And you say we never take you anywhere nice.
This is Matt Seeley. He's the agent assigned to your case.
Call you Richie?
- Two Buds. - Two Buds, you got it.
You good? How you holding up?
Pretty surreal, if I had to be honest.
I need to know you're committed.
Galasso has killed people for a lot less than what you're about to do.
But you're gonna be looking out, right?
I'm your liaison, not your bodyguard.
You need to be clear on that. We can't guarantee your safety.
Ever? I mean, how long is this gonna go on?
Depends on what you tell us. Better the info, the sooner we can put this guy in jail.
Your role as an informant is to inform.
Not to get involved. Not to entrap.
Not to play Columbo.
You hear something, you tell us.
Galasso's got a beef with a rival family.
Shaking down a business. Laundering money through one of the unions.
That kind of thing. But you don't pry.
You let it come up naturally.
These meetings, they're supposed to happen where, my office?
- Wherever. - What about the bug?
- What bug? - Not us. NYPD.
The federal government has no interest
in hearing about which rock star has the clap.
Speak for yourself. These groupies,
they're just, like, there for the taking?
Should have stuck with those piano lessons.
Those bugs run on batteries. Thing'll be dead soon anyway.
Great, so now what?
Now go live your life.
You need us, reach out through your lawyer.
And remember, don't do anything stupid.
A little late for that.
Hello.
Excuse me.
Yeah...
I opened these.
They're a buck apiece.
- Stop, stop, stop. - Fuck is it now?
You keep resolving the chord.
I want it to land hard on the one.
Ride the four chord for two more measures. Just trust me.
- It's gonna feel like blue balls. - More anticipation.
Look, we're either playing the song or not.
You want to make up your own progression?
What the fuck, guys? Enough.
Hey, why don't you guys take five?
I'm sorry, are you leading the band now?
I need rolling papers anyway.
Fucking bullshit. Take a whole day of this.
Give it a break.
- I need some weed. - Not mine, man.
What are you doing?
- He's a fucking prima donna. - He is?
You've been acting like a little bitch for days
with your passive-aggressive bullshit.
Why don't you and Alex get together and figure out a solution for my behavior?
Oh, finally. We're getting somewhere at least.
- The fuck you talking about? - You're jealous.
The night with the three of us.
We open for the Dolls in 24 fucking hours.
Do you think I give a shit about which bandmate's cock you sucked?
Oh, the wandering Jew.
Made it all the way uptown.
Thank you, Mr. Galasso, for seeing me.
Hey, for a friend, I'll always make time.
Well, I appreciate it.
Look at this. Another building collapse. Fucking welfare hotel.
That's one way to get rid of 'em.
This city? You got kids off the West Side Highway
waiting for cars to go over the potholes so they can collect the hubcaps.
Thank you.
So I guess you're wondering,
you know, what am I doing here.
Not you. I mean, you know what you're doing.
You're wondering what I'm doing here.
And it's about my partner, actually.
Richie? He all right?
He's fine, yes. But no, actually.
And I don't mean to talk out of school.
We're having difficulties.
It's just...
this is hard, Mr. Galasso.
- Forgive me... - Corrado? Relax.
We're in business, me and you.
The hard truth,
Richie's a drug addict.
And a compulsive liar.
Hand in glove.
The creeps up here will sell their own mothers for a shot of junk.
This man's got a family. He's estranged from his kids.
Any man who doesn't spend time with his family...
It's like they say in the movie.
- What movie? - The... The...
"The Godfather."
I didn't care for it.
No, no, me either, really.
It was fine. It was just okay, but...
I don't know, Brando...
The reason we came for the loan in the first place
was because Richie lost $90,000 of our company's money in Las Vegas,
which he then tried to blame on me.
I am really sorry to be hearing all this.
It's not easy for me to say.
Our corporate bylaws have a morals clause
that call for the removal of any officer
engaged in any immoral or unethical behavior.
What I'm saying is I can get rid of him.
All it takes is a vote by the other partners.
So, what can I do to help?
I just came for your support.
Want to keep you apprised of what's happening.
Mostly I wanted you to hear it from me.
Man-to-man.
I hear you loud and clear.
- Thanks for stopping by. - Yeah.
You know, market penetration is only as good as the guys in the field.
So I talked to Zak. He's okayed two full-time reps.
- Zak did? - Yeah.
I mean, obviously we're all gonna have to discuss it,
but theoretically... oh, guys, guys.
How's this for random? Indigo.
Freddie from Record World says the album's been selling all of a sudden.
- Preorders? - The first album.
How's that possible?
They do make excellent Frisbees.
Listen, Nasty Bits... one second.
Nasty Bits, the final mix, where we at?
Sal's making some tweaks.
Nine songs, five on the A side
- leading with "Woman Like You." - That's it.
- What is it? - Little monkey wrench.
I didn't want to bring it up in front of the kid.
- That song, "Woman Like You"? - Yeah?
Gert says Rondelay owns the publishing.
What do you mean?
It was written by Le...
it was written by Lester Grimes in 1962
while he was still under contract with me.
- They just changed a couple of words. - Okay, fine, whatever.
I'll have Scott adjust the paperwork.
You've got to get his permission.
What, Lester's? It's compulsory license.
Only if he ever recorded it, which he never did because I never let him.
- Jesus Christ. - Talk to him. He's gonna pass on a payday?
- He's their manager for Christ's sake. - I'm not so sure he is anymore.
- He was just here the other day. - Yeah, well...
Listen, send a few of Corrado's boys, right?
They'll soften him up a little.
I'm gonna grab a Danish.
Yeah, like a richness in the horns.
Like in "Pet Sounds." Yeah...
Where's Gary? We got seven musicians on union time.
He's on his way. Call him Xavier?
I want him to live the persona.
Like Cary Grant. You know, his real name's like Oswald or something.
- Come on in here. Fuck you doing there? - What?
Get your hand off the button. You can't hear me when your hand's on...
- My hand's on the button. - I know, that's why you can't hear me.
- Talk now. - Get the fuck in here!
I can't hear you. I'm coming in.
Talking to a chimp.
Hey, hey, the thing we talked about with Richie?
I want you to draw up the letter.
- Ousting him? - Yeah.
Look, I'll write it, but I'm not handing it to him.
Fine, I'll give him the letter myself, okay?
- I'm not afraid. - Hey, wait, hold up. Hold up. Hold up.
So tell me... how's all this gonna work?
What, Julie? Julie's gonna run A&R?
No, I will. Julie reports to me.
- Okay, or he can go, too. - What about promotions?
I can handle both departments, Scott.
It's amazing what you can do
when you're not whacked out of your mind on drugs.
Like formulate a business plan that generates actual revenue.
- Enough with the street bands, though, right? - Please.
Did you run this by our new investor Maury?
No, because it's none of his business.
Would you stop? He answers to Galasso anyway.
Who I happen to be very close with.
Really?
Those who say don't know.
Those who know don't say.
Jesus, hey, I was worried about you.
Your mom said you left two hours ago.
- This is untenable. - What? What is?
Coming all the way in from Massapequa.
The Long Island Railroad, it's stultifying.
All those drones scurrying to work.
You should write a song about that?
Like the Monkees did "Pleasant Valley Sunday."
You did not just compare me to Davy Jones.
Just as an example. Whatever.
I need an apartment.
In the Village maybe near other artists.
- Or up by Central Park so I can walk. - Listen.
Big changes are coming.
Couple weeks, I'm gonna get you whatever you want.
For my stage show.
I'm thinking like the surface of another planet.
Like something not even discovered yet.
I land in a spaceship like "The Day the Earth Stood Still."
- And that's how I make my entrance. - Good.
And there's all these lasers, right?
Two of them are coming from my eyes.
And I'm in black spandex with a metallic silver codpiece.
- I fucking love that. - Yeah, it's... yeah.
Hey, listen, the musicians are waiting.
What say we get started?
We can talk about all these sketches at the break.
- I'm gonna need a minute to warm up. - Yep.
You gonna hang out a while?
What? No, I'm gonna go.
Get to work on that... letter.
Lisa Robinson at "Rock Scene."
Lester Bangs at "Creem." Stu Werbin, "Rolling Stone."
Some college papers, too. Far north as Boston.
Good idea. Lenny Kaye at "Crawdaddy." Danny Goldberg...
- Somebody order chinks? - Hey.
Joe, hey. Cece out there?
I met with Jerry Greenberg over there at Atlantic.
That kid looks like he's 12.
He's got me pushing this fucking Hall & Oates.
- Okay, then. - What? I just came by to say hello.
Yeah, I'm just kind of busy right now, Joe.
Oh, here she is. Hey, I'll tell you what.
Milk and two sugars, okay, sweetie?
- Anyone else? - No, thank you.
You can take this one. I haven't touched it.
Okay, radio. PLJ.
We got Pat St. John and Jimmy Fink.
The new girl, too. Does weekends.
- Allison Steele? - No, that's NEW.
- Carol something. - Carol Miller.
How many tickets they got us down for?
- 100? - I have a call in to Stein for more.
This your thing at the Academy?
- Put me down for 10. - For the New York Dolls?
No, the fucking Ice Capades. Yes, the New York Dolls.
I can't do it, Joe. We're promoting the Nasty Bits.
Scott Muni, he wants seven tickets.
- Make sure he gets them. - Fuck Scott Muni.
NEW would never play these kids.
Nobody will play these kids.
The FCC will pull their license.
It ain't about airplay.
We get the DJs talking, the kids will find the record.
Yeah, but they have to hear it first, don't they?
They'll hear about it from the DJs
who'll tell them about it after they hear it at the Dolls concert.
With those fucking lyrics? They'll be arrested.
No, they're cool over there. Nobody will call the cops.
Great if they do. The more controversy, the better.
"Lady Chatterley" getting banned put D.H. Lawrence on the map.
I never heard of that record.
It's not a fucking...
Mr. Galasso is here.
Give us a minute, will you, sweetie?
Sure. We'll finish later?
Yeah.
- Want me to leave? - No, you should hear this, too.
I got some bad news for you, kid.
American Century, please hold.
Some asshole tracked dog shit in the elevator,
so just get maintenance.
Zak, Richie was asking if you're around.
He's in with Mr. Galasso.
American Century, how can I help you?
Corrado.
I told Richie what we talked about.
You left me no choice.
Last thing that I wanted...
Shut up, you piece of shit.
- I'm trying to... - Sell out your partner.
You rat fucking shit bag.
- Then you come up to me... - No, Mr. Galasso...
One more word, I'll cut your fucking tongue out.
I thought you people were supposed to be smart.
In what universe you think I give a shit who runs this fucking company?
I got a chop shop by Yankee Stadium.
Use it to crush stolen cars.
You're lucky you're not in the trunk of one of them.
Sorry. I'm...
Fuck you.
Now you take your bylaws, your in-laws, your outlaws,
and you stick them up your sister's twat.
He dies, you owe me 100 grand plus the vig.
You die, he owes me.
You both die, your daughters will owe me
if it means I've got to put them on the street to collect it.
You understand me?
Yes. Yeah.
I say something funny?
No.
I don't give a fuck what your problems are.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You're from Queens, not Des Moines.
You know how this shit works.
What are you gonna do, lecture me now on gangster fucking etiquette?
You don't borrow money from a guy like that
and then shake his confidence about getting paid back.
- You got to know how to play this. - Right.
'Cause you're the expert on manipulating people.
So, please, let me learn from you.
Jesus Christ, you call me a child? What the fuck are you?
We are this close to righting this ship.
Right, I know, except you're the one who steered it into an iceberg.
It's done, all right? I blew the sale.
It's all my fault. I'm a fucking asshole.
You're damn fucking right!
I lost some money. I hurt your feelings.
I didn't serve you up to get killed.
This came off the bug in Finestra's office.
Battery's fading, so quality's not great.
Even still, though, we got Corrado Galasso on here.
Well, feds will want to hear this.
Fuck 'em, our bug, our information.
They already took our murder.
I got a chop shop by Yankee Stadium.
...stolen cars.
What was that? Sounded like Yankee Stadium.
Stolen cars?
I got a chop shop by Yankee Stadium.
Use it to crush stolen cars.
You're lucky you're not in the trunk of one of them.
The battery is dead.
You guys ready?
An entire file drawer of phony registrations,
fake plates, VIN numbers... the whole magilla.
Galasso's number two. Fucking feds are gonna shit.
- Where the hell were you? - Fuck's it to you?
I'm sorry. I made a huge mistake.
- We all did. - Interesting.
I don't recall ever mistakenly putting my cock anywhere before.
Stop pretending this isn't something we did together.
- Start saying how you feel. - How do you feel?
I care about you.
And I care about Alex.
There's something there.
An attraction or whatever the fuck you want to call it.
You happy now?
Fucking slag!
You care about him?
Fuck him, fuck you, and fuck this fucking band!
- What does that mean? - It means I quit.
Get your shit and get out and don't fucking come back.
I never want to see you again.
Feliciano's doing "Midnight Special."
Should get us a bump on "Compartments."
Don't touch that bear claw.
Every fucking morning, when have I ever eaten a bear claw?
- You fucking touch all the donuts. - Holy fucking fuck.
- What? - Indigo, they're fucking charting.
What?
72 with a bullet.
- How is this possible? - No, no, we dropped them.
I sent a letter to their manager.
- Why would you do that? - 'Cause that's what...
because Richie fucking told me to. You were there.
It's Hal and his fucking voodoo.
- Fuck is this? - The letter.
Dropping Indigo. I never sent it.
No, I gave it to you like two weeks ago.
Yeah, I know, but I've been pushing their album.
Me and Jorge, we've hit every dance club in the city.
- Who the fuck's Jorge? - I am.
Why would you push the album if you knew we were dropping them?
That song "Kill the Lights," it's great.
We should release it as a single. People dig it.
- You're Murray the K now? - Is the album charting or not?
I'm telling you, it's like Pizarro going to Peru.
This fucking dance music,
it is a totally untapped market.
Go from Booker T into Jimmy Castor.
Call it the Merry-Go-Round. Folks go crazy.
I mean, James Brown, "Sex Machine,"
fucking "Bongo Rock," I mean, that shit gets real.
Here he be now.
You know, there are brothers right outside that door
who'll stick a knife in you for a dollar.
I know five people who'll do it for free.
Two of them women. Hey, all right.
Your song, "Woman Like You,"
Maury owns the publishing.
We need your permission to use it 'cause it's never been recorded.
Well, you and Maury can suck the permission out of my dick.
Okay, well, that's an interesting proposition,
but how about we pay you instead?
10 grand to sign over the rights.
- Two and a half points. - Fuck you.
You're really gonna do this to these kids?
- Their first fucking record. - I don't owe them nothing.
- You're their manager. - So they can get a new one. Different song.
Album's already pressed. 50,000 copies.
- Redo it. You got the money. - You know that's not gonna happen.
- Then you're shit out of luck. - Hey, I can release it anyway.
Without your permission, Lester.
You could sue me later and then end up with shit.
So why don't you fucking do that?
Because I want to do what's right.
You know, you make it very hard to be nice to you.
20,000.
Five points. Prorated.
Throw in a couple more bands for me to manage.
You know, we can do better things together
than we can separately, Lester.
Not so sure about that.
But I will cash your fucking check.
Hey, Max.
- I'll be back around 6:00. - Thank you, Mr. Thomas.
- What?! - Thank you.
Fuck.
Damn it.
Hey, scumbag, guess where I was till 5:00 A.M.
- What? What? - Come on, let's take a ride.
Not in the car.
My shoe!
It's good luck stepping in shit?
Richie.
- I've been calling your apartment. - What's the matter?
Kip didn't show up for rehearsal.
- The fucking show is tonight. - His door is bolted
and he's all fucked up and he said he's quitting the band.
- Get him on the phone. - He doesn't have a phone.
Richie, it's Zak. He says it's an emergency.
Fuck. What?
What? Okay, slow...
Jesus Christ. Okay, I'll be right there, yeah.
- What's wrong? - Hey, what should I do?
You wanted to be in A&R. Fucking fix it.
Jesus Christ.
What the fuck happened?
I'll tell you what fucking happened.
Last night our place in the Bronx, it was fucking raided.
- What place? - The chop shop.
The one I told you about by the stadium.
- Okay. - How is it okay?
Six hours after I mention it to this prick,
four of my guys get pinched?
Either I'm a fucking jerk,
or somebody dropped a dime.
Am I a jerk?
Of course not.
Am I?
Answer the man.
No, you're not a jerk, but I didn't do anything.
Mr. Galasso, please. He would never...
Let me get this straight. He'd fuck you,
his partner, right up the fucking ass,
but he wouldn't dime me to the cops?
Is that what you're telling me?
He's a scumbag.
You're right, a fucking weasel.
But still, to do this, set you up,
it requires forethought.
He's too stupid, Corrado.
Oh, then maybe you're not.
All I'm saying is it was a coincidence.
- I don't like coincidences. - You said yourself there were five people in the room.
- It could it be... - What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
- Nothing. - Five people, my ass.
- You trying to pin this on me? - Joe, come on. I just...
You're a real prick, you know?
I could say a lot of fucking things right now.
- Like what? The fuck you talking about? - Joe.
Guy we know, a little beef we had.
- Remember? - You out of your fucking mind?
Corrado, this had nothing to do with you.
Then who did it have to do with?
Fuck you trying to say?
Buck Rogers.
Radio asshole.
Former fucking radio asshole.
I don't want to hear this shit.
- Let me tell you what... - You a fucking moron?
Have you ever heard of conspiracy after the fact?
Look at, I'm sorry, but I'm just really upset.
So you tell me about a what? About a fucking murder?
Always running your fucking mouth.
I'm trying to be straight with you.
- Okay. - This guy gives you the wrong idea about me.
Everybody relax, all right?
- You okay? - Yeah.
All right. I get nervous.
Fucking cops. Got to be careful.
So, this Tommy James.
What's it gonna take to get this fucking record played?
I told Maury this program director's a real...
Joe!
- Jesus! - Okay.
Calm down.
All right.
You gotta relax. Relax.
This is what happens.
You understand?
- Yeah. - Good.
Now go make some fucking money.
Keep walking.
- I need a Valium. - Breathe.
Listen to me, you forget everything you heard today, okay?
We move forward and we never have to talk about this again.
Oh, God, I'm gonna throw up.
I got to throw up.
Kip!
Kip, open the door! Come on!
We are so fucked.
- Oh, shit. - Oh, my God!
Kip! Hey, Kip!
- Oh, shit. - Fuck. Kip, wake up.
Hey, wake up. Wake up, please.
- He breathing? - Come on. I don't know.
- Yeah. Yeah, he's breathing. - Okay, let's get him up.
- Get him in the tub, come on. - Okay.
- Come on, Kip. Come on. - Shit.
- Easy, kid. Come on. - Oh, God.
All right, I got him. I got him.
I got him. Easy. Easy.
Wait. Okay.
Okay. Okay.
Hold him. Hold him. Hold him. I'll get the water.
All right.
Okay. Okay.
Get him in. Come on, come on. Okay.
Come on, up.
Hey, where you going? We're all heading downtown.
- Want us to wait? - Okay. I guess we'll see you at the show.
My God, the range on this guy is incredible.
Like F2 to F6.
Goes from one end to the other without cracking.
Freddie Mercury? That can't be his real name, can it?
Zak. Hey, Zak.
Check it out. Look what I found.
There's like four great places available.
- One of them's a sublet. - What?
Off Bleecker. You know, the apartment.
Jesus Christ, just learn your craft?
- Sell a record first. - But you said yesterday...
You think I'm your patron? It's a fucking business.
- You said I could get an apartment. - You can't.
Okay? Things change.
Joe Cocker lived in a fucking Buick.
I have a Castro Convertible at my place.
You're welcome to stay with me.
My girlfriend, she won't mind at all.
And you know what? She's gonna love you.
This is great, man. Fucking beautiful.
Jesus Christ.
Ladies and gentlemen, Kip Stevens.
What the fuck is going on here?
Smacked out of his head.
They go on in 10 minutes.
I found him like this. What the fuck you want me to do?
I could sing without him. The three of us will do it.
The fuck you will. Hey. Hey.
So we're supposed to go onstage with that?
- He can't stand up. - Okay, tie him off.
- What? - Tie him off! Give me some fucking coke.
- Where's my purse? Hey, give me my purse. - Here.
Go. Shut the door.
God damn it. Come on.
- Come on! - You know what you're doing, right?
Dump most of that. You'll stop his heart.
- What? - We sure about this? Look at him.
How do you know this isn't gonna kill him?
This is a bad idea.
Yeah, bro. What the fuck?
Don't shake so much. You gotta watch for bubbles.
- Anything else you want to add? - Yeah, he's skinny.
- Go light. - Shut the fuck up.
- Man, really? - Good?
Maybe you should just get a fucking doctor.
Then he just goes to jail.
- Jesus Christ. - He knows what he's doing.
Want me to shoot it? My hands are steadier.
- No. - This is fucking bad, man.
Can you be quiet for just one minute?
There he is.
Let's go. Come on. You're all right.
Hey, hey, hey. Hold him up.
Hey, come on, look at me. Look at me.
Look at me. You hear me?
You listening? You're about to go onstage, okay?
Fuck that.
All right, he's back.
Really? After all this shit?
It's my bloody band.
Then lead it. Shake it off.
Stop being such a fucking pussy.
No, Kip! Watch your hand!
Get the fuck off him.
- Fucking relax! - Get off him. Get back here. Hey!
He punches me in the face, you're worried about his hand?
Don't worry, mate. All she ever thinks about is you.
Wait, what the fuck is going on?
Ask her and Alex.
You got to be fucking kidding me.
You're about to blow the biggest night of your lives over a girl?
Five minutes.
You want me to lie? Say it's all right?
Who said you have to do that? You're fired, get out.
- What? - Get her the fuck out!
No, you can't do...
- Richie, no, you can't do that to me. - And you!
Listen to me.
There's gonna be thousands of girls.
More than you can imagine.
Now get out there on that stage
and do your fucking job.
- Handle that! - Got it.
Richie! Richie, stop!
You can't fucking do this to me.
Are you actually crying?
I made this band. You can't fucking fire me, Richie.
First of all, I can do whatever I want.
Secondly, I said what I needed to say
to get them on that fucking stage.
You're not fired from the company.
You're fired from them.
- Stay away. - But I...
Find another band.
Where are you going?
To make a phone call.
Whatever happens tonight, I remain as confused as ever.
Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome Alibi Records artist
the Nasty Bits.
Come on now, man.
Bring out the Dolls!
We want the Dolls!
Fucking bullshit!
Bring out the Dolls!
Fuck you!
Go home!
Coming through.
- Out of the way. - Are you kidding me?
What fucking asshole called the cops?
- All right, move it! - Stay back!
Move it! Move it!
That's good, man. That's fucking good.
Get back.
Fuck you, pigs!
No, no. No.
Fuck you, you fucking pigs!
What the fuck? Stop that!
Kill the pigs!
Nasty! Nasty! Nasty!
Nasty! Nasty!
So they what?
They just hang around backstage?
Backstage, by the tour bus.
Find out what hotel the band's staying in.
That's it? No small talk, nothing.
- They just... - Crazy, right?
Chuck Negron, Three Dog Night,
fucked 12 women in four hours.
That I know for a fact.
So what do you got? Anything?
No, actually.
Been kind of quiet.
No interaction with Galasso at all?
You got to tell me everything, Richie.
Last week...
he... he came by the office.
Him and the other guy, Del Greco.
They were wearing very similar raincoats.
The London Fog kind.
Was it a stolen shipment or not?
Maybe you can check that out.
Sure, maybe.
I'll make some calls.
Next week, then? Maybe the week after?
Yeah, sure. Whatever.
I'll reach out if anything changes.
All right.
Gormandizer.
Pardon?
Gormandizer. Know what it means?
Gor... gorma... like a connoisseur?
Close enough.
What are you doing, a crossword?
The bar, changing the name.
Gonna have live music.
Really? What kind?
Country, bluegrass, blues,
and other music
for uplifting gormandizers.
It's a good thing. It's better than good.
Listen, everybody. Quiet, please.
Thank you.
Welcome, everybody,
to the official launch of Alibi Records.
To start things off, I'd like to read a review
by Dan Nooger of our leadoff artist the Nasty Bits,
who, I may have mentioned,
recently opened for the New York Dolls.
All right. No, this isn't it.
This is the one that calls them antisocial delinquents.
- Burn it! - All right, here we go.
"The Nasty Bits, led by Kip Stevens,
gave an impressive, albeit truncated performance
at the Academy of Music Thursday that ended
with the band's arrest on obscenity charges."
"And if the reaction from the crowd was any indication,
Stevens and his bandmates are about to capture the attention
of teenage America as well as the FCC."
Hey, they buy records?
"The Bits may be short on experience,
but they more than make up for it with swagger
and the fucking music,
which, let's face it, is what it's all about."
You know, a lot of people have been asking me what Alibi means.
You know, why that?
An alibi, of course, is an excuse...
for bad behavior.
Well, from now on, I'm not making any more fucking excuses.
When I was a kid, I used to lay in my bed at night
listening to my father drunk off his ass
screaming at my mother.
Louis Jordan, T-Bone Walker,
Big Joe Turner...
these guys saved my life.
Years later, I'm in the record business.
I talk to other kids.
For them, it's Elvis.
It's Little Richard. It's Bill Haley.
Every generation is full of lost, fucked-up kids
who need to hear that they're not alone.
- Yeah. - And they hear it.
They hear it through the records we make.
That's who Alibi is for.
Those kids.
They need a voice.
And Alibi's it!
They're ready to change the fucking channel.
NASTY BITS CHANGE THE FUCKING CHANNEL
Alibi, baby!
- Yeah! Yeah! - Do this!
Now in case any of you think American Century
will just be business as usual,
our assistants are passing out spray paint as I speak.
Grab a can. Come on, don't be shy.
I want you to spray the walls.
Spray the furniture.
Spray each other. Spray whatever the fuck you feel like.
Come on.
Go ahead.
My man.
There you go.
"Fuck."
"This."
"Place."
"Up!"
Yeah! Fuck it up!
Fuck it up!