Nervous Acid (Meet Liz Primo. She is an inconsistent,...)

Meet Liz Primo. She is an inconsistent, success-chasing, dreamer who thinks her chances of being recognized as a “true artist” will actually improve if she hitches her star to the Lady Gaga Express Train! But in order to not seem like any of those things, Primo — like all aspiring singers, really — knows that she needs to invent her own myth, and the first tool of myth-making for any pop-star-in-waiting is undoubtedly their artist bio.

If you’re not familiar with the nuts and bolts of an artist bio — or more colloquially, a “one-sheet” — don’t sweat it. Most writers only read them when they’re terribly bored or when they need to come up with a lazy hook for a 200-word blurb about the record or when they’re looking for a piece of scrap paper. In fact, most one-sheets are basically just a word explosion of name-dropping, buzzwords, and meaningless platitudes — like, Oh shit! They really took it to the next level! But when they’re great (and sometimes they are), the artist bio can actually direct the entire mood of a press campaign. It’s like this: Have you ever read multiple reviews of the same album and felt like all the reference points and suggestions just seemed to magically congeal into some sort of uncanny critical consensus? Chances are that album had a fucking awesome one-sheet.

So back to Liz Primo. Is she really any of the things I accused her of being in that first sentence? I don’t know! But if you read her one-sheet, it’s certainly one possible narrative route you can take. Which is why I’ve chosen Primo’s artist bio to represent a lesson in what not to do if you’re writing one of these things. I’ve been reading one-sheets for almost twenty years now — and I’ve even written a few for major and indie label artists alike — so I felt like it was time to break it down. Here’s your dummy guide:

1. DO NOT AWARD YOURSELF WITH A TITLE YOU HAVEN’T EARNED.

According to Primo’s bio, she is “the newest pop/dance diva coming onto the scene.” God bless her heart, but by definition, a diva is “a female singer who has enjoyed great popular success.” It doesn’t just mean you’re a fierce bitch, but if that’s what you’re trying to say, say it! The term “diva” is pretty meaningless these days when even Ke$ha gets to be called that.

2. YOUR STORY IS NOT AN EPIC POEM.

If you believe the author of Liz Primo’s one-sheet, she is a journeywoman. A shaman. A seeker of Homeric proportions. I mean, the word “journey” is used four times! The word “dream” is used three times! This shit is like The Aeneid, man! Except no, it’s not. There are at least five paragraphs in this thing that could be summed up in one sentence: Liz Primo tried being a singer-songwriter and eventually joined a band, but she’ll just keep changing genres until something sticks.

3. A LIST OF MEANINGLESS TERMS AND TRANSITIONS YOU SHOULD NEVER USE IN A ONE-SHEET.

Journey
“With a job and a dream…”
“Her creative soul”
Electronica
Quest
“Artistic fit”
“Recipe for a star”
“The definition of a true star”
The word “star,” period.

4. IF YOU’RE GOING TO USE SCARE QUOTES, IT HELPS IF YOU KNOW HOW TO USE THEM.

Here’s the funniest sentence I’ve read in a long time:

She also met numerous “industry experts” who offered to help develop her sound.

There are two possible interpretations here: Either A) These “industry experts” were super spooky! Or B) These were “industry experts” of the air-quote kind — like, ha-ha, wink-wink “industry experts.” Scare quotes generate the impression that these people weren’t industry experts at all, but rather, the kind of dudes who hand you their business cards on the subway and host their websites on Angelfire.

5. IF YOU’RE TRYING TO SELL AN ALBUM OF SINGING, DON’T TALK ABOUT DANCING.

A list of things Liz Primo’s publicist never tells us: What’s her voice like? How is she unique musically? Is she still a songwriter? But for the entire final quarter of her two-page one-sheet — do you see something inherently wrong with those words? — we are told about how, for Primo, “moving on to the next level,” was not about music at all, but about hiring a choreographer. In one of the most bizarre turns of an artist bio ever, the star of the show becomes Phlex — who we’re told has choreographed routines for Beyoncé and Gaga and So You Think You Can Dance. This is the man who is supposed to lend Primo credibility, the man we’re supposed to believe in, so much so that he even gets the one-sheet’s all-important final quote: