Humble Drag

I have a friend – well, he’s a friend until he reads this, anyway – who runs the ‘Music Business’ Department of a well-known American University. In Lower Manhattan. Quite close to Washington Square Park, in fact. Can’t remember its name. He’s a lovely man and works hard for his students, so much so that he once asked me, of all people, to guest lecture to them. They were smart and nice, interesting and engaged, and I really enjoyed their company. But I couldn’t help wondering why anyone needs to spend three years learning the ‘business’ of music. They could save a lot of time and do it all super fast; just troop in on day one to a lecture theatre – oops, theater – to find a big sign saying ‘Be obnoxious! Take Drugs! Screw the Artist!’ Then, for the rest of the degree, they could loll around, being sexist and keeping taxis waiting. That would do it.

I remembered him this week, because he posted something on LinkedIn. It was the usual business-y thing you see there, in this case proclaiming that Sony had invested megabucks in the department. I raised a metaphorical eyebrow, wondering why Sony Music would want to help anyone youthful in the music industry. Or indeed, anyone at all. It’s not really their style. But then I realised; the investment was from a different bit of that behemoth, the division that sells software and hardware. And they did it because – well, because of a slight snag.

If you are familiar with today’s creative industries, you’ll know that, how can I put this? – (I’ll whisper) - nobody uses Sony software and hardware. Especially not in music. Artists record and edit and mix on Macs, using software called Logic or ProTools or Ableton or a slew of others. They buy expensive microphones by Neumann or cheap ones by Rode. They play instruments by Gibson or Yamaha or Gretsch or whatever. Never Sony. It is to music creation what the Women’s Institute is to hiphop.

I suppose that is the reason for their varsity largesse; not kindness, but an attempt to capture an unwilling market, to get ‘em young, their ostensible if somewhat desperate generosity inspired by that fabulous aphorism of Ignatius Loyola, ‘give me a child of seven and I’ll give you a believer for life’. Or, in this case, ‘give me a Music Business Undergrad, and I’ll waste seven and a half million dollars’. And now, thanks to the wonders of LinkedIn, more people in the industry know how desperate Sony must be. Brilliant.

I do however love LinkedIn. I admit this might sound strange, since I’m not looking for a job, but it is a constant source of great hilarity to observe the ingenious ways people blow their own trumpets, while pretending not to. ‘I just did a wonderful thing in which I didn’t really do very much at all actually but I’m going to pretend it was important so you think I’m happy and my career is brilliant…’ This will usually be followed by ‘so grateful to all my wonderful colleagues’, a form of tokenism which is required, by prevailing LinkedIn convention, to simulate a non-existent modesty. Then, everyone they have never met – because nobody who is ‘linked in’ on LinkedIn ever actually knows most of the people in their ‘network’ – will reply with ‘awesome’ or ‘go you!’ or similar expostulations, all of them equally insincere, and motivated by the same desire to self-aggrandise. And then they’ll all recommend each other for this, that or the other, to the nobody listening. It’s digital bigging up, the technological equivalent of little kids telling each other how big their doll’s house is, or exaggerating their tally of toy soldiers. In short, LinkedIn is hilarious, ridiculous, and unbelievable. It has the exact same authenticity as wrestling.

And then there’s LinkedIn speak. It’s a whole different language, a new approach to verbal construction, where parts of every sentence disappear into the ubiquitous humble brag, never to be seen again. Hereinafter known as Truncated English, or TrunkedIn for short, it consists of lopping off words which are normally really quite important, removing (especially) personal pronouns and all associated verbs, in the mistaken belief this will enhance the faux sincerity. So people never write ‘I’m pleased to say…’ or ‘We’re grateful to announce…’ Oh no: the strict code of TrunkedIn instead dictates the following: ‘pleased that’…. or ‘grateful to announce’ .. or ‘happy that’ (people are only ever happy on LinkedIn. Recruiters might be watching). As a dyed in the wool lover of beautiful English, aka a pedant, this causes me as much pain as the misplaced apostrophe, or the single subject with a plural verb. So painful to read! Really hurts! Not happy!

But sometimes, this weirdly superfluous site, which at least has the benefit of not being owned by a lunatic, throws up some fabulous nonsense. Yesterday, for example, I saw someone espousing the virtues of ‘an existential approach to coaching’. This made me laugh out loud. I imagined a therapist sitting with eyes closed, fingers pressed together, while their client witters on about how awful their life/job/boss/partner/(insert as appropriate) is. Then, when they pause for breath, gulping in self-pity, planning to write ‘great session today, love my awesome coach’ later on LinkedIn, the therapist replies, with perfect existential authenticity….

‘Yes. It’s crap, isn’t it. All of it. Absolutely awful. No wonder you’re so miserable. But what do you expect? Work is futile, life irremediably bleak. I’m surprised you haven’t topped yourself yet’.

Warming to their theme, the Existential Coach will go on to suggest their client’s entire being is meaningless, there is no God, life is barely worth living, the world’s hand cart is accelerating rapidly on the way to hell, but – being a modern day existentialist, not the twentieth century secretly optimistic type - there is no point even trying to ‘create yourself’ by your actions, since there’s a recession coming soon, and there’ll be no jobs left, thanks to all those tariffs.

Then they’ll smile brightly, and say ‘time’s up; let’s meet again - same time next week? …. if there is a next week.’

I can see it now, a whole new industry just waiting to burgeon. ‘Kafka Koaching’, they could call it. Strapline: ‘when Sartre seems to be the hardest word….. we’ll help you fill that career Nietzsche’.

And now we know all about it, the whole great meaningless vacuity, the empty invoicing opportunity, thanks entirely to LinkedIn. Love it. So grateful. Adore what you guys are doing. Really helped. Made such a difference. Awesome. Writing a song about it right now. Not with Sony gear, though, obviously.

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