Given the tough economic times this year, I've been struggling with new musical concepts to shill that will net me the benjamins (as the young folks say today) to really rock out my Christmas season. I think that it's time to be svengali/evil genius behind an all girl pop group called MWS, short for "Models Who Sing". Of course, fine print on all contracts and marketing materials will point out that "sing" is a marketing term which allows me to dictate who actually needs too sing, and who just needs to lip sync and look good. It goes without saying that the models will not have actual music contracts. Rather, they will have personal service contracts to me that will allow me to pay them a fixed salary with no royalties, and allow me to hire and fire them at will.
I figure that the marketing of MWS will occur in a few phases. In the first phase, the girls will be squeaky clean. They'll show up at red carpets wearing couture that will reek of glamorous old Hollywood, and I will leak rumors to the press that the models will face fines for showing in appropriate amounts of skin in public. I figure this will last through maybe one or two albums.
At this point, a personal assistant of mine will appear on the scene. He will seem to take over day-to-day management of MWS. He will appear to have an affair with a model that I will call Model A and all sorts of tawdry paparazzi tabloid gossip will come out... about hotel balcony sex, illicit drug use, and late night private club boozing around. The models will appear to rebel from me, and go with the new management company fronted by the personal assistant (that is actually owned, through shell corporations, by me.)
At this point, Model A will do a full nude layout in Playboy and the other models will do layouts in "lads" magazines. Their third album will be full of girl power, third wave feminist empowerment themes, but the title and choruses will be questionable double entendres. I think the name "Stripper Pole" will figure prominently at this point, with the chorus of the title track running something like this:
Why don't ya let me ride your
I really wanna ride your
At this point, things will appear to completely fall apart in a haze of personal foibles, bitchy backstabbing, and drunken personal appearances. Model A will temporarily appear to be fired, and a reality show will be created around the search for her replacement. That search will fail, and the manager, my former personal assistant, will be revealed by the show to be hopeless. MWS will then return to me, and a somewhat more conservative image... until I lose interest and think of a new band concept.
on 2008-12-12 at 11:38 a.m.
The Wayback Machine - To Infinity And Beyond