It was May of 1999 when Robbie Williams' "The Ego Has Landed" was dropped into my lap with a heavy push from Capitol Records. Lord knows the last thing I thought I needed in Orlando, home of BSB and N-Stink, was a solo record from a British boy-band member. Williams' first two albums had been smash hits in Europe and the label had created "...Ego..." by culling the best from both into a US-only release trying desperately to break him in America. They had me at "US-only," as I knew my I-Drive tourist clientele would snap this up in a hurry to take home even though most of them already owned both of the parent records. I didn't care if my limited local customers liked it...they weren't my focus, contrary to what the label had wished for. But play the CD in-store I did, and singalongs would erupt throughout the aisles in a multitude of foreign accents. And you know what? I actually liked it! The boy had some good pop tunes, a formidable voice and some serious swagger. Shortly thereafter, my Capitol rep informed me of a show being hastily scheduled for Hard Rock Live since the #1 market in America for the album was Orlando (no shit, Sherlock). My group of stores in the tourist corridor were selling it hand over fist. From what I recall, the show wasn't part of a concert tour, just a promotional jaunt to introduce RW to major markets. So with little build up, the show was announced and ticket sales didn't happen. The label runs a promo with Music 4 Less...buy a copy of "The Ego...," get a free ticket to the concert. Well, the Brits were soiling their undies when I handed them their free ticket along with each copy sold, and many bought several so their entire group could go. They couldn't believe they were getting to see their biggest pop star of the moment in a venue smaller than Wembley Stadium. I asked the rep if it was OK to keep a couple of tickets for myself as I was finding the record to be very catchy and was getting caught up in the buzzing energy of RW's international fans. "Oh, no, I'll put you on the guest list," he replied, so I gave away each of the couple hundred actual tickets provided.
Some of you can probably guess what happened...
I grab my lovely missus, who actually liked the record (pure proof that it was a pop gem), and head to Universal property. Outside the venue is a mad house. The huge marquee is touting the show and the Redcoats are actually running to the ticket windows. I inquired as to the guest list but it had yet to arrive according to the box office attendant, but the Capitol rep had been spotted and it was sure to hit the window momentarily. "Sold Out" soon flashes on the electronic billboard and the ticket windows begin to close. No guest list. Slowly heating to a boil, knowing I held stacks of tickets in my hand just days earlier, I plead with the box office, telling them my predicament, to no avail. Loudly proclaiming my intent on murdering one Capitol Records employee, the crowd behind the walls begins a roar and I give up, temples visibly throbbing with steam hissing from my ears, and go back to where my wife was waiting. "Let's go home..." and we start the long walk back around the lake. "Wait!" comes a voice from behind. A woman in my age category is hustling to catch us. It turns out she's the box office manager. The attendant had told her what was going on and she took it upon herself to personally escort us inside as her guests, not Capitol's. Believe me, I wrote and called every contact I had at Hard Rock Corp. to offer my gratitude and to praise this woman for her excellent customer service. The concert was outstanding. Williams realized that 98% of the crowd was European and gave a helluva performance anyway, knowingly preaching to the choir and not the domestics he was in the country to develop. As we exited with the jubilant crowd, I spotted the offending label rep smiling and mingling within it. I work my way toward him, getting close enough to tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, Mad, how did you like the show?" he asks. "Great!" I replied, "but no thanks to you. Only by the good graces of the Hard Rock did I get in because YOU FORGOT TO PUT ME ON THE GODDAMN GUEST LIST AFTER ALL THE PROMOTION I'VE DONE FOR YOU! DON'T YOU EVER SET FOOT IN MY STORE OR STORES AGAIN!" Then, with a very evil grin, I say, "Have a nice evening," and turned to walk away. Ignoring his pleas for me to stop, I raise a single-finger wave and continued on my way. I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed ignoring him for the following couple of weeks, took the RW CD off sale at all my stores, threatened to trespass him from the mall when he showed up unannounced one day and reminded him of our recorded video surveillance if he opted to show when I was off. Needless to say, once I released him from the dog house, he was very generous with whatever I requested... Story finished.
Some of you can probably guess what happened...
I grab my lovely missus, who actually liked the record (pure proof that it was a pop gem), and head to Universal property. Outside the venue is a mad house. The huge marquee is touting the show and the Redcoats are actually running to the ticket windows. I inquired as to the guest list but it had yet to arrive according to the box office attendant, but the Capitol rep had been spotted and it was sure to hit the window momentarily. "Sold Out" soon flashes on the electronic billboard and the ticket windows begin to close. No guest list. Slowly heating to a boil, knowing I held stacks of tickets in my hand just days earlier, I plead with the box office, telling them my predicament, to no avail. Loudly proclaiming my intent on murdering one Capitol Records employee, the crowd behind the walls begins a roar and I give up, temples visibly throbbing with steam hissing from my ears, and go back to where my wife was waiting. "Let's go home..." and we start the long walk back around the lake. "Wait!" comes a voice from behind. A woman in my age category is hustling to catch us. It turns out she's the box office manager. The attendant had told her what was going on and she took it upon herself to personally escort us inside as her guests, not Capitol's. Believe me, I wrote and called every contact I had at Hard Rock Corp. to offer my gratitude and to praise this woman for her excellent customer service. The concert was outstanding. Williams realized that 98% of the crowd was European and gave a helluva performance anyway, knowingly preaching to the choir and not the domestics he was in the country to develop. As we exited with the jubilant crowd, I spotted the offending label rep smiling and mingling within it. I work my way toward him, getting close enough to tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, Mad, how did you like the show?" he asks. "Great!" I replied, "but no thanks to you. Only by the good graces of the Hard Rock did I get in because YOU FORGOT TO PUT ME ON THE GODDAMN GUEST LIST AFTER ALL THE PROMOTION I'VE DONE FOR YOU! DON'T YOU EVER SET FOOT IN MY STORE OR STORES AGAIN!" Then, with a very evil grin, I say, "Have a nice evening," and turned to walk away. Ignoring his pleas for me to stop, I raise a single-finger wave and continued on my way. I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed ignoring him for the following couple of weeks, took the RW CD off sale at all my stores, threatened to trespass him from the mall when he showed up unannounced one day and reminded him of our recorded video surveillance if he opted to show when I was off. Needless to say, once I released him from the dog house, he was very generous with whatever I requested... Story finished.
I've been a fan of RW since, owning six of his seven domestically released albums. I'd venture a guess that's more than 99% of all Americans. Always had an edgy pop sound with lyrics worthy of the infamous "explicit" labels. The "Swing..." album was a joy. "Rudebox" was dance floor fodder. He scored slightly with two of the subsequent albums and has barely sniffed any other chart here since. For that matter, I not sure all of his releases were made available in the USA. From what I gather, "Take The Crown" isn't. I'm not surprised. All my foreign readers, however, will be. "...Crown" debuted at #1 in six European countries and is still in the Top 10 in five of them, now two months later. The first single, "Candy," has 26.5 million views on his official VEVO channel. Damn if I need to show it to you.
The album is loaded with radio-ready singles, but that sums up my problem with it, they are safely commercial...cliched and predictable. Sure, he takes a sweet pop tune and tells someone to "...go fuck yourself," and another track laments the "shit on the radio," yet he has crafted approximately 35 minutes of the same four-letter descriptive. If you do the math, and I purchased the version of the album with two bonus songs, that leaves eighteen minutes of retainable music, which includes one of the extra tunes. This is one of the keepers and I suspect a future single. He did a three-night stand at this venue, and trust me, he struggled on at least one of the nights performing this song. Not this one, though...
...well, not as much.
It has to irk him to some degree to be based in Los Angeles and not be able to crack the market here again. On the positive side, the paparazzi probably leave him alone. And with an estimated worth north of $140 mil, he really shouldn't care.
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