You know the old saying there’s no such thing as bad press? Meaning no matter how bad it gets, at least your name is out there. You’re recognised for something. Rarely does it ever work in your favour, Corey Feldman’s hideous 2016 album was smashed across the internet like a poor avocado on some hipster’s breakfast. And rightly so, it’s a shit album. But he got his name out there. In 2018, after celebrities are accused of sexual assault, drugging and raping, and overall vile behaviour, no one is safe. And in light of this new Roseanne debacle, there is such thing as bad press. Roseanne, who hasn’t been relevant for fucking years, tries to become relevant again with the revival of her cult 90s show named after herself, Roseanne. It’s been axed within a handful of shows due to what many people are calling a racist tweet. And I agree, it is pretty racist. She makes the comparison that Valerie Jarrett (one of Obama’s former advisors, and an African American) looks like a cross between a Muslim and a character from the Planet of the Apes. And just like that, she’s cast away into the abyss, the hellscape where fallen celebrities go to die. She’s welcomed with hesitant, awkward hugs by the likes of Louis C.K, T.J Miller, Kevin Spacey and possibly Morgan Freeman. The jury is still out on that one.
But it had me thinking, what if I was caught saying something inappropriate or misguided? Would it be the plug I need to get this blog that I now care so much about off the ground? Would it be that shock to the system that would jolt me into the industry as if John Travolta stabbed me in the chest with a shot of adrenaline? Maybe ten or fifteen years ago it would work. But I would never intentionally say something fucking stupid to get myself into the limelight. I’m not Donald Trump. But what if something I said was mistaken for being much worse and made some social media news? Like I call out Camp Cope’s lead singer for publicly shaming men on her Instagram who disagree with her politics? That’s a fair statement, I disagree with how she handles criticism (in fairness, she publicly shames many men who verbally harass her over her sexuality on Instagram, and I can get behind that even if I don’t agree with the whole name and shame idea). But when someone calls her out, very politely and with fair intentions, she screenshots the conversations and blasts it over her Instagram stories. Imagine if I wrote that article, and someone was to send that to triple j. I can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be the bad guy. I’ll be the one people call sexist or bigoted. Then they’ll scroll through my blog looking for dirt on the accused and find that Kink poem I wrote that deals with some sexually explicit content. Now I’m a pervert and a bigot in their eyes. And the spiral of my decline, and Radio Friendly’s decline, would continue.
My mate Heath plugged Radio Friendly on his Facebook the other day. Thanks again, Heath. But he pitched my blog as the anti-PC voice in a sea of politically correct bullshit. I had never thought of myself that way, or even my blog. I do see a shit load of PC articles, writers too afraid to voice their own opinion creatively in fear of being crucified publicly. But I never saw myself as the antidote to that. Comedians are mindful of this PC era we live in, and it effects their stand up. Chris Rock and Jerry Seinfeld have both stated they will never play shows at universities because of the students’ toffy-nosed PC opinions getting in the way of a good laugh. I made Radio Friendly because I had a couple sexually explicit stories that no one would publish. So, I thought, to hell with you, I’ll publish them myself. I haven’t published them, yet, because my love for music took over. The idea was to never rival the politically correct content, but I can see how my articles would. I just wanted a space where I wouldn’t be hung, drawn and quartered like William Wallace if I use the words piss, shit, fuck, cunt or anal. In context, of course. And that’s what Radio Friendly is. But if one of my sentences was taken out of context, or my articles rubbed someone the wrong way and they were given to the wrong hands, you can fucking bet there’s such a thing as bad press.