Sending a demo tape

"We were impressed by your tape, but feel it is not material suited to this company."
Clear off.

"We were impressed by your tape, but feel it is not, at this time, material suited to this company."
Clear off and stay cleared off.

"Thank you for your tape. It has been passed to our A and R department."
We've lost it.

"Thank you for your tape. It is being considered."
Actually, one of our cleaners thought it reminded her quite a bit of those blokes with tatooed leg irons on that "Top Of The Pops" programme the other week — the Burnt Gymnasts or something — but the receptionist reckoned that the neo-gothic amorphism inherent in the cartesian understructure owed a greater debt of inheritance to a less arcanely moribund musical figurine, and favoured instead the heretic influence of The Wallpaper Bears.
We've lost the A and R man.

"Thank you for your tape. After initial consideration it does not seem suited to this company, but we have passed it on to the A and R department of a sister organisation."
We've lost it. Now clear off.

At the band interview

"We split up to pursue solo recording careers."
One of us fancies himself as an actor.

"He left because of musical differences."
We were musical, he was different.

"The record company were putting a lot of pressure on us to make a more commercial single, and you just can't work as an artist in that sort of situation."
The last album didn't sell enough copies to make a pair of ashtrays.

"We all met when we were at Borstal."
We used to be called Anvilhead and have very long hair.

"None of us had every played in a band."
Before that we were The Picking Fingers and had a Saturday night residency at the Meopham Country and Western Club.

"We just sorta went out and bought a synthesiser and started writing songs."
Actually, I studied the 'cello at college and Simon, the drummer, went to drama school.

"No, we leave all the business affairs to our manager."
The problem with royalties is that a genuine monetary yield of 12 per cent when represented by the points scale in an on-vinyl scenario works out to be at least 0.5 per cent lower than a suitably invested term from cassette duplication if placed with a wheat futures broker six months before the world rights were released from the band as a limited company or cartel of artistic involvements.

"I chose every one of my guitars."
I chose every one of my guitar roadies.

"And I tune every instrument myself."
And the roadie tunes every instrument himself.

We're taking a lot more interest in the visuals these days.
The record company has stopped giving us free teeshirts.

"It annoys me when the music press say we've started to copy ideas from Yes/Genesis/Pink Floyd."
We've ALWAYS copied ideas from Yes/Genesis/Pink Floyd.

Telling the time at a gig

"Hi! Welcome to the Ambulance Palais! We've got a great evening's entertainment lined up for you, and we just know you're gonna love tonight's act — 'Consumed By Pink Bathrobes'. The band will be on in half an hour, but first let's warm up the dance floor with a few of the latest sounds."
It's 8.00. The band have not arrived.

"Did you like that? Great, really great, Okay, the band will be on stage in about 20 minutes, just time for a bit more of THIS..."
It's 8.30. Consumed By Pink Bathrobes have been located in the nearest Chinky where they've been caught trying to do a runner. The guitarist's girl friend is accusing the waiter with the No 52 Egg Fried Prawn of assaulting her with a wok, the entire band is pissed and the manager is demanding that the promoter should pay for the meal, all breakages and a flat tyre he had on the way from Woking.

"Ha, ha, great, well, we're nearly ready for... Consumed By Pink Bathrobes, yeah, they're uh, just in the dressing room playing with the talcum powder... HA HA HA.. ha.. er, and there's just time to go for that last drink at the bar before they come on stage... Um, oh, yes, if anyone's lost a small calf skin handbag with a bike chain inside, could they go to the teeshirt counter by the entrance and pick it up from Maurice..."
It's 8.50. The bass player is being sick in the car park and the drummer has decided he once met the central heating boiler at a party. They are apparently talking over old times. Only the singer is dressed, no great feat this since her costume comprises two loofers joined by strips of liquorice.

"Hi, again! Just a slight technical hitch. Band'll be with you in a few minutes."
It's 9.10. The bass player has been pronounced clinically dead by a St John Ambulance nurse.

"We're still working on a minor problem back here. Don't go away now!"
It's 9.15. While the band are discussing the bass player's funeral arrangements, he surfaces from an alcohol induced coma screaming that his ears are being eaten by singing Jaffa Cakes. The nurse removes the Stowaway headphones that have been on him since breakfast and the artists assemble at the foot of the stairs.

"Are they ready?... Jesus, eh, waddya mean it's on? ...oh shi... Er Hi! right, Ha, ha! Okay, here we are ladies and gentleman, the band you've all been waiting for, will you welcome Consumed By Pink Bathrobes!"
It's 9.30. The promoter is contemplating carrying the band on stage one by one... limb by limb if there was a sharp instrument to hand. The guitarist turns with a look that mingles contempt, outrage and six pints of Fosters in equal quantities. "'Ere, the name is 'Consumed by Pink BathTOWELS'; 'oo ever 'eard of pink bathROBES fer christ sake? If you can't get your act together, mate, the gig's off."
Band departs, promoter faints, drummer and central heating boiler announce their engagement.

The repair shop calendar

"It'll be ready... tomorrow..."
End of the week.

"...the day after tomorrow..."
Week after next.

"...end of the week..."
The next full calendar month to contain the letter 'n'.

"...sometime next week..."
A Christmas before Armageddon.

"...oohh... probably about a month..."
One complete galactic revolution, or two millennia into the afterlife, whichever is longer.

How other nationalities say the word "hello"

The American
"Heey, y'll get yerrass down here foh gooodd tahm, a'wright."

The promoter
"He. That's 33 per cent up front. You get the llo when you've finished the gig."

The roadie
"Hewrff... uh."

The Record Company Executive
"Hey, I'm really sorry we missed the gig."

At the Social Security Office

"Have you been gainfully employed in the last seven days?"
Right you thieving, spikey haired little yobbo, I suppose you think you're going to take the DHSS for another week's worth of MY hard earned tax money just to support your revolting drug habit. And so that you and your gang of grasping, foulmouthed, unwashed loafers can play what you preposterously term 'music' in some low dive where the lighting is so dim you have to be a BAT to buy a drink.

"No."
Yes

Five ways for a music writer to say he didn't review your single

1) No, really I did it, but they must have lost the copy at the printers.
2) I was going to do it, but my record player blew up.
3) I gave it to... because he really likes the band.
4) It was pushed out by the new Bowie single.
5) A small terrier rushed into the office and snatched it off my desk. I chased him as far as the washing machine in reception but then the carpet turned into a huge caterpillar and I think I have to lie down now.

Five ways for a music writer to say he didn't like your single

1) Interesting
2) It's really changed from the first tapes I heard.
3) You should do a 12 inch.
4) It reminds me of an early B side by Lou Reed but with a bit of... uh... Kid Creole.
5) It's great.