Paul Wasserman
| |
"I've made you, Gil. I can break you."
|
|
Paul Wasserman is the publicist for the Rolling Stones. That doesn't
mean — as it would with almost any other client in the world — that
it's Paul Wasserman's job to
get
publicity for the Rolling
Stones. Everybody wants to write about the Rolling Stones, to do a
feature interview with a band member, to "get inside" with a portable
TV camera and a handful of radio mikes. A good interview with Mick
Jagger could make a young reporter's career. No, the band doesn't need
to "get publicity." It needs instead to
control
the publicity
it's already got — to put out only those bits and pieces which
flatter the myth. Part of that myth, of course, involves the general
inaccessibility of the band to the watchful and intrigued public. The
Stones stay largely out of sight. And so most of Wasserman's job
involves saying "No" to people. "No, there is no possibility for
an
interview." "No, we are not taking pictures today." "No, you
can come
with a pad and pencil, but you can't bring a camera crew... " Etc.
Paul jokes all the time. Paul jokes about things which other people
take seriously. And, since most people do not understand his jokes —
which are generally both refined and cynical — Paul gets to deliver a
profound and inspired monologue on the state of things with every
assurance of privacy, and confidentiality. A muse alone. Paul Wasserman
jokes largely with himself.
"Poker Chip Theory," Paul shouted to me over the phone. He's in New
York City at the Helmsley Palace Hotel, and I'm at my office in
Worcester.
"Poker Chip Theory," Paul repeated. "That tomorrow's scoop is
going to
be bigger than today's. That's why reporters will always double the
ante, if you want them to."
"Whaddaya mean, Paul, 'double the ante'?"
"I mean they'll always give you silence today for double-the-bang
tomorrow. Look at that situation of yours up there, for example.
Everyone knows the Stones are at Long View. So what? Everybody knows
that already. It's the penetration they're after. That one-on-one
personal interview with Mick Jagger, a night in the barn during
rehearsal, or something like that. If they think something like that's
in store for them, they'll shut up in the short run, and give you
another week's breathing time. Maybe."
"So I can say we'll help them later, Paul?"
"Double the ante, little partner, double the ante."
"Well, I guess that's what I've been doing, without knowing exactly
what theory it was."
"Poker Chip Theory," Paul reminded me.
"Yes, I know that now. I've just been saying that publicity will drive
them away, and ruin everything for us all, so be quiet please, and
maybe Wasserman will arrange something interesting before it's all
over."
"Good work. I'd call that the 'Modified Poker Chip Theory,' but my
reasons needn't concern you. Listen, do you know what they call a Rabbi
in a whorehouse?"
"What, Paul?"
"A Rabbi in a whorehouse. Do you know what you'd call him?"
This was one of Wasserman's jokes. But I hated jokes like that.
Couldn't stand them.
"How about 'a publicist in rock 'n' roll', Paul?"
"What?"
"'A publicist in rock 'n' roll'," I shouted again, now getting ready to
get off the phone, and on with my day's work.
"All right," I hear on the other end of the phone. "All right. So I
won't tell you. Just one last word of advice, however, little partner."
"What's that?" I asked, exhilarated that I had killed the joke about
the Rabbi.
"I've made you, Gil. I can break you."
"You can
what?"
"I've made you. I can break you."
Paul was now laughing out loud at the other end of the phone, and was
the first to hang up. In Worcester, I was a bit slower, and preferred
to stare somewhat dumbly at my red telephone until the circuit broke,
and the dial tone re-established itself, setting things up for my next
phone call, which turned out to be from a reporter from Los Angeles
interested in an interview with the Rolling Stones.
|
