Contract

Contract: (n) an agreement between two or more parties for the doing or not doing of something specified.

Two hours after I wrote my very first song, I was already thinking I needed a contract.

I had visions of Grammy Awards, fame and thousands of record sales to reinforce my sheer joy of being a musician and simply composing songs.

Nothing happened after my first song, but along about my fifth or sixth tune, opportunities did float my way.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

What I learned very quickly, in my Midwest innocence, was that life and death lie in the wording of a contract. Someone saying they want to “sign your song” or “promote your music” does not mean your song is actually signed or that your music will be promoted. Sometimes it’s just means they’re securing that song, in case they want to use it, making sure nobody else can get it.

On occasion, it’s a deal where they plan to use the song but want to give you the lowest possible percentage of remuneration.

But one word always came to the forefront: exclusive.

What that meant was they wanted me to sign a contract saying I would not work with anybody else, while they determined how much they really wanted to work with me.

I grew up quickly.

Even today, when I hear someone utter the phrase, “Well, we need to draft a contract,” I immediately know there’s something they don’t want to say to me—that they want to hide in a contract, in a very small point size and a near-unreadable font.depressed, angry adolescents.


Donate Button


Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Advertisements

Clique

Clique: (n) a narrow exclusive circle persons

Turns out, I have small hands.
According to the authorities in our political parties, that portends that I have a small penis–which means I cannot join the clique of the “Big-Penis Boys.”
I’m supposed to be greatly offended by that, thinking that if women see that I have small hands, and believe I have a tiny penis, they will lose all interest in me, even though the female vagina is only four inches deep–and what the hell would you do with the excess genitalia?
But things aren’t supposed to make sense.
Apparently, the goal is to call one another names and place each other in cliques, where we’re more easily defined, and therefore, controlled. And the purpose of the control is to eliminate the need to love all your neighbors, and only need to appreciate those with freshly trimmed grass and nice barbeques.
The only reason to ever form a clique–like the “Big Penis Boys”–is to make sure that everyone knows you’re a part of it, so you don’t have to semi-hang around with your meager brethren.
What future do we have as a species if we continue to break down into the smaller and smaller cliques which we are willing to include?
Probably none.

 

Donate Button