big fish games taking money out my account

We finally got to the point where fascinating auteurs like Gerwig can control mainstream budgets and studio tentpoles and you’re complaining? I see a lot of backpack rap in your future, metaphorically. That’s my warning to the sellout zealots: be careful what you wish for. And to think Jay-Z was still releasing an album a year amid all that! I listened to artists on Rawkus Records on repeat like their integrity was holy, only to find out years later that the entire label was bankrolled by Rupert Murdoch’s kid! Worse than that, the music was terrible! Revisit that backpack era and barely any of it (maybe Black Star?) holds up, all preachy message songs, self-righteous posturing, and far too many white people. By the time I was 16, when Audiogalaxy (RIP, my file-sharing friend) made fringe content more easily accessible, I quickly shunned mainstream rap (Jay-Z’s Vol 2… Hard Knock Life era, forgive me) for the “realer stuff”, backpack labels like Anticon and Def Jux and Rawkus. I know how obnoxious it was because I wasn’t immune. Far from romantic, it felt ridiculous, like choosing chaos. By the mid-’00s we all rewatched Reality Bites and scoffed at Winona Ryder’s Lelaina for bypassing Ben Stiller’s sweet, supportive TV exec in favour of Ethan Hawke’s immature slacker. Not to generalise, but to a certain generation, all those ’80s and ‘90s stories of bands like the Replacements drunkenly self-sabotaging their major label showcases, so tortured by the inner conflict of potentially “making it big”, felt laughable, tragic even. Sigh,” Cross wrote, and everyone giggled at his sound logic. If I wanted that cottage I would have to pay him money. This guy was a f-ing idiot! But what could I do? He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I tried to explain the value of ‘credibility’ and ‘artistic integrity’ but he refused to take it in exchange for the house.

I remember an infamous blog post from David Cross, the alt-comic renowned for the classic sketch comedy series Mr Show (with Bob Odenkirk), where he vehemently defended himself against accusations he “sold out” after taking a role in the 2007 film Alvin and the Chipmunks by suggesting he tried to buy himself a small house in upstate New York with his “indie hipster cred”, but the owner wasn’t having it.

Personally, I thought the idea of selling out died for good in 2008. “Better than them using a crappy song to sell bras.” Maybe we became more comfortable with the idea of auteurs wanting access to bigger canvases, resources and audiences? “What do we care?” we said. Perhaps we all became a bit more understanding towards the challenges involved with pursuing a creative career and we cut artists some slack? Joanna Newsom’s Sprout and the Bean in a Victoria’s Secret ad for push-up bras starring Miranda Kerr? “Fine with us!” we said. For 20 or so years, it seems, the idea of “selling out” laid dormant.

Big fish games taking money out my account