Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

Touted

October 26, 2019

Last Saturday night, I got touted.

I’m using the verb in an unusual way—by convention, when something is touted, it is promoted or claimed.

But when I say I got touted, I wasn’t in any way the object of promotion. On the contrary, I got screwed.

Back in the day (and they’re still around) a tout might approach you at the subway exit, or in a park next to a sports stadium or a concert venue. The show may vary, but the game is unvarying.

I grew up with analog touts—always guys, always shady, slightly more presentable than a heroin dealer, slightly less pushy than a mugger.

The typical tout would operate on behalf of someone else, the toutmeister—the guy with the capital to purchase a stock of tickets in the first place, and to take the financial risk—just as with drugs, and so many other businesses: risk it, buy it, flog it.

But where a human tout might nag and cajole you, there were only three ways he could scam you—falsely persuade you that box office tickets were sold out, hike the price, or sell you a fake ticket.

That last one is a little tricky—to the extent I will only find out in December if the tickets I was touted with are genuine—there may be a Touted Part II.

Many years ago, an English guy I knew was driving along in southern Portugal. A traffic policeman flagged him down and he pulled to a stop by the side of the road, by a row of olive trees. The day was hot, and the cop waited until the dust settled on the verge; then he walked up to the Ford and saluted.

Documentos,” he said.

The Englishman only knew two words in Portuguese. Cerveja—beer, and obrigado—thank-you. In those days, Portuguese people got by in French better than in English, but the two words, together with a little mime, usually did the trick.

Documentos,” the cop repeated.

The man handed him the car registration. The policeman wanted ID.

The Englishman reached into his wallet and produced a single quarter-sheet of paper. It was official-looking, contained his name in an underline at the top, and a list of items below that, together with some numbers and a signature.

The traffic cop scrutinized the British driving license—he had never seen one before. He examined the document again, unable to fathom what any of the words or numbers meant.

Boa tarde.” Satisfied, he handed back the documents, saluted, and headed to his vehicle.

The Englishman put the paper back in his wallet and drove off, grinning. This would make quite a story in the pub. The quarter-sheet was a laundry bill from a Hertford dry cleaner, made out to Mr. Jack Ramsey. Itemized were one pair of trousers and three shirts.

Fake tickets are not easy to spot.

Last week they finally got me—I was touted online. I paid eight times more for a rock concert ticket than the face value printed on it. No redress, no way back.

From time to time, we all find ourselves in situations where we spend more than we planned—I have two cures for that: don’t make the same mistake twice, and work a little harder the following week.

So, I can’t get my money back. But I have a weapon. The pen is mightier than the scam, so let’s get into the weeds.

I was touted by Viagogo, one of a number of sites that specialize in the secondary market for tickets. The company is legally based in Geneva, and therefore neatly dodges EU regulation on consumer protection.

When I looked into Viagogo, I found out that it has been publicly condemned by the UK’s digital minister, Margot James—I didn’t realize Britain had such a thing, and she’s also notched up points in my book by resigning from government on July 18th, 2019, to vote against the prorogation of parliament.

I really didn’t want to go down the hellhole of Brexit today—compared to that, a tout is but a fart: smells foul but disappears quickly—but Margot further warmed my heart by having the whip removed on September 3rd, in what will become known as the Boris Brexitovsky purges.

So, Ms. James told BBC Radio 5 Live that she warned consumers away from ticket reselling platform Viagogo, branding it “the worst”. Apparently, the company had already fallen foul (there’s that smell again) of the British Advertising Standards Authority for imposing “hidden” fees on customers.

Ed Sheeran has also condemned the Viagogo touts—didn’t cheer me up much, but at least I’m in good company.

Digital touts, or more accurately, internet touts, have provide a major disservice to music—and that, friends, is a capital crime in my book.

You may be familiar with the concept of bots. Just as you can read me on your tablet or cellphone, so a bot can access this page, traverse all other links, and collect a history of my mentions of the words ‘sex’, or ‘China’, or ‘orang-u-tan’.

Bots are what allows Google to index pages and process them to help you find stuff. They’re also responsible for the annoying Captcha stuff, and the occasional requirement to click on images with buses—Boris could do that for a living rather than managing a dog’s breakfast.

The secondary market sites got into the bot business—they sent out bots to buy online tickets to concerts, sports events, you name it. Digital touts therefore sucked out the primary market—by the time you heard about a concert, the primary market was empty.

Musicians want fans, and fans want affordable music. This sets door prices, until robotouts screw the whole system—at that point, ticket prices skyrocket, and the audience shifts towards the wealthy—as Lennon famously said in the Albert Hall, ‘the rest of you, just rattle your jewellery.’

Viagogo traps you using four tricks. First, they have a bar at the top of the page where you select the number of tickets you want. My magic number was 2, and I was shown a price. In very small print, and a discreet color, the column header says:

(each)

No matter what number you select—customers in good faith will choose the one they need—the price never changes. Even when they break down net costs and tax, they only ever use the single ticket price, with e.g. 4X slyly inserted off to the side.

Second, as soon as you make a choice, a timer window appears, counting down the seconds to pressure you to complete your purchase.

Third: never, throughout the process, are you ever told the face value of the ticket you are buying.

Finally, the total amount you’re spending is not shown at checkout, only in a post-purchase confirmation screen, aka a gotcha screen.

Touts in the UK, Scalpers in the US. Scum of the earth anywhere.

After I fell for this scam, I wondered if I was the only fool in the market… sadly, no. An excellent article published this August in Wired tells us:

Favourite band coming to town? Good luck getting tickets. The touts have already snapped them up – and they’re now listed for ten-times the face value on Viagogo and StubHub. But digital touts may be facing extinction. New technology is making mass buying more difficult, governments are closing in on rogue resellers and even Ticketmaster is shutting down its own resale sites. The only problem? Getting hold of on-demand tickets is unlikely to get any cheaper or easier.

I found out Viagogo has company. Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, there’s Viagogo, Stubhub, Seatwave, and Get Me In. Four unpolishable turds.

Notice how often I’ve written Viagogo’s name—ordinarily I wouldn’t do this, but I want Viagogo imprinted in your mind, and I want to increase the visibility of this article when some poor sucker searches for Viagogo on the net—I just refuse to link them.

Companies like Viagogo are a collective danger—they disenfranchise the less well-off, make culture less accessible and more elitist, and help widen the gap between the appointed and the disappointed.

These are the recipes for the politics of extremes that has invaded Western society, only three generations after World War II.

As for Viagogo? To use a popular, if unfulfilled, promise, may they die in a ditch.

The India Road, Atmos Fear, Clear Eyes, and Folk Tales For Future Dreamers. QR links for smartphones and tablets.

Blonde on Blonde

September 29, 2019

Blonde on Blonde is one of Bob Dylan’s greatest records—with artists like Dylan, The Beatles, Clapton, or The Stones, it’s wonderful to be able to say that—there are enough great albums that you can’t choose the best.

The two blondes in this article are the exact opposite—they’ve done so much crap it’s hard to choose the worst in their record. And to cap it all, one of them isn’t even blond—he is in fact a dubious shade of orange—bring on the spectrometer.

I have strong ties to both America and Britain, and good friends in both countries—the image projected by those great nations at present reflects the worse that nationalism and populism can offer.

In the nineteen twenties and thirties, Europe was destroyed by National Socialism—almost one century later, the Western World is being destroyed by National Populism.

As usual, I thought I’d come up with a new phrase, only to find that an entire book, called National Populism: The Revolt Against Liberal Democracy, was published last year on this very subject. The authors are Roger Eatwell (really) and Matthew Goodwin, and the LSE blog gives it a positive, though somewhat mixed, review.

Eatwell and Goodwin (sorry, I love that) blame the ‘four Ds’. I appreciate appropriate alliteration, so here come the ‘D’s:

Distrust, destruction, deprivation, and de-alignment.

This is quite good, if self-evident: distrust in the political class; destruction of communal identity due to globalization; deprivation linked to class inequality (The Hourglass); and de-alignment of personal identity with political parties or brands.

So here we have the raw material for the likes of Steve Bannon, Nigel Farage, Marine Le Pen, or the late Pym Fortuyn.

The demagogue wallows in this fertile swill—it breeds an easy narrative of corrupt pols, job losses to China and Bangladesh, Goldman versus Burger King, and identity crisis—you know who you are because of Facebook and Instagram, and you drift in a current of posts, memes, and viral clips.

Suddenly you’re important—you have friends. You’re pulled along with the tide, but you’re in out of your depth, and only one thing can happen at that stage as you drift back and forth.

Go figure!

You start to sink, not at all sure how far the bottom lies—and at some point, along comes a nice blond (or potentially orange) man with a great idea, one that solves all your problems.

When that kind and generous hand is extended from above, you—who are maybe on benefits in Sunderland, England, or Ohio, USA—grab on to it with vigor, knowing that finally, there’s someone up there who gets it, someone who’s on your side.

And in this case, their background is so uncannily similar to yours! Why, one was born into a family of millionaires, skipped the Vietnam war, and has systematically abused immigrant labor and contracted manufacturing abroad to further his own ends; and the other, like most folks in Sunderland, is Eton and Oxford-educated.

What you perhaps didn’t know, and may garner a wry smile, is that Boris Johnson was also educated at the European School in Brussels. I suspect that on October 17th he will be continuing his education.

Both men have ridden the same wave of National Populism, which I have just christened the NAPPI movement.

And in both cases, events have shown that chaos is the inevitable consequence of scheduling appointments for foxes inside hen houses.

In Trump’s case it took three years, Boris only took three months—but the consequences of this kind of ‘government’ are abundantly clear—it’s an experiment with one hell of a cost.

In the US, the office of president has been utterly debased, abused for personal advantage, and sunk, in the eyes of many Americans and of outside observers, to unimaginable lows. The kinds of conversations that have recently come to light may signal the end of this nightmare, and yet the current administration has ridden scandal after scandal using well-tested fallacies.

A letter signed by more than three hundred US national security professionals emerged this week, denouncing the exchange between Trump and the new president of the Ukraine. Out of all the signatories, all but two were either ‘former’, or ‘retd’—either those in active service think these are appropriate actions, or there is a serious lack of courage with respect to opposing the administration.

I suspect the latter—there’s a good deal of fear inside the federal government, because a witch hunt is undoubtedly going on—not of the president, as he constantly and falsely repeats, but of any who oppose him.

To an outsider, it’s incomprehensible how the Republican Party let itself get hijacked, and why at this stage, a majority of senate republicans, who clearly cannot abide Trump, should not simply support impeachment and get rid of him once and for all—hold their noses, vote with the democrats, and ‘Bye Felicia!

When it comes to Boris and Brexit, Churchill’s quote on Russia comes to mind: “a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma.”

All we can really forecast at present is that things will end badly, but no one knows how or when. After his trouncing by the British supreme court, Bojo was forced back from New York. The current state of play is as follows: (i) a Brexit deal by the next meeting of the European Council seems highly unlikely; (ii) the British PM will either ask for a delay, refuse to ask and accept the legal consequences, or resign; (iii) there will be a general election within the next three months.

A Bojo resignation is highly unlikely, so he would have to be forced out—also unlikely. A Labour victory in the election is unlikely, particularly with the LibDems splitting the vote, making a Tory plus Brexit party win a real possibility—an alliance conditioned by a policy decision on a no-deal Brexit will be the outcome.

The alternative scenario would be a Labour plus LibDem government, a second referendum, and further mayhem.

That’s what we know.

We also now know that remembering history is a good thing, and that experiments with combustible materials can burn the house down.

The India Road, Atmos Fear, Clear Eyes, and Folk Tales For Future Dreamers. QR links for smartphones and tablets.


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