"Definition of rock journalism: People who can't write, doing interviews with people who can't think, in order to prepare articles for people who can't read."--Frank Zappa

I am occasionally a rock journalist. Every week or three for the last year, I have been interviewing and writing about either local bands or rock groups coming through the high desert of Albuquerque. I pick up some extra change ($40-$60) from these rock pieces to help supplement my income and appease the nagging criteria of many people who say a person is not really a writer unless they get paid for it.

In all honesty, I do enjoy telling the stories of some bands. Most of the genres I tackle have been punk, ska, swing and good old fashioned rock and roll. Predominately music for white people who like to stand around, push each other, spin around, jump straight up and down, or kick their feet and pop out their elbows. I have done a great many stories on a great many bands. Each using pretty much the same style of writing. Interviewing bands, picking out good quotes in the process, piecing all of the quotes together in coherent puzzle pieces, and in the end, a person will know eight to ten little tidbits about the band.

This week, I had my first piece on a band rejected. The band is a smut porn style rock band called Beefcake In Chains. Lots of chains, S & M, and scantily clad band members of both sexes. I was a little surprised when my editor at the Albuquerque Tribune gave me the go-ahead to do the piece (Rule #1: never write up a band without permission), but she did. So I did what I always did. Got in contact with the band, set up an interview, had the interview, pulled out the good quotes, and put the puzzle pieces together (forgive me for being repetitive, but I want you to understand that there is a basic formula to this type of paid writing).

I turned in the story on Monday. Easily on time. It described without too much lurid detail (I assumed) what they do on stage. On Tuesday, my editor said she had a problem with the band's made up stage names (particularly the lead singer whose moniker is Captain Orgasm) and other assorted things like the phrase nipple clamps. I assumed they were minor problems which the editor could fix. I told her to "do what she needed to do" to the story because I was leaving town for the rest of the week.

For the next few days, a friend and I got lost in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. It's the border town on the south side of El Paso, Texas. Don't ask me about it, or I just might tell you (and they say I don't censor myself).

When I returned, I found out the porn rock story, which was supposed to run on Friday, was not published. I had two e-mails from my editor written on Wednesday (although I didn't read them until I got back Saturday evening). The first one chastising my writing and follow-up reporting efforts, and the second one somewhat apologizing but explaining that the story would not run. The kicker is that I would still get paid for the story. Farmers got paid not to grow crops, The Fabulous Baker Boys were paid not to play their pianos, and I got paid to not have my story published.

If that became a regular occurrence, it might have some merit. Imagine working on a story every week, turning it in to people who would deem it unacceptable for the bulk of the reading public, and then receiving a check for your efforts. It still falls under the "oh so important criteria" of getting paid for writing. It's just that no one will ever see it. If that could only happen for the growing stack of fictional short stories I write which no one finds appropriate to publish. Or my two hack novels. Or my full length stoner play. Or my three years of columns for Shut Up I'm Talking.

"Dear Mr. Jungle,

We have thoroughly read your entire writing repertoire and have deemed your manuscripts unacceptable for the English-speaking public. They will never be put into print as long as we can help it. Enclosed is a check for you to continue your writing efforts. Please send any and all of your other works to us for further payment, and we will dispose of them appropriately.

Sincerely,
Publishers and Editors of the Free World"

Okay, so I'm blowing this a little out of proportion. I will see if I can make a few changes to the Beefcake In Chains story (without using the word 'orgasm'), and try to get it published at a later date. I had to apologize to the band for basically wasting their time and turning out to be a liar, and I feel I owe it to them to get the simple story of the band into print.

As far as being a rock journalist, I don't know. Maybe I'll just keep punching out rock pieces every now and then, and maybe I'll drift away from the silliness. I thought about calling Frank Zappa for some advice, but then I remembered he's dead and doesn't care about such trivial things.

Chris Jungle would also like to get paid not to think.