When we think of Slug Concrete the first image to come to mind is of a tough old midwestern (Irish) type that just happens to live in Calcutta with his three wives. The second image is of a frustrated white rapper with a bike instead of a surfing board, false teeth instead of a golden ring, and rollerskates instead of any catchy tunes. Then we settle down a bit and approach the uninteresting truth: Slug Concrete is none of these things. He is just an ordinary person like you or, more precisely, me. Read further to find out why.
When Slug’s first album came out AD 1995 he was already a world-famous surfer. His single Rap my bat had sold 100 000 copies in places as diverse as Greenland, Madras, and Keliakia. His unique dancing style had inspired shrugs out of people like Max, Joe, and Lenny. He had gone through several divorces and done time for armed robbery, violent violence, and presiding. He was a legend. Of sorts. His first album was about to change all that. Overnight. Suddenly, inexplicably. To the worse and beyond.
When we think of record sales the first thing to consider is: “Who is going to buy this record?” The answer to that one is surprisingly simple: someone with money. This is what the producers of musical recordings often see as the goal. They want people to buy the albums with money.
When we think of record producers the first thing to notice is that they want the albums to contain music. This was not a given in the era before vinyl. Sometimes there were no producers at all working at a product, dreaming of countless shillings rolling into their bank accounts, jingling in their pockets, paying their mortgages, feeding their children and dogs, getting robbed from them under shady circumstances. And this is the crux of the matter. Money.
We are all interested in money. Some of us have none, others have loads. Slug Concrete has a pretty average amount of money. Let it go at that. It will be for the best. For generations to come.