According to
an interview in the online magazine Salon (filled
with softballs like "Q: Don't you really think Napster is
helping the record industry make more money? A: Why, yes!"),
Napster CEO Eileen Richardson says the company has
duly cut off all 300,000 users targeted by Metallica's lawsuit.
Right on, Napster--way to stick by your guns.
http://www.salon.com/tech/view/2000/05/08/napster_richardson/index.html
THE SHOWS:
Sleater-Kinney
Crystal
Ballroom
Wednesday,
May 3
Television
Eye
Satyricon
Saturday,
May 6
Cat
Power
Berbati's
Pan
Saturday,
May 6
You have to hand it to Metallica. A lot of bands
talk a big game, but very few have the brass to actually
set mad-dog lawyers loose on their own fans.
Last week, the one-time gods of badass metal showed that,
despite their reincarnation as pussy-footing short-hairs
with a penchant for olde Irish drinking ballads, they still
have a capacity for pure evil. As if to prove that
the weighted battleaxe that once seemed implicit in James
Hetfield's rage-of-demons bark hasn't dulled completely,
the band buried said axe deep in the skulls of its supporters
last week.
High on a fit of righteous pique, trash-moustached drummer
Lars Ulrich showed up at the California offices of
Napster, the notorious MP3 file-sharing application,
bearing bad tidings. The band is suing the software company
over its famed program, which basically turns the MP3 collections
of all its users into a massive maybe-legal-maybe-not-but-that's-hardly-our-problem
reservoir of music. Metallica alleges that Napster has aided
and abetted theft on a mind-boggling scale by helping fans
cop music for free.
Identical allegations lie at the root of anti-Napster suits
brought by the squares at the Recording Industry Association
of America and Dr. Dre. Napster, meanwhile, has
adopted the Casablanca defense, claiming to be shocked,
shocked that anyone might break the law with its
program.
Frankly, it's hard to care who wins, the multimillionaire
rock stars or the would-be multibillionaire tech heads--except
for the niggling fact that the outcome could determine the
future shape of music distribution. Ulrich's visit to Napster's
digs pushed things in a more sinister direction, though.
He arrived toting a list of 300,000 Napster users--Metallica
lovers all, no doubt--who allegedly used the program to
grab illegal copies of the band's songs.
It's not quite a jackbooted raid on the dorm rooms of the
guilty parties, but it's only about two steps removed. Will
Metallica subpoena everyone? That'd be a lovely scene: 300,000
Heshers on Trial!
Napster is apparently knuckling under and cutting off this
small nation of naughty users, a decision that may come
back to haunt the company if every other band in America
pursues a similar course. So in the meantime, a modest proposal:
How about everyone who owns Kill 'Em All dub a dozen
copies and just leave them lying around? In the hail of
lawsuits and posturing surrounding Napster, it would be
a rare case of justice for all.
Adoring, fawning crowds abounded this week, a very lovey,
clingy week in Portland music, a week that sometimes bore
suspicious resemblance to group therapy.
On Wednesday, a sold-out crowd gathered to genuflect at
the altar of Sleater-Kinney. As is ever the case
at the trio's shows, unconditional love was in the air,
such that few seemed to care that the band tiptoed around
their new material. The forthright rockers from the latest
album, All Hands on the Bad One, came across just
fine, but the firm of Tucker, Brownstein & Weiss only
seemed in top form when they hit the old faves. Still, they
played "White Rabbit," and that was cool.
For an example of truly uncritical adoration in the face
of an incredibly shrinking artist, though, witness Cat
Power's Saturday night show at a packed Berbati's. The
artist also known as Chan Marshall barely got her hotly
awaited set off the ground, stopping and stuttering through
the first few songs and constantly wanting to know "if everything
sounded alright." A few people walked out in disgust, and
many more followed time-honored Berbati's custom by chattering
the night away.
The hundred or so people who were truly there to see Cat
Power, God bless 'em, hung in there in rapt silence as Marshall
slowly pulled herself together and proceeded to unveil the
dark, fruited density of her lovely voice. By the end of
the night, she'd moved from the stage to the floor, where
she whispered to her conclusion surrounded by adoring multitudes.
A little precious and ridiculous, true, but somehow refreshing,
too.
On the other hand, there were no baby-wants-a-huggy scenes
pulled during Television Eye's valedictory set at
Satyricon the same night. This fresh local band delights
in a more-than-competent take on '60s-ish glam trash, complete
with creepazoid vocals that sound like the Devil Himself
covering the B-52s. Tricked out with hoola-hooping
dervishes and the de rigueur go-go dancers, TV Eye's
set managed to stir up some authentic decadence for a change.
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Willamette Week | originally
published April 26,
2000
|
