In 2014, comedian, musician, podcaster and Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the Scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “Advice King,” Crofton shares his hard-won wisdom with whoever seeks it. Follow Crofton on Twitter and Instagram (@thecroftonshow), and check out his The Advice King Anthology and Cold Brew Got Me Like podcast. To submit a question for the Advice King, email bestofbread@gmail.com.
Dear Advice King,
What sort of businesses will survive the New World Order? Looking for a career change.
Thanks!
—Joan in Los Angeles
Hi Joan! Full disclosure: I happen to know this “Joan.” She works in the music business. So do I! Or I did. Or I do? It’s hard to call it a “business” these days. “Business” usually implies wages/hours/company picnics/sack races. Imagine an indie-rock company picnic: Everybody getting there late, smoking, looking at their phones, leaving early — zero sack races. Also: cowboy outfits, cocaine — no food. And man, anyone who can afford to do cocaine and not eat sure as hell ain’t no cowboy. Cowboys eat beans every chance they get! Drink horrible coffee — no lattes. Poisonous snakes? Yes. Guitar pedals? No. Shitting outside? Yes. Sack races? Occasionally.
For years, it was standard practice in the music industry for the record company to own an artist’s “masters” (the master tapes of their recordings). In retrospect, that seems deranged. But even the saddest, most fucked-over musicians of the 1960s through the 1990s could never have imagined that one day all those masters would be handed to some Swedish guy so he could “stream” them. This admittedly non-musical Swede (Spotify founder Daniel Ek) ends up with $5 billion. The musicians themselves end up delivering him lunch. Diabolical. Dare I say, THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS. Sorry. That’s the last time anybody is allowed to use that phrase.
OK, so the music business is out. We haven’t even gotten the full “New World Order” treatment yet, and musicians have already been defunded. “DEFUND THE MUSICIANS.” That doesn’t sound right. But that’s what happened.
Joan, there will be two New World Orders. I call the first one “New World: Ordering.” We are in its nascent stage now. The rich people stay home, poke listlessly at their laptops and have everything delivered to them. The rest of us become a permanent underclass of delivery drivers.
If the rich people decide to leave their compounds, we drive them around so they can get drunk. I believe “rideshare” is the Orwellian term? Then they vomit in our 2011 Nissan Sentras, and — instead of apologizing — slur something about how they are helping the economy. As the last one staggers away, he (J.D. Vance?) hisses back at us that we should read Atlas Shrugged.
The second and final New World Order will be the same as the one I just mentioned, except artificial intelligence will do all the delivering and, erm, “ridesharing.” And that’s not all. It’ll even do the motel managing. That’s right. Including the night shift.
I don’t know about you, Joan, but I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t be a musician or a night-shift motel manager. Those are the only two things I ever wanted to be since I was a little kid!
I mentioned motel managers because I recently stayed in a motel that had an A.I. desk clerk. Sadly, I am not kidding. There was a TV monitor behind the front desk instead of a person. A very nice fake lady appeared on the screen. She said, “May I help you?” Fun fact: She does not require a paycheck. Think about that. Think about it again.
The only businesses that appear to be thriving at the moment are corporate taco stands. Except they’re not stands — “stand” implies fun. They are taco “buildings.” Imagine the aesthetic of a WeWork space, or a boutique hotel lobby, or a CrossFit gym, or an Airbnb, or an Oracle employee’s $800,000 condo — except it serves tacos. The name is written in a fun font on the outside — “LIVING YOUR BEST LIFE TACOS.” Inside, QR codes, industrial picnic tables, underpaid employees and “tacos” full of ingredients that venture capitalists think are groundbreaking: hot chicken, tofu, Cap’n Crunch, Zoloft, etc. “We’re disruptors! We’re disrupting tacos!”
Real advice? Stop eating corporate tacos. Don’t park anywhere that asks for your email address. Love your neighbor. Hang in there.
