News Tour About Media Store Contact Friends Billy's Blog

Thursday, August 6, 2009


In Hollywood, there are about a dozen people who write every song you hear on the radio.

Most of them know the songs they write are terrible. Most of them hate what they do. But, they know how it's done, and they do it well.

There's a reason they call it "selling out". There is a big paycheck to this formula.

This is not to say that there are not beacons of light who shine through this mess. YES, there are still people who write their own songs. They're out there, somewhere. You just don't hear them on the radio all that often.

If you do hear them on the radio, chances are it's because they gave a song they wrote to someone else. Maybe they planned to release it themselves, maybe they thought it didn't sound enough like "them" (even though they wrote it). So, you give it away, cause if the person with the biggest machine behind them if singing the song you wrote, you'll be richer than if you sing it yourself.

Why is the radio such a big deal? Why do you even listen to it? It's like watching a spreadsheet on T.V. or a listening to a sonic math equation. It's all so...calculated.

All over, every where, there are kids in bands, like me, complaining about the radio. It's been this way since the beginning. Maybe you think the radio is awesome. Maybe you listen to it every day. Maybe you love American Idol and Hannah Montana and every Disney Brat and Pop Tart the machine can spew out. I know there are people like you out there, there has to be.

The thing for me is, even if I can admit the song is good (I loved "Since You Been Gone"'s a truly well written song) I just can't get past the fact that the person singing it didn't write it, produce it, chose the album cover, write the melody, pick the arrangement...nothing. They had nothing to do with it. Sometimes, they'll have something to do with it, like the spelling of the title. but it's too dangerous to mess with the formula. There are millions of dollars on the line...

If you want to make a million bucks in a week, you gotta have a radio "single".

I, for one, can't WAIT until people stop using the word "single".

See, my favourite songs, will never be played on the radio. My favourite songs do not sound like "Singles". If you want a song on your album to be played on the radio, it has to be the "Single" and the "Single" has to sound like all the other "Singles" out there on the radio, even if it sounds nothing like anything else on your album.

And this is the formula. And this is the way it has been going for years. And I just hope it ends one day.

That is all.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Every night a monologue plays in my mind of all the words I would have said if I thought you were listening

Every night I stay up trying to fall asleep to did he get my emails did he read my emails did he see my emails did he delete my emails did he get my emails does he ignore my emails does he read my emails does he see my emails does he delete my emails

Every day I sink in to my reality…this mediocrity…all the things I wish I could be, wish I could be doing…and I think of the things I have done in order to do them…and I think of how many times the path of trying to get to where I wish I was has broken me. Broken me to bits. Bits hanging out the window of the 29th floor looking down, hanging on with one hand to…

Change everything. Changing everything. Phone calls. Flights. Packing packing packing packing packing Get the fuck out. Anywhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but

Here we are again.

It’s a means to an end, right? Every body does this. Right? Every body hates every minute of their existence, every second like a small stab in the throat killing killing killing god just make it end I can’t talk to these people anymore I can’t stay here I can’t do this I can’t

Change everything.

Like a slide show. The flash of a camera. Move home, move out, move back, move on, move in, get dropped get bent out of shape cause the nightmares are a run on sentence that’s spilling in to daylight and the dark doesn’t stop anymore and I don’t remember why I do this why do I do this why do I do this why do I

Change everything?

I can’t stand it in my own skin. And I’m running out of places to go. And I can’t write it on my walls, because I don’t have any. I can’t drive somewhere new, anywhere, anywhere, anywhere but here is where we are. And I start over. And over. And over. Again.

Every night

A monologue

Plays in my mind

But this is

The first time

I have written anything down

In a year