Music Millionaires

At a time when we are constantly being told how those record company big wigs have been haemorrhaging cash and jobs due to people not buying CDs anymore and turning to the internet and, more specifically, illegal downloading as a means of bypassing large store prices and as a way of discovering new music, it’s interesting to read the Sunday Times British Music Millionaires list, which puts Edgar Bronfman and co, chief executive of Warner Music Group, at the top of its rich list with an income of £1.6 billion. I know, how can you not help but feel sorry for them?

Warner own the like of Led Zeppelin, Michael Buble and Burt Bacharach. Maybe their fans just don’t know how to use Spotify yet, or maybe it’s a bit more complicated: clearly the only people making money out of the music industry at the moment are the select few (let’s call them, for arguments sake, the ‘Simon Cowell’s’ of this world, who, incidentally, was at number 11), who get to carve up a sizeable empire in a dwindling economy while the artists are the ones being dropped, sacked and generally shafted. The closest thing to an artist in the top five is Lloyd-Webber at number three. Sir Paul drops to number five. Ahead of him, the head of Zomba and Jive Records, Clive Calder, and theatre plugger Sir Cameron Mackintosh.

And, excuse me, but where are all the women? Out of the top 30, there is not a single female act, and the only ones mentioned are those benefiting in conjunction with their husbands: Sharon Osbourne, Victoria Beckham, Olivia Harrison (widow of George). This is an incredibly depressing thought, especially when considering how such a bias could be readdressed. So, I guess the lesson is that if you want to make money from music, don’t bother starting a band, or even learning an instrument for that matter. It’s not about the music anymore, kids, so wear those trousers high.

They love Amanda Holden in America, so much so that she looks set to present ‘The Early Show’ on CBS. Quite a leap, I think you’ll agree, given her resounding grasp of American current affairs, and despite being the ker-razy token every-WAG on a Simon Cowell bossed reality show like ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, the only show where the contestants still manage to better the accumulative talents of the expert panel just by, I don‘t know, farting the national anthem or something. Overseas they, like, totally love her accent, but if that were the sole prerequisite of presenting a popular American network breakfast show, then why not get someone like Boris Johnson to do it? Or, better still, get Bernard Cribbins. You can’t get more British than that.

Of course, the real reason isn’t just because of her accent, although I’m sure that helps. It’s mainly because she’s pretty, prissy, size zero blondness, just like Cat Deeley was before her. On the plus side, we’ll be seeing a lot less of Holden over here, who is so dedicated to being all things to all people in America that she’s even planning to record a country album. And the record label releasing this? That would be the Warner Music Group, thus quite aptly proving my point. Again.

Here’s a dream come true for all you distracted students, particularly the ones who are up in time: Channel Five are holding open auditions, via YouTube, for people to appear in an episode of ‘Neighbours’. The winner of Be A Star on Neighbours gets to fly out to Melbourne for six weeks to play Poppy Rodgers, a made up character who is apparently Mal Kennedy’s best friend. If you fancy it, simply learn the script (which is here: http://assets.five.tv/fivetv/beastar/PoppyRogers_AuditionScene.pdf), film it, and the producers in Australia might even look at it, or just hope that at least more than a thousand people enter, which is probably the equivalent of the show’s current TV ratings.

Poppy’s a bit of a mentalist by the looks of things, trying to convince Karl to jump out of a plane and asking where the nearest nudist beach is (“Oh Karl, you are such a prude.”). As you’ll only be there for six weeks, my guess is that all of Poppy’s extreme sporting interests will eventually collide in a horrible cliff hanger episode where her parachute fails to open as she rapidly descends at terminal velocity into a sand dune on a Queensland nudist beach. I’m personally feeling a bit cheated, as are no doubt many other guys, who will be looking forward to Channel Five’s search for a male actor next time: an extreme surfer perhaps, who steals Toadie’s beach towel and goes into hiding in Susan’s garage, or maybe you could befriend Paul Robinson in return for shares in Lassiter’s. Which will then probably explode. You could be back doing your old job in no time.