn't changed. Nor has the value of remixing a track for different markets, particularly with how fragmented the House scene is.
So remixes are good. And like everything else, you can carry it too far.
If you're including remixes just because they're from your friend, you've committed the fundamental mistake of thinking of yourself instead of your market. There's no reason why you can't release more remixes down the line. One of the cool developments of the digital marketplace is the extended remix collection, released months or even a year after the original single. It can add months to a track's lifespan. But those are already hit singles when the next batch of remixes hit the market - you can say that the market demanded more, and the label filled that demand with additional remixes.
But if you're taking a decent song and tacking 8 or 9 remixes onto it right out of the gate, and the remixers aren't named Fiasco, Dunn or Vega, you're not really doing yourself any favors.
You might think that it can't hurt. It can. People just aren't going to give the same sustained attention to an 11 track package of remixes by unknown names than they are to a tight 5 or 6 track package. Blame it on shortened attention spans, the fast pace of the world or just human nature.
Attention, like money, is finite. Having to slog through a number of uninspired and unnecessary remixes uses it up rather quickly.
The Catalog Glut Just because you can release 75 tracks a year doesn't mean you should. I've yet to hear of any artist in any genre who could write five great songs in a month. And if you're really an artist, "great" should be what you're aspiring to.
Let me give you an example. Terry Hunter is one of the most prolific producers in House Music today. His independent T's Box Records puts out one quality release every month. Sometimes it's by Terry, sometimes it's by another artist - in addition to his own work, he's released tracks by Jazzy Jeff and Leonard Part Sixx, and his own tracks usually feature a different vocalist from previous ones.
Now, aside from richly produced tracks (which are properly arranged songs, with proper vocals), Terry probably has thousands of beat tracks lying around. Someone could steal the man's harddrive and probably have enough material in there for years of new releases.
Terry could very easily release them all, sell a few of each of them and in the short term scoop up enough money to buy a solid gold jacuzzi. He's doesn't, though, and I think the commonsense reason why he doesn't is that it would (a.) oversaturate the market and (b.) diminish the reputation for quality that people now associate with T's Box Records. Sure, he could cash in now, but he'd pay later.
Be like Terry (and don't forget the bling).
Now that's Terry Hunter - a producer who has built a reputation for decades, and a DJ that can headline any night in any town in damn near any city with a scene in the world. Your average producer probably doesn't even have that opportunity. And oversaturating the market when you're relatively unknown is commercial suicide.
Every now and then someone does it, and I can almost put a number on how long it will take for them to burn out, discouraged and demoralized (if you're curious: about five months). This will be someone that isn't even terribly well known locally, but pumps out four or five tracks a month regardless of the poor reception. In most cases, they're pretty young and enamored with the instant feedback of someone (maybe someone just being nice) saying how much they love it.
But the balance sheet doesn't lie, and no one can feed their family based on positive feedback on myspace. You need sales, not bumps on a message board.
The Album Glut
I'm continually mystified by young, up-and-coming artists still working on their name who release full albums without much of a business plan. Everyone these days is releasing an album. It's like how after Star Wars, every director felt he had a trilogy in him just waiting to get out. But I'm here to tell you: Just because you have 12 tracks you're happy with doesn't mean you should release an album.
Jay-J, Fred Everything and Miguel Migs have all released albums in the past year, and we've written feature stories on all of them. That's because before an album hits the streets, they have a full release schedule already planned. They know which singles will be released, in what order, and have a general idea who is doing the remixes, if they're not already in the can. Sure, they can change things up down the line, but they're not simply throwing 12 tracks together and chucking it out there as basically a super extended play EP. And they'll be touring in support of that album for probably over a year.
In short, they have a business plan. An album is something that you build toward, after your reputation is somewhat established and you're ready to take it to the next level.
I've received endless "albums" however which are basically 12 track EPs, from people relatively unknown locally and completely unknown nationally. There not only won't be a tour, but I don't think they could get many people to attend an album release party. The quality of the music is sort of irrelevant to the argument here, but it's almost uniformly true that the majority of these albums are also made up of instrumental, sample-heavy tracks rather than songs.
(I'm not saying this to be cruel. Everyone starts somewhere. But in the past, a young blood with some good-not-great music didn't have the opportunity to press a full record of mostly mediocre tracks unless he was rich and didn't care about seeing a return on his investment. Today, there are far too many people selling themselves and their music short by doing this, and I don't think any of their buddies or people bumping their music on myspace have the balls to tell them.)
And as it is with the remix glut, so it is with the album glut. Reviewing an album is no problem when there are 12 great songs. It's a chore when you're staring in the face of 12 "jazzy" instrumentals that have clean high hats and not much else. In the middle of those 12 may be one gem, a good track that stands out - or would have if you hadn't surrounded it with 11 mediocre bits of filler.
"Music for Losers" is from the fabulous lpcoverlover.com. Photo of Terry Hunter and Andre Hatchett by Czarina Mirani, 5 Magazine.
Kenny Dope and Wayne Williams are two of the first names I think of when it comes to the Noo Yawk/Shikaga connection. They've been doing (what I think is) a bimonthly in New York at Cielo for some time now. May 10th is their next date, with an opening set by James Vincent and presented by Robbi.
Incidentally, if you want a funny story about New York versus Chicago, check out this old yarn from Terry Hunter involving Armando Gallop, Todd Terry, Kenny Dope, Tyree Cooper and Mr. Hunter. A broken champagne bottle, intellectual property rights and threats of severed arteries make cameos.
We were in New York for the New Music Seminar. I don't know if you remember, but at the time the New Music Seminar was really big. This was before the Winter Music Conference. And this was a place where, literally, rappers and House people used to connect with each other.
I'll never forget this. We're sitting in the Red Zone, me and Armando, and here comes a guy with seven or eight people. One of those people in fact happens to be Todd Terry. Todd sees Armando's badge, and turns around to this big Spanish-looking dude from Brooklyn standing next to him.
Todd says to him, "Yo, here that motherfucker is right here!" That big guy was actually Kenny Dope.
The problem was, Todd Terry sampled a record, and Armando sampled the same record for "100% of Disin' You," saying "I'm gonna dis you right now." Todd interpreted it as Armando saying, "I'm going to dis you right now" - meaning, Todd Terry.
In those days, I was a thug. All I saw was Todd Terry grab Armando's badge and talk to this big guy standing next to him. I didn't know it was Kenny Dope. I'm like, "Who is this?" Armando says, "That's Todd Terry." And at first I was like, "Oh, shit! Hey, Todd, what up?!"
But these dudes started surrounding us. He's talking to Armando and I don't know what's going on. I was like, "I don't know what this is about, but dude, stand up for yourself. Defend yourself!" Armando's telling him, "Todd, I wasn't dissin' you - it was just a sample that I took" - and on and on.
Kenny Dope started coming up, saying, "I don't care - you're in New York, you're in New York!" [This part was actually delivered with Terry Hunter doing his best Brooklyn impression. Has to be heard to be appreciated!]
So there was a champagne bottle right next to me. Armando was like, "Terry, be cool man!" I break this champagne bottle on the side of the speaker. By this point, they'd caught the attention of Larry Thompson and Tyree Cooper. So people are like, "Oh shit - Chicago versus New York! Chicago versus New York!"
So I go up to Kenny Dope and I say, "Look, you guys might beat us up, but I'm going to stab everyone one of you sons of bitches in here!" There's this big commotion in the middle of the Red Zone and it's Armando and me with a half cracked bottle of champagne with people from Chicago runnin', and people from "New Yawk, New Yawk" runnin', and security runnin'. It was so funny.
Everything got defused. The next day, we're chillin', and here comes Kenny Dope and Todd Terry. Todd had figured it out and everything was squashed. Kenny walks up to me and was like, "Yo, what up? Respect, I didn't know that was you. We sold a lot of your records at my store that I work at in Brooklyn. You're a real dude, you stood up for your man, we like that. Yo, give me your number." Since that day, me and Kenny Dope have always remained in contact and we're like brothers now. Todd Terry, too. Because of Armando. So you go figure that.
That was such a great story! I was like "Armando, you're always getting us in trouble!" Armando wouldn't hurt a fly! But here was one of the biggest commotions, and because of that situation, it's how me and Kenny Dope and Todd became the best of friends.
Brand new on T's Box - Terry Hunter's label, which has released consistently hot music encompassing all of Terry's genre-dipping talents - is this club shaker featuring "RC Groove" (read: Ron Carroll), vocalist Pam and Terry himself on a couple of remixes. It's released under the moniker "Blackstory" - not sure what that means but this is well worth your dwindling recessionista dollars.
Here's a short clip of the RC Groove Original:
All three mixes are great - check them out here on Traxsource.
And to give you an idea of how much consideration T's Box puts into every release, the backing vocals on "No It Wasn't Love" were done by none other than Swaylo, who some of you might remember from the deep Mark Grant track Shame from a couple of years back. I'm guessing that most producers would just mix down the lead vocalist for backing vocals these days, but this is that little extra touch that takes a track from good to great.
Brand new on 
