I just read a really sad, funny and well-written piece in the New York Observer, a true "salmon-colored broadsheet." It's about how, with all the Big Apple indie music and video stores closing, smart young slackers and bohos are screwed for jobs.
My favorite quote is from a fellow Dusted writer:
"Working in a record store, you save on other things,” explained former Other Music employee Rob Hatch-Miller, 25, over iChat. “Like, you can buy music for yourself pretty cheaply, and for entertainment you can usually go to shows for free …. Plus you get to know people at clubs who’ll give you free drinks and stuff. There are incentives.”
Shit, yeah. It's gauche to admit it, but I haven't paid for a show in, like, 15 years. Thanks local rock stardom, thanks Pure Pop, thanks, Seven Days.
But seeing as that I'm about to give up my superpowers to become nothing more than a thirtysomething dweeb (or to let said condition become singularly defining) I read this piece with great interest.
So should you. It's a five-pager, but I suggest that any would-be, current or ex hipsters check it.
When you're done, enjoy a bunch of old folks singing The Who: