Why? Because they’re stupid! Yes. S.T.U.P.I.D.! Who was the sad fuck who ever came up first with the phrase “… but I love it. I do it for the love of it. It’s my life!” Damn you, retard!!! How can you even say such a thing? Any manager, A&R guy, corporate negotiator had you by the balls this very minute when you said these words that will haunt generations of hard working, struggling, suffering, ascetically living artists! Damn you! Don’t you have any moral code to live by? Conscience? Or compassion at the very least, you goddamn sick fuck?
Here’s the thing: “For the love of it” spells “I’ll take advantage of you until you catch your last breath” for any manager, negotiator, PR guy, publicist worth their salt. Because they’ll pretty much bypass anything else after that and will go calculating on you doing the damn thing for anything. Even for the love it. But: Your landlord won’t give you occupancy “for the love of it”. Your soup kitchen on the block won’t let you eat “for the love of it.” Your more or less friendly IRS agent won’t let you get away “for the love of it.” For cryin’ out loud, what did your mothers feed you? Was that breast milk from the “submissive plant”?
Any fool saying anything along those lines will make it harder for any other fool pursuing that God-forsaken path of the artist. That path, that will make you a loner at times, will have your heart broken by an infinite number of girls whose sense of being aroused by your talent dies the very minute they realize that you’re likely to remain a pauper for the rest of your days on the planet. That path that will leave you at cross and ultimately enstranged from your immediate family – not that this has to be a bad thing, by all means! -, a path that’ll teach you sacrifice beyond the likes of Mother Theresa, MLK, the recently passed-on Mandela and similar figures in human history. Bottomline: You’ll end up broke and destroyed, if you’re not willing to be a street-wise hoe. And who enjoys having to sell their intimate parts to unappreciative clients?
Stupid, because you’ve joined a game that puts you out of your depth. A game, others have set forth rules for, long before you were even able to tote a guitar or sit up straight in front of the piano, hold a drum stick, let alone slam it on the skin. Rules, you most likely never bothered to look into, much less abide by or at least comply with to a tolerable degree.
Yeeeees! Of course! There are examples to the contrary. Artists, who have made it. Stars, for that matter. Well, do you have their checkbook transactions? Are you familiar and confidential with their accountants/book-keepers/lawyers? You’re not? Then you don’t know shit!
Which brings us back to the beginning of this rant: I hate your guts. Because you’re assuming rather than trying to learn. Spare me.