Like a complete unknown
Or, in the words of one young intern on "I'm From Rolling Stone" (10 p.m. Sundays on MTV) upon entering the Rolling Stone offices, "Dude, this looks like Enron or something."
Yes, as the crew of disappointed young people soon discovers, magazine offices are not only rather gray and nondescript in most cases, but -- worse yet -- people actually work there. No matter how much the interns strain their necks to catch a glimpse of the rock stars and hot groupies and cold kegs of beer that they suspect must be lurking behind every closed door, all they find are condescending, nitpicky geeks who talk about "nut grafs" and "burying the lede." What's going on? These don't seem like the kinds of people who hang out with rock stars!
Sadly for the stars of "I'm From Rolling Stone," half of whom would clearly prefer to get drunk and engage in street fisticuffs like the kids on "The Real World," this gig is about real work -- reporting and writing. After turning in her first draft of a report on the music scene in her hometown, Krishtine, a 23-year-old hip-hop writer from San Francisco, is devastated to learn that she must rewrite her piece. This laborious process, known in the magazine world as "editing," was not what Krishtine had in mind when she dreamed of working for Rolling Stone. "In terms of the writing process," she says, "the thing that pissed me off a little bit was just the fact that you have to redo it again. It's just a pain in the ass!"
Indeed it is, my little lamb! Unfortunately, during her first interview with rapper/producer El P, Krishtine chatted aimlessly instead of getting any concrete information, so she's forced to call him back. A consummate professional, Krishtine explains, "These f***ing punks over here want me to do some follow-up questions." This is the same woman who, when Jann Wenner offers her an internship, says, "For reals?"
OK, I'm willing to entertain the notion that I'm too old and crusty to know that saying "For reals?" and "hella" to your new boss is completely appropriate in today's rapidly shifting global hip-hop economy. But I'm still pretty sure it's not a good idea to tell your new editor that you were drunk when you wrote your piece, as Peter, a Cal-Berkeley student from Australia, does.
But Peter doesn't stop there. "Half of my writing is when I'm drunk," he says, with a smirk.
"Uh, it shows," responds executive editor Joe Levy. "And actually, if you don't take this more seriously, you're not going to last a summer here at Rolling Stone."
Hey! That's not very rock 'n' roll of him! But that seems to be the aim of "I'm From Rolling Stone": Trick kids into thinking they're going to be part of a big, '70s-era, around-the-clock rocker party in New York City, then make them show up on time, act like professionals and do real work.
The "act like professionals" part is the hardest of all, of course. Anyone who stammered and stuttered their way through their first few jobs out of college will appreciate the painful awkwardness of Colin, a junior at USC. He's sent to Toronto to interview the band We Are Scientists, but when he arrives, instead of playing the part of a professional journalist, Colin acts like a shy kid following orders. "I'm supposed to talk to Storm from We Are Scientists, their tour manager?" he says to a crew member. "Should I just give her a call, or ... do you guys have any way of getting in touch with her?" As he fumbles for his cellphone, someone grumbles, "She'll come out in a few minutes," then remarks that he's late.
"I'm a little nervous, I don't know my questions exactly, but I think I'll be all right winging it," he tells us in a voice-over. Uh-oh. Then, as he sits down with the band, tape recorder in hand, he says, "I'm just gonna turn this on and record everything we say." Thanks for the information, kid. "Do you already have the levels checked? Is it gonna pick us up?" a band member says. "I hope so ... Sure, I mean, do you wanna check?" Colin responds. "I don't know, we just did two interviews and they checked levels," snaps the band member. We're off to a good start!
First question: "All right, so in case you guys didn't know, you guys have a show tonight! I want to take this as serious as possible. I think I have that shirt, actually, which is a weird thing to say. Basically, I don't know, I just want you to know, I like you guys as musicians. Um. How's life on the road?"
Ah, yes. A time-honored approach to the interview: Ramble on incoherently, make everyone as uncomfortable as possible, and then ask an inane question that's basically impossible to answer. Naturally, the band refuses to take Colin seriously from the very start.
Band member: They say the road ain't no place to start a family.
Colin: Are you guys working on new material right now, or are you just all focused on touring?
Band member: We're neither focused on touring nor capable of producing anything.
Colin: So you're in a state of stagnation.
Band member: As you can now attest, we don't say anything sincere during an interview.
Or at least, not when the interviewer appears to be a moron. Of course, how interesting would this show be if there were competent professionals involved? The first two episodes of "I'm From Rolling Stone" suggest that, just as spitty outbursts and drunken street fights are the main event on "The Real World," any amusement we can find here is going to come from witnessing the flailings of young people about to bungle their first big job in a wide variety of ways. Russell, the only experienced reporter, is a smooth, intelligent interviewer and a solid writer, but he has a criminal history and it's pretty obvious that they chose him because he appears to have a habit of slacking or quitting when the going gets tough. [Editor's note: Russell Morse has written for Salon in the past.] Krystal, a poet, not only seems likely to produce overwritten prose, but also romanticizes Rolling Stone to an extent that's bound to make reality disappointing. Tika seems foolishly overconfident, Krishtine comes off as lazy and disrespectful, Peter seems to be a drunk, and Colin appears to have a pea-size brain and the poise of a nervous squirrel. In short, "I'm From Rolling Stone" is an exercise in sadism that's so mean-spirited and condescending, it could only have been dreamed up by someone who works in the wild and wonderful world of magazines.
Next week: The tragic hedonists of "Rome" return!
About the writer
Heather Havrilesky is Salon's TV critic. She also maintains the rabbit blog. You can find more of her columns in the I Like To Watch directory.
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