Death To Myspace!

OK, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to bust out the supa-dupa flow right here. Eli Porter:

I deeeeeed it...







And by "it", obviously, having read the title of the post and watched the video, you'll know I  mean DELETED MY MYSPACE.

Because I have.


Look! Go to! See what you get!



Oh sweet lord! I've been wanting to do it for so long! Just thinking about Myspace makes me twitch. I hate that place. I hate it I hate it I hate it. It represents everything ugly about our digital experience. It is a cesspool of trolls, fools, spambots, shitty emo bands, shitty indie bands, shitty rappers, shitty producers, shitty you-name-it. It houses the worst experiments in "graphic design" ever seen by human eyes. It is a fucking GATEWAY THE WORLD OF WRONG.

Serius. As I noted in the video, it's like a fucking stargate or something, like a fucking portal into 2005, into the very darkest hours of the Bush administration. It's like the fucking Necronomicon.

So I killed it.


Upon leaving I had 7000 "friends", and one of my songs (CLONES) had been played half a million times. I'd blasted through a couple of thousand spam messages ("Need hot beats? Want a world tour? Need more hits? Just blessing you page with a.... We noticed you're friends with such and such and we think we sound lime such and such" etc.) in order to find a handful of genuine messages, and that was me done. I felt soiled by the whole thing.

This was actually the second time I've deleted my Myspace profile. I got my first after the great Friendster exodus of 2003. Everyone (and when I say "everyone", I mean a few of my mates, but still) was all like, "rah, follow me to Myspace, its way better than Friendster, it's full of HORNY ROCK CHICKS", and lo that turned out to be true. I hadn't been set up for a day when I got my first peroxide proposal. Of course, if something seems to good to be true, it is, and I soon discovered that the types of girls that cruised Myspace for aspirant rappers to boff were not the types of girls I wanted in my life, and after a particularly shameful incident I deleted the thing.

A few years later I made a new one, upon the insistence of the new media people at Interscope. I always tried to use it as a conduit to my site, as opposed to an end destination, but pretty soon it became assumed that an artist's Myspace WAS their website. "I checked out your Myspace," people would say, and each time I would die a little inside.

I mean, it wasn't all bad. I got some nice messages, engaged in a few meaningful human interactions. But for every genuine human there seemed to be scores of seedy robosapiens, cruising for whatever they could get, bleeping their foul screeds from terrifying hodgepodges of flashing gifs and pixelated glitter. It was like hanging out in a vast eighties theme pub/quazar staffed by a single myopic, deluded janitor, populated by cleaning product salesmen, crazed, narcissistic Jesse Slaughters and the sorts of drooling, pock marked, mom's-basement-dwelling mongs that hang outside schools at lunchtime smoking fags in the hope of picking up 15 year old girls.

And I was there because Interscope's New media department thought I should be, which made me as bad as everyone else.

The thing Myspace had going for it was that it was a place you could go and hit a button and hear some music. That's it. And that's the only reason I kept it alive as long as I did. I was waiting for the completion of 5.0. And now that's here, and works, I see no need for a Myspace. I see no need to waste hours of my life trawling through the filthiest recesses of Unimaginative Marketing, or "pimping my profile", or making Rupert Murdoch and his foul spawn more fucking money. Fuck him and all who sail with him. Fuck Gorillaz and their Times advertising campaign too. Fuck the whole filthy, wretched, grasping, whorish scene.

Death to no-taste greedscum!

Death to "music, lifestyle and celebrity" "networks"!

Death to shitty websites!


And long live the new flesh.