Happy offices are all
different, but every unhappy office is unhappy in the same way. Getting his
dream job at Atlantic Records led Dan Kennedy to write two books, a series of
pithy, brilliant short pieces, and a more conventional story about the
dehumanizing effects of corporations. Those books are unhappily wed between the
covers of Rock On: An Office Power Ballad, a memoir about work whose central
narrative is as commonplace as the marketing meetings Kennedy lampoons.
A chance assignment to
make a commemorative video for Motown Records got Kennedy, a low-paid
freelancer and previous member of three bands, the chance to work in marketing at
Atlantic Records. Uneasily wedged between long-time employees—for
instance, Rush Hair, whose early discovery of prog-rock is enough to garner him
prime office space for life—and overenthusiastic hit chasers, Kennedy
tries to focus on writing his Phil Collins promos, directing an elaborate TV
spot for rapper Fat Joe, and wondering how his new
assistant became so seemingly omniscient. Disillusioned by the hit-making process,
Kennedy is nonetheless shocked when layoffs and rumors of a sale claim his
office crush, and eventually, him as well.
Sprinkled among these
linear chapters are shorter pieces like "Before We Begin, A Record-Business
Riddle" and "Office Supplies For The Unemployed," which suggest Kennedy, a
regular McSweeney's contributor, felt the need to stuff his best observations
into a more traditional narrative casing. But his true liability as a narrator isn't
improper humor, it's timing. He joined Atlantic when digital downloading had
reached such a volume that he himself installed LimeWire on his corporate
computer. Kennedy defends himself by pointing out that his soon-to-be-hated
office job was too enticing to pass up, and that his attempts to help steer the
business toward the future in the office were mercilessly thwarted. (In one
cringe-inducing moment, he faults Atlantic's web division for being too lazy to
build a web-based iTunes killer.) But his naïveté about the daily indignities
of office life, from muffin scuffles to bad parties, is more pathetic than
charming. While it's true that nothing Kennedy said or did could have saved the
music industry or his own job, the fact remains that he went into a house on
fire and then wondered why he smelled like smoke. Which makes Rock On a pretty pallid account
of the dangers of getting what you want.