Saloncity Columnists Section

Is it just me, or does green come in a whole lot of unlikely shades now? A lot of times I don't even recognize it, and have to be told that something's green. And then there are those people, places and things who smugly scream a self-congratulatory and certifiably organic green, but I'm sorry: I have an awful hard time buying it.

That sounds terrible, I know. And to set the record straight, I am a long-time--albeit somewhat softcore--environmentalist. I mean, I wouldn’t label myself an eco-warrior, but do I try to keep an eye on my own carbon footprint, even when I'm wearing heels. So I should be pleased as punch by the verdant marketing of everything from cleaning products to clothes to political candidates, right?

It just seems like the natural rules for earth friendliness have gotten rather confusing lately. I picked up a magazine the other day which advertised a leather sofa as an being environmentally responsible. Not so much in a cow's environment, I'm thinking. I can't help rolling my eyes when I see a line of Priuses with "Live Simply" bumper stickers waiting for the valet at an over-priced restaurant. Last week, I overheard some young girls talking about plastic as a renewable resource. Uh huh. And I swear, a single friend told me about meeting a guy in a bar who invited her to his place so she could see his solar panels. That's a line that must never be recycled.

Honestly? Maybe it's my fear of being "in." Ask any of my girlfriends who are constantly horrified at how stubbornly out of stylish step I am. Or maybe they've given up on me, I don't know. But there's something in my nature that can't help going against the grain. And when it comes to the saving the planet, I guess I'm having a hard time seeing my personal values embraced by, well, the rest of the planet.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'd better get used to it. I mean, the masses going green is certainly not the end of the world. Right?

Jennie Webb is an independent playwright and arts writer based in Los Angeles, where you'll also find many of her girlfriends. Visit her at www.jenniewebbsite.com.

Scene But Not Heard
By David Fagin

Believe it or not, there was a time when you could literally stand outside the Brill Building on Broadway in Manhattan and audition for a record deal right there on the sidewalk. No costly demo tapes, no bidding wars, no stylists, no ten vice-presidents waiting for the marketing reports regarding whether or not your music would successfully reach the masses of their sorely needed Midwest demographic. If you were good, you got a shot. Period.

Things are much different now. If you want a record deal today, the first question an executive asks is, “Does he/she have his/her own television show?” More and more the answer is “Yes.” These days there seem to be more unqualified, wannabe pop stars running around than there are pop fans. Almost everyone you meet has a record coming out next month. The music biz is oversaturated with folks doing it for the wrong reasons. And it shows.

Wannabes aside, my hometown of New York City still has some of the most versatile, incredible, up-and-coming singer/songwriters you’ll find anywhere. You can walk into a downtown club on any given night and discover the next Beck or Norah Jones. Sadly, though, most of them will never be heard on-air. Why? Because New York City’s radio stations focus on the same ten acts all day, every day, all year long. Terrestrial radio is still the most powerful tool for getting your music out there—but it’s all about the buck.

That being said, right now the music biz is better than it’s ever been when it comes to the independent artist. The days of needing a half-million dollars to make a record are gone. The days of the-major-label-way-or-the-highway are gone. Now, anyone with a computer can make a record in their bedroom, send it out into cyberspace, and, with a little luck, develop a rabid following from places as far away as Shtaad. Imagine the possibilities if said artist’s local radio station gets behind that record. As Adam once said to Eve, “Stand back… I don’t know how big this thing gets.”

David Fagin is a New York-based screenwriter, journalist, and pop culture consultant. You can drop him a line at Onedder@aol.com.

.

.

.