Open message to Liam P. Howlett
Your BGAT release was a mistake, but your BGAT DUB mix was just a piece of shit on my face. I don’t know how actually talented I am, the olny thing I’ve earned with my music/remixes is bronchial asthma and years of disappointment, I guess it’s justly, I don’t give a fuck. Just listen that. There is a bunch of asslickers around you, they don’t care what to sell under “Prodigy” brand. And there are thousands people behind your equipment and hands. My hands is a half of your hands. When you drink your champagne I discover hangover. When you tour with old tracks I feel that I’ve lost years for nothing. Fuck your money, fuck your dress, fuck your social status, fuck your label, fuck controversial Prodigy status, fuck your bomb tracks, fuck your new apple laptops, fuck your ableton live and complicated structure of your fucking “back 2 school”, fuck your interviews full of fresh sound, fuck your photos I never seen, fuck your korg I never played on, fuck your dodge I never drove, fuck your gigs I never been on, fuck your autograph I never needed, fuck your promo periods, fuck lyrics in your songs, fuck collaborations, fuck 5000 mixes of your bells, fuck your new cool website design, fuck your diary messages, fuck your respect I’ll never get! Break a fuck and ruin the band. Cheers!
Hey, that was a toast for my BGAT remix 3 years anniversary! Respect goes to Brainkiller, thanks for sponsoring the remix!
One more remix Liam Howlett never heard of: Prodigy - Baby’s Got A Temper (the Second Division remix)
P.S.
taken from http://www.dreamsongs.com/:
Most artists work without benefactors or patrons; little, or less, is paid for their work; the work appears in small venues, in unread magazines, on unvisited websites, or disappears into drawers and trunks and discovered, maybe, by children or grandchildren. We become confused when greed is grafted onto art. Musicians—it is said—would stop making music if there were not the possibility of great financial rewards for it; and if that happened, some people say, music would dry up. The argument stems from Johnson’s indolent comment: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.” But, if we were to be deprived of every composition by professional composers and every note played by professional musicians—relying only on currently unnamed and unknown composers and players—we would enjoy a quality of music equal to what we are used to. The same goes for film, fiction, plays, art, and every other artistic endeavor. —Because behind every professional producing art of any sort are hundreds or thousands or even more amateurs who are every bit as talented and skilled, and who produce as fine art as the paid professional.
[…]
Each artist working alone at home with little chance of an audience is producing a gift that requires only a recipient to become fulfilled. This is the purest form of gift, and somehow we all know that the giver expects nothing in return, and we properly feel that nothing needs to be given.
Fuck my luck I never had!
