James VanOsdol, ex-DJ and hopeful self-publisher
Where plugging comes with a price
James VanOsdol, in orange, posing with Q101 employees and members of Veruca Salt, among others.
People are always asking us to help plug something of theirs—an upcoming show, a new record, some book they wrote. Because we’re not in the pandering business, we think there should be a trade-off. Debaser allows these folks to plug whatever they want, with one caveat: They also have to tell us something embarrassing about themselves. This week, James VanOsdol—ex-Q101 DJ and author of a forthcoming book about the '90s rock scene in Chicago—tells The A.V. Club why he’s a valuable investment.
The A.V. Club: You’re using Kickstarter to try and raise $17,000 to self-publish Chicago Rocked!. Why go the online donation route?
James VanOsdol: A few years ago, I wrote this book about the '90s scene in Chicago. I spent a lot of time putting it together, and did over 140 interviews with musicians and personalities. I had a publishing deal, but that deal went away. If there’s anything I learned from all those interviews, though, it’s that DIY is the way to go. If we’ve learned nothing else from Steve Albini, right? Since I’m not independently wealthy, I looked into alternatives. I’d heard stories about musicians like Jill Sobule who used fan funding to put out a record. I figured I should give it a try. It’s a Hail Mary, but if I’m going to publish, this is the way I’m going to be able to.
AVC: Why should people donate now to you?
JV: Kickstarter gives you a maximum of 90 days to fundraise. If you don’t get the money after that time—for me, by September 16—then you’re done. If I don’t succeed in raising all the money I need, then you get that money back. If I don’t get this money by mid-September, the project is dead. There’s a lot of sleepless nights and total angst in my life right now. Every contribution comes with a specific rewards tier. If you donate $25, you get thanked as a contributor, and the rewards get bigger from there. I’m offering up gold records I’ve received, copies of the book, a 250-word essay to be included in a "paid contributors" opinions section of the final product, and so on.
AVC: So, tell an embarrassing story from the 1990s.
JV: I don’t have stories like that from that time, unfortunately. I never got pantsed by David Yow. I’ve done plenty to embarrass myself in music over the years, but nothing around that time. I forced Stabbing Westward to redo an interview after realizing I hadn’t used the reel-to-reel recorder properly, but that’s not a big deal.
AVC: Alright, something else shameful, then.
JV: I threw up on a person once. I was dumb, in college, and believed I could hold my liquor, like you do then. I was with a bunch of friends at a house party in Champaign, and I was drinking like a jackass. I realized I was going to throw up, and started heading toward the door. I couldn’t make it. I threw up all over this girl. I remember it looked like she was wearing a formal dress. I stopped to apologize, but my friends just came up behind me, said, “keep going,” and pushed me out the door. I remember I was wearing a cable-knit sweater, and it was absolutely covered in vomit. The next morning, I took it to the dry cleaner, because I didn’t know what to do with it. It smelled horrible. I took it in a Hefty bag. The person behind the counter opened up the bag, took one look and said, “You’re on your own. Never come back here.” I threw the sweater out. The worst part of that whole story is that I have no idea who the girl was. It would be better if I did, so I could apologize. It’s like when a bird shits on your head. You can’t do anything about it. You just have to clean it up.
