You know when you have an emotion so powerful inside you that the only way to express it is to break out in song? I do that a lot, and you know what? Nobody around me is happy. I sing about as well as I dance. And this dog dances better than I do.
Lucky for you, my voice had absolutely nothing to do with โFrat House: The Musical,โ an awesome new web series that just happens to be one of the winners of this yearโs โSubway Fresh Artistsโข Featured Filmmakersโ competition!
Filmmaking students at USC and NYUโtwo of the top film schools in Americaโsubmitted short films for consideration. Two teams from each school won the top prizes, which means their series are getting the star treatment!
First up is โFrat House The Musical,โ the story of a plucky college freshman with pipes of gold and abs of steel.
He wants nothing more than to join his fatherโs fraternity. Sadly, the Sigma frat doesnโt want himโฆ until they realize they need him to survive. Drama! Dancing! Singing! Subway! What more could you ask for?
For you to watch it.
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Eitan,
That Ain't Right on 11/28/2011 6:00:00 AM by Eitan
It's time for another edition of That Ain't Right, a semi-regular feature in which we acknowledge that there are people in the world who may not know that My Damn Channel is a proper noun and complain a LOT about what's happening on/to/with their TV.
To which the only reply is, "That Ain't Right":
That Ainโt Right, @KissMy_Tweetinq sounds like your father is on a bit of a power trip. Sure, the bible says to respect your parents but Iโm sure he would make an exemption for someone who is at risk of having their damn channel changed. Mr. KissMy_Tweetinq, That Ainโt Right.
That Ainโt Right, @DaTFIn3sTKiNg and myself are kindred spirits.
We both hate it when people come nd change my damn channel like ine been watchin tv,
Does it look like ine been watchin TV?!?!
Get your facts straight ppl.
Yet another victim falls at the hands of the lethal combination of Rain and Comcast. That Ainโt Right Comcast, That Ainโt Right. @Barbranicole1 just wanted to watch her damn channel guide. When will this madness end!
Damn you rain, Damn you satellite and damn you comcast. That Ainโt Right.
That Ainโt Right, Imagine searching for buried treasure for years and years. You have lost your family, lost your friends and lost the will to think about anything else besides for the buried treasure.
Now imagine after all those years you finally find it. You open the treasure box, take out the gold, raise it triumphantly in the sky and then BAM! Someone changes the damn channel!
@_RealLongHair finally found an episode of True Life that he liked and you change the channel! That Ainโt Right. That Just Ainโt Right.
That's all for this edition of
That Ain't Right! Until next time, may nothing on this
My Damn Channel be as stressful as when someone else has your remote control, Twitterland.
(Intern Josh, wondering forlornly how he ended up here)
EDITOR'S NOTE: It's Josh's last day as an intern for My Damn Channel! I asked him to write up a post telling you what it was like for him this summer!
Coming into My Damn Channel as an intern I thought all I was gonna learn was how to file papers and fill out reports. Boy was I wrong! Friday will be my last day and I still haven't correctly filled out a single report. My boss is always saying that it drives him crazy how long it's taking me to get the hang of the office duties, but I can tell he's just joking. How I treasure that agonized look he gets trying so hard to hold back laughter.
What I learned though was way more valuable than any college education. I would say it was worth about $230,000, a couple hundred more than four years' tuition at Wesleyan. What I learned was the value of making the effort to gain the respect of your peers.
Before I ever set foot into that office, I had my work cut out for me. My future co-workers had already started gossiping that I only got the internship because of my family connections. After failing for three years to strike any gold, my great-great-grandfather started My Damn Channel during the California Gold Rush as a burlesque show designed to entertain entrepreneurs who had given up on trying to find gold and started companies catered to the needs of the gold miners. Grandpa Schmulie Meisel. I can't believe that was such a popular name back then โ Grandpa.
My first day at work the guy sharing my cubicle got mad at me for unplugging his computer. "What do you need a blender for?!" he irrationally snarled. "How else are you gonna make computer smoothies silly? By hand?!" I chucked his computer into my oversized blender. He must've thought I was awfully spoiled, not making my computer smoothies by hand. I really had an uphill battle ahead of me if I wanted to gain anyone's respect.
A couple of days in I got the courage to pitch a show idea to the head of development. It was a parody of "Friends" called "Friends." He looked at me like I was an idiot. "You just handed me a bunch of "Friends" scripts. I think I know now why the printer's out of ink. Look, why don't you hold off for a bit before you make any more pitches." Apparently my scripts had gone right over his head. And "Friends" was a pretty accessible show. The guy I shared my cubicle was a rube, our head of development was dense as a neutron star, and my boss was an incorrigible prankster. My situation was less than ideal to say the least.
Halfway through the summer things had only gotten worse. I was miserable. My only friend was the janitor, and he was a Roomba! I'd cry myself to sleep every night, and when I wasn't feeling that sad I would get my butler to cry me to sleep. My job was a major disappointment. It wasn't at all like that show "The Office." We had TWO guys named Dwight, and the prettiest girl wasn't dating the most handsome guy (me), but instead this guy Jim who's so inexperienced with women that when I asked him to share some girlie stories he just laughed.
All I could do was trudge along until my five weeks were up, filing away papers wherever I could cram them (I may not get the job done pretty, but I'm damn fast). And just when I had given up on ever gaining a single ounce of respect from any My Damn Channel employee, a stroke of luck bolted me right in the face.
I'll always remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was only yesterday today. Jim's girlfriend (I think her name was Xamela) told him he needed to go somewhere to sign some forms. She couldn't give him a ride because she was busy. He asked if anyone else could take him, and I shot out of my chair like I was sitting on a lit match (which for the one of the first times I wasn't). Jim didn't see me at first; his eyes scanned the room for someone to drive him but everyone pretended to be hard at work because they were too lazy to take him. Finally he saw me and said "Fine let's go Josh." And fine it was. Everyone looked up at Jim and smiled at him. Their smiles seemed to say, "I'm really happy for you that you get to go on a fun/crazy/cool ride with Josh." But the smiles had a little menace behind them that signified jealousy.
When I got back my boss laughed with mirth, patted me on the back, and said, "Good job sonny." All I ever wanted was for my boss to think of me as a son, but life isn't easy. I had to put in my time to get what I wanted โ let's just say I don't think I could've earned the luxury of being treated by my boss like his own flesh and blood if I hadn't given Jim that ride. And now, in these last couple of months before my summer ends and I have to go back to hitting the books trying to eventually earn my GED, I can look back at my time at My Damn Channel atop my pool float, computer smoothie in hand, and know that that one lesson I learned was well worth all my trifles. Plus it helped that I was making more than the rest of the office combined.
Thanks, Josh, er, Sonny! We will miss you! We know it will be tough going back to Stanford to get a world-class education, but it's better you than us!
We fully intend to continue stalking following you and your writing as @artsypriest and as a writer for The Stanford Chaparral.
PS: If any of you, dear readers, for some strange, maddening reason, would like to be an intern for My Damn Channel, please send an email to info@MyDamnChannel.com, and be sure to include links to your blog, Twitter and Tumblr accounts, or any other writing samples you might have! In the immortal words of the Jersey Shore kids in Italy, "Arrivederci, summer!"
As an avid fan of Super Bowl Champions the Green Bay Packers, I've spent much of the last week celebrating by shoveling as many different kinds of cheese down my throat as possible. True, this is how I mostly go about life to begin with, but the cholesterol choking off my arteries and slowly murdering me has been especially festive as of late.
But not everyone was pleased with what went down on their TVs last Sunday. Steelers fans, sure. But music fans also suffered a devastating one-two punch in the forms of Christina Aguilera's freedom-hating National Anthem flub, and the Black Eyed Peas' over-aggressive imperative to "DRANK!" And then there are those weirdoes who only watch the Super Bowl "for the ads." And for these folks there was nothing more controversial and upsetting than Groupon's "save your money"-themed ads skewering celeb activism.
Okay, fair enough. A drunken, sports-obsessed viewing audience and a perhaps too-subtle bit of Swiftian satire do not the perfect marriage make. But if you're looking to be shocked, angered, and perplexed by advertising, these videos remain the gold standard...
First, we have this cute lil' nightmare factory from famed Japanese artist Takashi Murakami.
What is Inochi-Kun? My best guess is ceaseless, unending horror. Don't even think about mushrooms while you watch this, or your eyeballs will start to bleed and white foam will start to come out of your nose.
And then there's this gem, from a pre-Muppets Jim Henson, shilling for the now-defunct Wilkins Coffee.
Why is this lumpy little proto-Kermit being such a dick about coffee? What is his agenda? Frankly, I don't like being strong-armed into drinking dirty water. No wonder the Wilkins Company's mafia tactics drove them out of business.
But if you're looking for puppets, why not check out the frightening-yet-friendly beasties of Spook House Dave!?
In this episode, the monsters try to cope with Dave's absence while he's away at summer camp. Suffice to say, they don't exactly hold it together. Maybe they just need to get out of the castle. I hear Groupon has some great deals on hot air balloon rides.
In the badass business called "show," the toughest gig is probably 4 hours of live radio every day of the week. You can put live comedy right up alongside radio. The men and women with the balls to lead either of those two lunatic lives deserve gold medals.
Only a few amazing souls make it to another death-defying gig, as host of their own late night show.
More than enough has been written and said about Leno and Conan. There's never enough said about Jimmy Kimmel.
Jimmy Kimmel Live is the best late night show on television. He consistently proves it all night - every night. Whenever Jimmy attacks the art form of video shorts, he blows us away.
Please njoy nshare this latest masterpiece:
"IMPREGN8ED" by Tray-Mo featuring Lil' Jim.
Posted in
My Damn Channel with tags
My Damn Channel on 6/14/2009 3:21:38 PM by Rob Barnett
Our 2d anniversary arrives next month. Taking stock tonight. Thinking about the reasons we birthed this baby. Thinking about the point. And honoring every collaborator still passionate enough to rally against bullshit.
Warren Chao & I started our ride because YouTube turned old media upside down and ignited a new democratic digital revolution. Media corporations born in the 1920's don't do rebellion well. It became clear that timing and technology gifted us a chance to launch a new, independent media company.
We set out to serve 3 masters:
- to give talent unprecedented freedom to create for their fans
- to give our community the best original work from artists without all of the usual network interference in the way
- to give brands the benefits of reaching one of the most engaged, mass audiences created since the birth of Rock & Roll.
We saw 3 distinct video doors opening:
Door #1: User-generated, aggregated
Door #2: Repurposed professional
Door #3: Original
YouTube created and won the first game. All who attempt to grab this throne face a heavy slog.
There's clearly a business in repurposing television and other old goodies through new media distribution. But we're not the moguls who control that solid gold.
We create original, episodic comedy, music and sports with artists who are as honest as their fans.
Our staff is ridiculously small. Our goals are extremely large. We're heading into one of the more 'interesting' weeks (long XTC story about that another time) and we're heading into the 2d anniversary zone by honoring U humans responsible for creating, distributing and watching our videos. Thanks for being a part of this.
Posted in
My Damn Channel,
Press with tags
Procrast-errific,
Ad Age,
My Damn Channel on 5/10/2008 3:50:34 AM by Rob Barnett
Dobrow's Procrast-errific Web Video Destination
Media Reviews for Media People: My Damn Channel
By Larry Dobrow
Published: May 08, 2008
I spend 37 hours per day in front of the computer and have the attention span of a sugared-up first-grader, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that I inhale a staggering amount of online video. Indeed, as I craft my masterworks of Western thought and struggle to locate that elusive mot juste ("luftmensch"? "jecoral"?), web video serves as the default procrastination apparatus. Mostly my wanderings lead to Springsteen clips, which I then forward to my similarly Jer-Z-fied pals. We've wasted 7,250 hours on low-res 1978 versions of "Prove It All Night" alone.
My Damn Channel's 'Cookin' With Coolio'
revels in its own silliness.
So no, I don't have a single regular supplier for my video fix, and I'm probably like the vast majority of web monkeys in that regard. For texty information and illumination and whatnot, there are 15 or so sites I'll check out every day. For video, I unthinkingly go wherever my idiot friends point me.
Happily, I've found a procrast-errific web-video destination in My Damn Channel, a better-realized version of the astronomically hyped, Ferrell-and-Apatow-backed Funny or Die. That's not a slap at Funny or Die, so much as an endorsement of the more comically consistent My Damn Channel. It's all well and good that the Ian Zierings and John Mayers of the world have chosen Funny or Die as their preferred venue for gentle image-tweaking, but such lazy bits pale next to the goodies tucked away in each of My Damn Channel's, uh, channels.
Where Funny or Die throws up a bunch of clips and calls it an afternoon, My Damn Channel showcases a range of distinct personalities. Funnyfolk like David Wain, Harry Shearer and Andy Milonakis get online mini-laboratories to call their own, and use them for everything from low-concept weirdness to wry political commentary. No one channel is like the next, though each shares a twitchy, absurdist comic sensibility that should resonate with fans of Andy Samberg's SNL Digital Shorts, "Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!" and anything involving alumni from MTV's "The State."
My Damn Channel has justly been lauded for the passive-aggressive (and educational!) comic gold that is "You Suck at Photoshop" series and Wain's vigorously quirky "Wainy Days" quest to find his fictional self a gal. The site's less-hyped content -- especially the soap opera spoof "Horrible People" and the self-explanatory "Cookin' With Coolio" -- similarly revels in its own silliness, especially the former's asides about how "a waxed ***hole is a window to the soul."
I also dig Grace, the gal who, for lack of a better way to put it, serves as My Damn Channel's hostess and hype woman. She has the Sarah Silverman I'm-adorable-so-I-can-get-away-with-saying-stuff-about-Hitler-and-weed thing down pat, but doesn't overplay the gimmick -- which makes it all the more rewarding when she sweetly intones "be nice to your mother, because you f*cked up her baby hole." Her presence keeps My Damn Channel from feeling like a guys-only clubhouse, a fate that Funny or Die hasn't been able to avoid.
My Damn Channel even pulls off the nifty trick of being entertaining in its advertising. Don Was' music channel boasts Lincoln as a primary sponsor, for example, but also tapes performances in the grungy "grand showroom of our sponsor, The Furniture Outlet, located in North Hollywood, California, at 13054 Sherman Way ... c'mon down for some great music and some great bargains on love seats and bedroom sets!" A bunch of brands that appeal to homebound drones like me -- iTunes, Wolfgang's Vault, National Geographic Channel -- have been in heavy ad rotation of late, as have web mainstays like Match.com and Peapod. They're all easy fits, just as cellphone tchotchkes and other portable media devices would be. Ads for new movies or records would probably get lost amid all the content, though.
The two potential worries here for marketers? One, that few of the clips are safe for work; and two, that almost none of the humor here is linear, meaning that devotees of Jay Leno and "Two and a Half Men" will furrow their brows in a futile attempt to grasp the punch lines.
In the end, you can easily lose yourself for 45 minutes at a time at My Damn Channel -- in fact, I kinda just now did, courtesy of the Lori McKenna and Jackshit clips on the Don Was channel. I've yet to feel a comparable pull to any other web-video destination not named YouTube, and YouTube's clip quality and smallish viewing window seem primitive nowadays when compared to MDC, Funny or Die, Hulu and the like. If you can visit My Damn Channel without meandering around for awhile, I applaud your self-discipline.
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Uncategorized with tags
Bruce Springsteen,
Danny Federici on 4/25/2008 6:08:00 AM by Rob Barnett
This eulogy was delivered by Bruce Springsteen at Danny's funeral on April 21 in Red Bank, New Jersey:
FAREWELL TO DANNY
Let me start with the stories.
Back in the days of miracles, the frontier days when "Mad Dog" Lopez and his temper struck fear into the band, small club owners, innocent civilians and all women, children and small animals.
Back in the days when you could still sign your life away on the hood of a parked car in New York City.
Back shortly after a young red-headed accordionist struck gold on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour and he and his mama were sent to Switzerland to show them how it's really done.
Back before beach bums were featured on the cover of Time magazine.
I'm talking about back when the E Street Band was a communist organization! My pal, quiet, shy Dan Federici, was a one-man creator of some of the hairiest circumstances of our 40 year career... And that wasn't easy to do. He had "Mad Dog" Lopez to compete with.... Danny just outlasted him.
Maybe it was the "police riot" in Middletown, New Jersey. A show we were doing to raise bail money for "Mad Log" Lopez who was in jail in Richmond, Virginia, for having an altercation with police officers who we'd aggravated by playing too long. Danny allegedly knocked over our huge Marshall stacks on some of Middletown's finest who had rushed the stage because we broke the law by...playing too long.
As I stood there watching, several police oficers crawled out from underneath the speaker cabinets and rushed away to seek medical attention. Another nice young officer stood in front of me onstage waving his nightstick, poking and calling me nasty names. I looked over to see Danny with a beefy police officer pulling on one arm while Flo Federici, his first wife, pulled on the other, assisting her man in resisting arrest.
A kid leapt from the audience onto the stage, momentarily distracting the beefy officer with the insults of the day. Forever thereafter, "Phantom" Dan Federici slipped into the crowd and disappeared.
A warrant out for his arrest and one month on the lam later, he still hadn't been brought to justice. We hid him in various places but now we had a problem. We had a show coming at Monmouth College. We needed the money and we had to do the gig. We tried a replacement but it didn't work out. So Danny, to all of our admiration, stepped up and said he'd risk his freedom, take the chance and play.
Show night. 2,000 screaming fans in the Monmouth College gym. We had it worked out so Danny would not appear onstage until the moment we started playing. We figured the police who were there to arrest him wouldn't do so onstage during the show and risk starting another riot.
Let me set the scene for you. Danny is hiding, hunkered down in the backseat of a car in the parking lot. At five minutes to eight, our scheduled start time, I go out to whisk him in. I tap on the window.
"Danny, come on, it's time."
I hear back, "I'm not going."
Me: "What do you mean you're not going?"
Danny: "The cops are on the roof of the gym. I've seen them and they're going to nail me the minute I step out of this car."
As I open the door, I realize that Danny has been smoking a little something and had grown rather paranoid. I said, "Dan, there are no cops on the roof."
He says, "Yes, I saw them, I tell you. I'm not coming in."
So I used a procedure I'd call on often over the next forty years in dealing with my old pal's concerns. I threatened him...and cajoled. Finally, out he came. Across the parking lot and into the gym we swept for a rapturous concert during which we laughted like thieves at our excellent dodge of the local cops.
At the end of the evening, during the last song, I pulled the entire crowd up onto the stage and Danny slipped into the audience and out the front door. Once again, "Phantom" Dan had made his exit. (I still get the occasional card from the old Chief of Police of Middletown wishing us well. Our histories are forever intertwined.) And that, my friends, was only the beginning.
There was the time Danny quit the band during a rough period at Max's Kansas City, explaining to me that he was leaving to fix televisions. I asked him to think about that and come back later.
Or Danny, in the band rental car, bouncing off several parked cars after a night of entertainment, smashing out the windshield with his head but saved from severe injury by the huge hard cowboy hat he bought in Texas on our last Western swing.
Or Danny, leaving a large marijuana plant on the front seat of his car in a tow away zone. The car was promptly towed. He said, "Bruce, I'm going to go down and report that it was stolen." I said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
Down he went and straight into the slammer without passing go.
Or Danny, the only member of the E Street Band to be physically thrown out of the Stone Pony. Considering all the money we made them, that wasn't easy to do.
Or Danny receiving and surviving a "cautionary assault" from an enraged but restrained "Big Man" Clarence Clemons while they were living together and Danny finally drove the "Big Man" over the big top.
Or Danny assisting me in removing my foot from his stereo speaker after being the only band member ever to drive me into a violent rage.
And through it all, Danny played his beautiful, soulful B3 organ for me and our love grew. And continued to grow. Life is funny like that. He was my homeboy, and great, and for that you make considerations... And he was much more tolerant of my failures than I was of his.
When Danny wasn't causing chaos, he was a sweet, talented, unassuming, unpretentious good-hearted guy who simply had an unchecked ability to make good fortune and things in general go fabulously wrong.
But beyond all of that, he also had a mountain of the right stuff. He had the heart and soul of an engineer. He learned to fly. He was always up on the latest technology and would explain it to you patiently and in enormous detail. He was always "souping" something up, his car, his stereo, his B3. When Patti joined the band, he was the most welcoming, thoughtful, kindest friend to the first woman entering our "boys club."
He loved his kids, always bragging about Jason, Harley, and Madison, and he loved his wife Maya for the new things she brought into his life.
And then there was his artistry. He was the most intuitive player I've ever seen. His style was slippery and fluid, drawn to the spaces the other musicians in the E Street Band left. He wasn't an assertive player, he was a complementary player. A true accompanist. He naturally supplied the glue that bound the band's sound together. In doing so, he created for himself a very specific style. When you hear Dan Federici, you don't hear a blanket of sound, you hear a riff, packed with energy, flying above everything else for a few moments and then gone back in the track. "Phantom" Dan Federici. Now you hear him, now you don't.
Offstage, Danny couldn't recite a lyric or a chord progression for one of my songs. Onstage, his ears opened up. He listened, he felt, he played, finding the perfect hole and placement for a chord or a flurry of notes. This style created a tremendous feeling of spontaneity in our ensemble playing.
In the studio, if I wanted to loosen up the track we were recording, I'd put Danny on it and not tell him what to play. I'd just set him loose. He brought with him the sound of the carnival, the amusements, the boardwalk, the beach, the geography of our youth and the heart and soul of the birthplace of the E Street Band.
Then we grew up. Very slowly. We stood together through a lot of trials and tribulations. Danny's response to a mistake onstage, hard times, catastrophic events was usually a shrug and a smile. Sort of an "I am but one man in a raging sea, but I'm still afloat. And we're all still here."
I watched Danny fight and conquer some tough addictions. I watched him struggle to put his life together and in the last decade when the band reunited, thrive on sitting in his seat behind that big B3, filled with life and, yes, a new maturity, passion for his job, his family and his home in the brother and sisterhood of our band.
Finally, I watched him fight his cancer without complaint and with great courage and spirit. When I asked him how things looked, he just said, "what are you going to do? I'm looking forward to tomorrow." Danny, the sunny side up fatalist. He never gave up right to the end.
A few weeks back we ended up onstage in Indianapolis for what would be the last time. Before we went on I asked him what he wanted to play and he said, "Sandy." He wanted to strap on the accordion and revisit the boardwalk of our youth during the summer nights when we'd walk along the boards with all the time in the world.
So what if we just smashed into three parked cars, it's a beautiful night! So what if we're on the lam from the entire Middletown police department, let's go take a swim! He wanted to play once more the song that is of course about the end of something wonderful and the beginning of something unknown and new.
Let's go back to the days of miracles. Pete Townshend said, "a rock and roll band is a crazy thing. You meet some people when you're a kid and unlike any other occupation in the whole world, you're stuck with them your whole life no matter who they are or what crazy things they do."
If we didn't play together, the E Street Band at this point would probably not know one another. We wouldn't be in this room together. But we do... We do play together. And every night at 8 p.m., we walk out on stage together and that, my friends, is a place where miracles occur...old and new miracles. And those you are with, in the presence of miracles, you never forget. Life does not separate you. Death does not separate you. Those you are with who create miracles for you, like Danny did for me every night, you are honored to be amongst.
Of course we all grow up and we know "it's only rock and roll"...but it's not. After a lifetime of watching a man perform his miracle for you, night after night, it feels an awful lot like love.
So today, making another one of his mysterious exits, we say farewell to Danny, "Phantom" Dan, Federici. Father, husband, my brother, my friend, my mystery, my thorn, my rose, my keyboard player, my miracle man and lifelong member in good standing of the house rockin', pants droppin', earth shockin', hard rockin', booty shakin', love makin', heart breakin', soul cryin'... and, yes, death defyin' legendary E Street Band.
(video tribute to Danny at www.BruceSpringsteen.net)
We built My Damn Channel with a few of patron saints in mind. Johnny Rotten is usually painted by critics with such a simple brush. Most miss the point. John may often be brutal - but he's alway honest.
During the "Rotten TV" run, we walked the red carpet, as a goof on the way into that year's VH1 Fashion Awards. Out of the corner of his eye, John spotted four important looking humans standing a few feet away from all the action, surveying the scene.
"Who are they!?" - he challenged.... I looked over my shoulder to see Sumner Redstone, flanked by Tom Freston, Judy McGrath & John Sykes. "Don't - just don't," was my hapless request, knowing full well I was screwed. Rotten headed straight for Sumner. He grabbed his hand first. Then he shook the rest & asked the group one simple question: "How much money are you lot all making on this tonight?"
As we turned to walk on, Freston grabbed my arm and offered, "I love that show." It was one of the moments that was supposed to go horribly wrong, and somehow went surprisingly well. Probably just luck.
As we head to Vegas to try to haplessly explain why My Damn Channel trusts our talent - here are a few of our gold-plated rules - we'll think of a few more before tomorrow's event - Wed 4/16 - 2pm - here:
Never lie
Don't hold back bad news
Don't use 'creative input' as an excuse for 'J J" (Job Justification)
Make decisive decisions
Never bait & switch
Communicate constantly
Avoid the 'handlers' - go direct
Be specific
Move fast - no waiting
Work the press
Pay on time - every time
Pick up the check - almost every time
Posted in
My Damn Channel on 11/26/2007 9:28:00 AM by Rob Barnett
When I last worked in corporate American radio, the employees, competitors, and constituents of Clear Channel used to enjoy calling them "the evil empire." Too many radio listeners feel the same way about most commercial music stations in this country.
One fine day, in a plush board room somewhere inside "the evil empire," their generals decided to launch a new strategy designed to win back the hearts and minds of the disenchanted masses. Since most humans hate commercial interruption on music stations, their visionary new plan added MORE interruptions with less individual commercials inside each break. The most expensive suits in old media are cut with the most cynical cloth. They'll tell you the plan produced positive results. But common sense tells you the best way to fix the problem is to re-think the business and play LESS commercials.
Before launching My Damn Channel, I reached out to a few chosen brains to gauge reactions to our evil little plans to disrupt old media by creating original, episodic videos by the best artists from television, radio, and film. One of the first V.I.B.'s (very imp brains) I approached was Seth Godin.
Godin is a new media marketing guru. His books are required reading in our world. His titles pop. Small is the New Big, All Marketers are Liars...
I'd read the books, seen Seth Godin speak, and broke bread with him once - enough contact to that know he'd throw the right kind of body blows to see if our plan was ready to last in the web ring.
He questioned whether or not we'd be able to get our talent to deliver enough professional video on a consistent basis to build a business. This is where I first started to think about re-applying the "less is more" strategy.
When Google bought YouTube for $1.65 billion, the new media gold rush began. Most new sites that launched in the wake of this sea change have tried to win by imitating the mothership and putting up destinations with a similar look and feel with a ton of the same content. Megatons. We're fans and business partners with YouTube. But we don't think our audience is looking for another site with hundreds of "channels" and thousands of videos.
Our "less is more" thinking is built to prove Brave Sir Godin wrong. In our first 4 months of life, we've brought a small number of big talents into a tent where they deliver new webisodes every single week.
Here's the current line-up:
Every Monday: DAVID WAIN
Every Tuesday: HARRY SHEARER
Every Wednesday: ANDY MILONAKIS
Every Thursday: DON WAS
Every Friday: BIG FAT BRAIN
Our thinking is that if the best talent delivers the best videos - consistently - then less can be more.
Or, not. Body blows welcome: info@MyDammChannel.com