DOING THE BUSINESS

Could this be the end of Doing The Business?

I've been writing this column for well over two years now, and at the very least it's taught me how to spell. But now I think I may have said all I've got to say about everything I know (every instalment available free of charge on my web site www.biggeorge.co.uk, or on the best musicians' web site on the planet, https://web.archive.org/web/2015..." target="_blank). I could go on moaning and groaning and spilling tales of doom and gloom — or I could have the Number One record this Christmas...

I wish I could tell you all the gory details of what I'm planning, but timing is everything, and 'they' mustn't see me coming. I reckon within a week of you reading this article you should start to hear about a mouthy git who's gone and done the stupidest thing possible in pop music. Well, that'll be me. So sit back and watch me make an ass of myself.

The Story So FAR...

After doing a massive 48‑track Manor House recording with a cast of dozens, all captured on broadcast video, the first thing I needed was a record company. This meant getting hooked up with an A&R man. (On a historic note, A&R stands for Artist & Repertoire. Job Description: find artist, introduce to an appropriate producer, book the studio and musicians, pay for taxis and get a few beers in.)

Now, we all know I'm big‑time, me, and I know loads of people in the business. So I got some of my showbiz pals to introduce me to the top people in record companies. Here's what happened with the three A&R people I spoke to.

I took my smash hit to the first chap, and he loved it. By the first chorus he was smiling, with dollar signs in his eyes (let me state here that every penny earned by this endeavour will go to a very worthwhile cause). He said he would play it to a few people before making up his mind. Sadly he couldn't take it, as his record company needed to have a merchandising tie‑in on any product released for Christmas, and they didn't see me as a marketable commodity. But at least he let me know within a couple of days.

The second wouldn't see me, but promised he would listen to the track and get straight back to me. So I sent it special delivery, with a charming (and short) note. No reply. I called about a dozen times, to eventually get a "oh, yeah, umm, great track, er... but at this time I've got to pass on it." I asked him what the tune was (it's a cover of a well‑known song) and he said: "Er, it's one of yours isn't it?" When I asked for its return, which I had requested all along (I'd also marked the CD to that effect), it turned out that it had been binned weeks before.

When I spoke to the third A&R media tart (the recognised A&R governor) I was at my dazzling best. If only we'd been face to face. Sadly, he didn't have a 10‑minute window in his schedule to see me. He promised to get back to me within 24 hours if I sent him the track. Which I did, special delivery. I heard nothing for three weeks. I started off by being cool, but ended up just plain pissed off, so I emailed him, and he replied that he hadn't received the track. Fair enough — why shouldn't I believe him? So I sent it again. Five weeks later (still no word), his secretary tells me he is currently filming a top TV series about hundreds of young hopefuls (karaoke singers, probably) getting their chance of a minute and a half on TV (unpaid). Then maybe, just maybe, the prettiest one(s) will be placed on a treadmill, to be ogled at by the nation for a couple of weeks, subsequently enjoying a lifetime as a circus clown. So I waited, for a further three weeks, before his highness deigned to pass on the track without a single word — via his secretary, by email.

The harsh realities are that this puts me, at the time of writing (end of September), in the position of having no record company for my Fantastic Festive Hit Single. In fact, I'm completely on my own. So here are the obstacles I'm about to tackle (and they're exactly the same obstacles that you'd face if you were committed to being Number One on Top Of The Pops this Christmas).

Climb Every Mountain

The most important factor in getting to the top of the charts is selling truckloads of records to the punters. Which means that shops have to stock the record in quantities, and shoppers need to know it's there. There are many theories and spins on how chart positions are calculated, but the fact remains that, to even be in the game, you have to have your records for sale in all the megastores in the country, including Woolworths. Think of it: Woolworths have to stock your record in order for it to even have the slightest chance of getting higher than Top 50. And that's only problem one in becoming a tragic old overnight success.

To get the record into the shops, it has to be played on the radio every day for several weeks, the papers have to write about you, and you have to appear on TV. This is where the major labels seem to have a stranglehold. It's also why any duff soap‑opera actor, camp presenter or dollybird with a 22‑inch waist will get blanket media coverage if they choose to release a record.

Can I overcome these obstacles? Tune in next month, for my final, extended column, when I will spill my guts over exactly what I think is wrong with the music industry and what should be done about it — no holds barred! And don't forget, Big George for Number One this Christmas!