Dammit. How long did it take y’all to figure out that I misspelled Mannie Fresh’s name on the cover of last month’s issue? Probably a lot less time than it did for me, when glancing over my shoulder at the stacks of issues in my van (and days into our distribution) did it occur to me that there might not actually be any “y” in Mannie. I’ve felt pretty bone-headed about that epic eff-up since. Really bush league stuff and a crash-and-burn way to end the year. I feel like Brett Favre at the end of the NFC Championship two years ago; or Jim Morrisson, who quipped once that he had “the soul of a clown which forces me to blow it at the most important moments.” Pretty much… Worst of all, that kind of mistake is an insult to such a great artist and treasure of our city. Mannie, many apologies.
Also, I’d like to apologize to the following: Jeff B, who, thanks to a chance encounter at Stein’s Deli, scooped me on Mannie’s show with Galactic at year’s end and prompted the interview (and also gave us access to Maison’s Penthouse for it); Zenobia Simmons, Mannie’s publicist who was gracious, accommodating and professional throughout the process, photographer Adrienne Battistella and finally, to Michael Patrick Welch and his fantastic piece, which was already behind the eight ball before anyone could even crack the cover, thanks to me. Just goes to show you that all of the planning and coordination in the world can come crashing down when you overlook a simple detail like how the artist’s name is actually spelled. On the cover.
Last, thanks to Eric Martinez, who sympathized with me (he told me I could blame it on his own brand of atrocious spelling, but alas, I can’t), Michael Bateman for making sure I knew I spelled Mannie wrong and Michael Patrick Welch for reminding me, without naming names, that there are worse mistakes– stranger ones at that– one could make. The article and photos were still killer and at least with a monthly rag like ours, I can move on and simply vow never to let it happen ever again.
