It's 2:30 AM, I have drunk a large amount of overpriced Irish cider and I am on Facebook. Why? It is simple, like most musicians I have become a web 2.0 addict. I see myself in a few years time, beard flowing round my ankles, a blanket wrapped around my skeletal form in an empty flat. Empty but for a winking wireless router and the warming glow of a battered laptop. The production of music will have ceased and all that my creativity generates will be a stream of 150 character outbursts that will largely be ignored by my close friends and fans alike. And the addiction goes deeper. I find myself mid conversation idly checking my Blackberry for a status update or a so-called friend request. Nevertheless it is amazing. I mean, you can actually hear what your friends in North America are having for breakfast today or delight in the unfocused photos from last night's post gig bender.
My addiction took root in February. Celtic Connections over and faced with an empty diary I decided to make use of my time by exploiting online marketing opportunities or, in the common tongue, pissing about on the internet. I twittered, plurked, meemed, myfaced and spacebooked. I blogged and uploaded, I requested and commented and within one month I had more gossip and insights into lives of others than a hyperactive Stasi agent. 'How exciting', I thought to myself, 'I have all these friends who all love my music (and I, of course, love theirs too). I have a huge mailing list and the ability to communicate my every thought to my thousands of fans. But something feels wrong.'
I felt empty. I'd been living like Jeff Lebowski. No nihilist had urinated on my rug however I'd been pretty much living in my dressing gown and the floaty bits in my coffee indicated the milk was way past it's sell by date. I knew the whereabouts of all my friends, I knew where they'd been on holiday, I'd seen their cousin’s new baby and the pattern on their new wallpaper but I hadn't actually spoken to any of them face to face. All I really knew had appeared exactly 58 minutes ago with a link attached.
I had to go to the pub. I settled on The Ben Nevis. There were real people there, which at first was a bit unnerving. I talked to them. They talked back. I met people I didn't know and talked to them. They also talked back. There was live music, someone sang, too many percussionists joined in and a flautist took the huff. That was Public House 1.0, unchanged for centuries, the original and best. At closing time I jumped in a taxi headed home. Then safely ensconced in the bosom of Napier Towers a glass of single malt quivering in one hand, I posted it all on the bloody internet.
There's just so much out there. I checked on Wikipedia and the amount of social networking sites rises each day. In March there was around 80 today that's up to over 150. Web 2.0 is taking over. I was once shown a load of post-punk fanzines and was amazed by what they contained. Ridiculous articles, outright slagging matches, love letters, hand drawn pictures of gigs and a real sense of what the fans really wanted. Those homespun pamphlets of the 80s and early 90s have been replaced by the slick interactivity of MySpace and Facebook Fan sites. Slick it may be but every interaction is either restricted or over edited.
The main thing Web 2.0 has lost, and I am oh so guilty of this, is the total lack of criticism. Everyone loves everyone on MySpace. "Your songs are awesome :-)" This from an American Country star who has failed to note that at that point I have not recorded let alone uploaded any songs to the internet.
I dare you. No, I double dare you. To post one balanced critical comment on MySpace and see what happens. There is the chance your account may be deleted or you will be swamped by a never-ending torrent of hate but I suspect that the real outcome is that no one will notice. Either you criticism will never see the light of day, deleted before it even reaches the publishing stage or it will be published instantly and never read.
Back to the addiction and the point of this Blog. If Twiitter were a spliff and Facebook a cocaine habit then blogging must be the intravenous users opiate. The chaps at the Garden Sessions have uncovered my secret and in exchange for my services they are providing me with the hit I need each month. I will rant, list and even perhaps review but don't be shy, I want your criticism so leave a comment- the ruder the better. Apart from anything else you might give me something better to write about.
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