Someone Help! I've Been Trapped in my Apartment for Three Days!

Random Snowed In Thoughts…

            I would like to start by qualifying that, yes, after three days of snow in the fair city of Portland, Oregon, I am still snowed in.  In fact, my phone yelled at me violently, well, not yelled, it was really more of a fire alarm at short range, that the City of Portland has issued a statement urging people to stay inside and not travel due to poor road conditions.  Now, to the layman, the everyday tax-paying citizen, if you will, the proper course of action would be to, oh, I don’t know, maybe take some action.  Maybe hire some plows and salt trucks, something.  Their advice was to just sit tight, as it was supposed to warm up over the next couple of day and the rain should, hopefully, wash away all the snow…  What a plan.  They must be fucking geniuses.  Hopefully they all get re-elected, or better yet, they leave their houses for some coffee or orange juice or a prostitute, whatever, and they slip on the ice and the shitty, packed-in snow on their roadways and crack their heads, and since everyone was advised to stay in they bleed to death, concussed and unable to call for help, lying in the road, like the fucking morons they truly are…  Or at the very least, they could stub their toes.  And I mean really stub it bad, like bend the nail back and chip a little off because that’s what happened to me walking around my tiny apartment trying not to get all “The Shining” all over everyone.  Anyways,  I’m going to devour five or six cups of coffee while I type, got to get this wonderful day going.  So, let’s move on to the randomness…

            Cup of Coffee #1:  Bruno Mars…

            Now, I haven’t actually written anything about the Super Bowl yet, or hardly even spoken of it, since that tragedy of a football game on February 2^nd, 2014, except to congratulate my friends who happen to be Seahawks fans.  They should enjoy it though, as it’s only a matter of years before Pete Caroll fucks the team over, they get busted for cheating and their Lombardi trophy gets revoked(see:  USC)…  Just kidding, the NFL doesn’t revoke trophies like the NCAA.  Theres no real punishment for cheating(see:  Belichick)…  Oh yeah, Bruno Mars.  So, the one thing I did want to talk about, in regard to that dreadful waste of advertising money(Tim Tebow’s “no contract” ads were my favorite, if you were wondering, which I know you probably weren’t), was the Bruno Mars halftime show.  To be fair, most of the people I ask about this actually LIKED his halftime performance and found it quite entertaining.  And, since a lot of people I knew grew up in the nineties, the RHCP thing was a nice touch.  Like most things, I fall on the other side of the fence, I fucking hated it.  FUCKING HATED IT.  Maybe it’s the fact that he constantly gets compared, by critics and therefore unthinking morons who have been diligently trained, by facebook and twitter and 24-hour news, to regurgitate talking points as if they were their own, to Michael Jackson and James Brown.  Not only are those two giants of the music and entertainment industry that we’ll never see the likes of again, they are also two of my favorite performers of all-time.  No one will ever compare to Michael Jackson.  I’m pretty sure that’s what Sinead O’Connor was singing about.  So, I take offense to that.  Also, it set a bar and a standard to which Bruno couldn’t possibly reach even if he(or she, I’m still not sure exactly what this untalented lump of shit is.  The closest thing I can approximate is that if James Brown, hence Bruno's blackness, had a retarded, illegitimate child, who claimed all of his recessive genes, none of the talent or creativity or awesomeness,  and that child knocked up Katy Perry, hence the shitty pop “music,”the resulting baby would be called Bruno Mars) was talented at all.  I think my favorite thing that was written about this, was when Steven Hyden of Grantland wrote:  “A band comes onstage wearing suits that match what Mars is wearing. You typically only get that sort of showmanship on cruise ships.”  His overall review was pretty positive, but still, I crack up every time I read that.  To be honest, I wasn’t really listening to the songs.  After about five seconds of each new song, I wanted to murder someone.  But seeing as I was in a room full of people I had just met, I didn’t want to make a bad impression.  Afterwards, I almost felt bad for Bruno.  It’s bad enough to be a douche on national television, but to be shown up by a fifty year-old RHCP, featuring Will Ferrell on the drums and a guitar player who was either experiencing a bad acid trip or just ate Jack in the Box and was trying desperately not to shit himself in front of America,  must not feel so good.  And he most certainly was shown up.  It’s clear RHCP were comfortable and ready to rock, no matter how big the stage, as they’ve been doing it for years.  Bruno seemed like he was trying to prove he wasn’t the product of James Brown’s retarded, illegitimate, recessive-gened child and Katy Perry…

            Cup of Coffee #3:  Rick Astley…

            Last night, while being cooped up again in my shitty little apartment, I was trying to pin down exactly what it was about Rick, and more specifically, the “Never Gonna Give You Up” music video, that was so amusing to me.  Maybe its because he looks like a sixteen year old ginger who stole his fathers yachting clothes. Maybe its because he sings lines like:  “You know the rules and so do I…” or “You wouldn’t get this from any other guy…” or “I just want to tell you how I’m feeling…”  Maybe its because the video features a random black dude who likes to do flips while he’s cleaning and getting ready for work.  Maybe its because Rick could be, quite possibly, the worst dancer ever.  What the fuck is that side to side hand shimmy thing that he does the whole song?  It’s the single worst white guy dance move I’ve ever seen and its so hard to watch.  I never thought I would see someone who made Phil Collins seem black by comparison.  Rick could be be the whitest guy ever.  Who knows.  But, for any guy who feels like he’s unlucky with women, Astley and the video for “Never Gonna Give You Up” is proof positive that any guy can get laid…

            Cup of Coffee #4:  Random Lists…

            Anyone who knows me well knows that I love making lists.  Top five albums or songs or movies or whatever.  I know, very High Fidelity, but its fun.  By the way, if you have never read the book, you need to stop whatever you’re doing, unless you’re listening to Rick Astley and boning, then by all means keep it up, go find it(hint:  there’s these things that the kids hardly ever use anymore, ever since Al Gore invented the internet, called libraries where they keep tons of books) and read it immediately.  Nonetheless, here’s five random top five lists for you…

            Top five human sensations or feelings.  Now, I’ve never been married, had a child or won the lottery, but I assume those would be my top three if they should ever occur.  Since, I’m not that lucky insofar, here’s what I do know:

1. Predictably, having an orgasm.
2. The first time I put on socks after having cut my toenails.  A close second...
3. The feeling I get just after having taken a large poop that’s been brewing for a while.
4. Taking a shower when I’m really gross or dirty or sweaty or whatever.  Very often following #1 or #3.  Hopefully “or” will never turn into “and.”  I have never had, and cross my fingers, never will have, a sex-pooping problem…
5. Peeing after holding it for as long as humanly possible.

I’m kind of surprised at how low “peeing after holding it” came in, but there you go.

Honorable Mention:  Performing onstage and eating, which leads me to...

Top five favorite sandwiches:

1. Meatloaf, which just might be my favorite food in general
2. Egg salad, I wish I had the patience to make egg salad but I don’t
3. Tuna, the whole concept of lunch is based on tuna
4. Cucumber, tomato and spinach, probably the most refreshing sandwich you can eat, ever
5. Meatball sub from Subway, I think they put heroin in it because it always makes me sick, and for some reason, I always want more

Honorable mention:  Turkey, and I’m talking real turkey like left-overs from Thanksgiving turkey, and the Reuben.

Top Five Monty Python Sketches:

1. Upperclass Twit of the Year
2. Ron Obvious
3. The Dead Parrot
4. The Ministry of Silly Walks
5. The Homicidal Barber/Lumberjack Song

Honorable mention:  The Piranha Brothers, The Bishop and Confuse-a-Cat

Top Five Ramones Songs:

1. Blitzkrieg Bop
2. Sheena is a Punk Rocker
3. Judy is a Punk
4. Teenage Lobotomy, how can you beat a line like:  “Now, I guess I’ll have to tell’em that I got no cerebellum”
5. I Wanna be Sedated

Honorable mention:  Glad to See You Go, Rock N’ Roll High School(partially, well mostly, because of my PJ Soles obsession), Cretin Hop, Surfin’ Bird(Damn you Family Guy!), She’s the One

      My music listening goes in extreme patterns of obsession.  I’ll listen to the same records for months on end.  Right now, the two artists I am obsessing over are the two artists I’ve made Top Fives for.  The first being the Ramones and the second being…

Top Five Shania Twain Songs:

1. Any Man of Mine
2. From This Moment On
3. Man! I Feel Like a Woman!, my favorite memory of this song is when I was like 10 or 11 my good buddy’s seven year old little brother loved this song so much and used to run around the house singing “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” all day
4. Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?
5. I’m Holding on to Love (to Save My Life)

Honorable mention:  You’re Still the One, That Don’t Impress Me Much

For the record, I am a huge Shania Twain fan.  Come on Over and The Woman in Me are just great records.  Each quite different in scope but both are chock full of wonderful country pop.  I even own, and occasionally listen to, Up!  I’m not exactly sure the reason Shania’s music is so near and dear to my heart.  It probably has a lot to do with nostalgia, as she was the biggest thing in the world when I was around 12, and she’s pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean.  But it also probably has a lot to do with the fact that Come on Over and the Woman in Me are two great pop records that are fun to listen to.

Five Random television facts:

The television character I would most like to be:  Brian Hackett, Wings…

The television character that I think the most like:  Larry David, Curb Your Enthusiasm…

The television character I would most like to be friends with:  It’s a tie between Tracy Jordan, 30 Rock and Buddy Sorrell, The Dick van Dyke Show…

The television character I would most like to be “friends” with:  Audrey Horne, Twin Peaks…

The television character’s alter ego I wish we got to know sooner, before the television show was crappy and we didn't care anymore:  Serena, Samantha’s “evil” twin on Bewitched.  Bonus Points for being the impetus to one of the weirdest things I ever saw on TV:  Quentin Tarantino singing “I’m Gonna Blow You a Kiss in the Wind,” a song Serena sang in the episode of Bewitched when she wanted to be a Rock N’ Roll star, on SNL…

If you couldn’t already tell, I’m very bored from being trapped inside for so long without a woman's touch…

Cup of Coffee #6:

Six cups of coffee before nine o’ clock is just too much.  So, I’m going to go waste my time doing something else for a while.  I’ll probably be back sooner than later…  Goodbye for now…

Inside Llewyn Davis, Part II. This Time I've Seen It. I Swear...

Inside Llewyn Davis Part II, I’ve actually seen it this time…

            As promised, to the faithful few of you that actually take the time to read this fucking blog, I am dutifully reporting on the major motion picture “Inside Llewyn Davis,” now that I’ve actually seen the damn thing.  Now, I understand that my take on it, as a former folk singer, is highly sought after by those out there in the internet ether.  People have been clamoring for this for some time now.  I’ve had countless emails and phone calls regarding it.  Well, perhaps not.  But I do know that several of my friends have been patiently waiting for me to say something other than “I liked it,” or “it was good.”  So here goes…  Well, first let me say that I am writing to you now because, yes, I know its hard to believe but its true, I am snowed in.  Yep, in Portland, Oregon.  Snowed in.  Traffic is at a standstill outside my apartment and has been for hours.  No, its not nearly in the same ballpark as Atlanta’s recent catastrophe and failure of the state and local governments to provide any sort of assistance in maintaining adequate roadways for its tax-paying patrons in the case of an emergency and so on.  But its annoying nonetheless.  I was supposed to have band rehearsal, which of course was ruined.  So here I am typing away.  I also had the brilliant idea of going for a walk just a bit ago, which I thought would be fun, looking at the trees and streets filled with fresh snow, throw a snowball at a cop car or whatever.  It sounded like a good idea twenty minutes ago.  Nineteen minutes ago I realized that I’m an idiot.  No matter which way you walk, the snow is always blowing straight into your face and your eyes and it sucks.  It sticks to whatever facial hair you have, hopefully more of a problem for the men,  and then melts and then freezes into little clumps of ice in your beard, eyelashes, etc.  Also, since its not super cold out, the snow is very wet and sticky and I ended up with soaking wet jeans;  everyone’s favorite thing to walk around in.  It was not majestic or pretty or any of that.  It was a shit idea and now I’m cold and wet and in a foul mood.  Fuck, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah, Llewyn Davis…

            Now that I’m back indoors and fixed myself a stiff drink to fight off the chill, let’s get into it.  And I mean that quite seriously.  This movie brought back a lot of shit; some good, some not so much.  There was a very large chunk of my teenage/young adult life dedicated to the cause of folk singing.  I didn’t just play sad songs on an acoustic guitar, I WAS a folk singer.  I rode buses to random cities where I knew a guy or gal who would let me sleep on a couch while I played all the open mics in town.  I took a train to New York and played Carter Family, Guthrie and Bob Dylan songs in the dining car for tips and drinks(as I was only nineteen or twenty at the time, I don’t remember which).  I played on street corners and people would invite me to their homes, give me food and drink(possibly thinking I was homeless?) and have me entertain them with songs and stories from my travels; half of which I probably made up as I went.  I’ve played all across this great country and back multiples times.  I, in a fit of “Bound for Glory” obsession, even hopped a train once.  Although that ended about as boring as it could have.  It was a grain hauling train in Wisconsin and took me from my tiny little town of Horicon to an even tinier unnamed and unincorporated town and I had to call my buddy from a pay phone to come pick me up.  But still, I did it dammit, and it was awesome.  Except for all the times when being a folk singer sucked.  All the shows played to no one except maybe the soundman, who usually left to go smoke.  The constant urge to move or go someplace new, thinking it was always so much better than wherever  I currently was.  Being depressed all the time about having missed out on the sixties folk scene.  Being bitter that no one appreciated my new song about rambling or gambling or gypsies or sailing on the sea or whateverthefuck it was.  Having what was once called the “Worst iTunes Playlist for a Party, Ever.”  Naturally, all I had on my computer was Dylan, Neil Young, every Carter Family song ever recorded, Guthrie upon Guthrie, Mississippi John Hurt, Skip James, Robert Johnson, well, you get the idea.  Folk singing wasn’t always bad but it wasn’t always great either.  And I did it for years.  I really gave it a go, really put my heart into it and never set my roots down.  The decision to stop singing folk and form a Rock N’ Roll band was very hard for me.  It wasn’t so much about changing musical styles, but about abandoning a lifestyle for me, one that I wasn’t sure I wanted to abandon yet.  But it was also very easy from the standpoint that I had begun to resent folk music for what, at the time, I perceived as a colossal wasting of my years as a young adult.  I’ve come to realize, through intense, inward self-study and self-medicated talks with myself, that my times as a folk singer, like most things, fell somewhere in the middle.  I have started, only recently, to cherish these times for the life lessons and adventures and stories which I now plunder for my newer songs.  By the age of 25, I had seen and done more than a lot of people will in a lifetime.  And some of that was things that I wish I could un-see and undo.  Things that I would never want my child, should I ever have one, to experience.  But it was all part of it, and I know now that I wouldn’t change it if I could.  Hell, at least I’ve gotten a lifetimes worth of song material out of it.  It still seems, though, as if it wasn’t all real.  Like it was part of something that I read somewhere and told, as my own, so many times that it became a real part of me.  I feel like such a different person now.  And I guess, in a way, I am.  But life is mysterious like that and so is our memory.  It’s constantly changing and repainting old scenes with new shades of the same story.  Memories are not unlike dreams that can change over time and as we invent parts and embellish others to make them more interesting to those around us, based on the company we are in.  Our own reality is only real to us and no one else.  It’s also probably one of the reasons I tend to cut ties with people, so I may freely reinterpret the past anyway that I see fit, without the burden of other people’s memories getting in the way.  Who knows...  Anyways, whew…  That was wave number one that hit me when watching this movie.  I told you it was a lot of shit…

            Wave number two was the humor of it all.  For some reason, I was overcome with the comedy of errors that is the life of a folk singer.  It was really, really funny to me.  My girlfriend was getting very irritated with me saying it was funny, but I couldn’t stop laughing at Llewyn and his misguided ways; you know, the whole funny-because-its-true thing.  One of the scenes that has really stuck with me was when Justin Timberlake and the chick(who apparently is with the guy from M*mf*rd *nd S*ns, blech…  Almost ruined the film for me.  Also, by the way, I am not sure but I think I heard his cunty voice singing one of the songs during the movie.  I like the film a lot so I don’t really want to know if it is him as surely he can’t be a part of anything good, ever) are singing their crappy excuse of a folk pop song and everyone in the audience is singing along, either because they’re idiots or because they actually like the fucking song, who knows.  But I’ve totally been there so many times, just stewing and being super pissed off and hating everyone in the room for liking that shit and then just talking through my well-crafted, heartfelt tune.  Fuck all of them.  And driving all the way to Chicago just to play a song for a guy who didn’t like it all and wanted him to join Peter, Paul and Mary.  I totally would’v e done that!  No one ever liked my music!  And when Justin Timberlake throws him a bone and has him come and record with him, Llewyn asks him “Who wrote this?”  So funny!  I loved it.  I’ve done that before!  It’s like a Curb Your Enthusiasm/Larry David awkward moment.  And, I will also admit, shamefully however, that I have yelled at/heckled a performer onstage before.  I’m not proud of it, but it also wasn’t an old lady, so it wasn’t quite as bad.  It was some douche with a newsboy hat who was way too in love with Jason Mraz.  I guess I don’t actually feel that bad, he totally deserved it.  He sucked, and clearly, someone had to tell him.  It wasn't my fault he was playing such terrible music.  In fact, I would have been doing him a disservice had I not said something.  So there, I actually feel quite good about that one. Sort of.  Maybe I am a music snob…

Anyhow, it all seemed like someone was trying to make a movie that was poking fun of everyone, myself included, who wanted to be a bona fide folk singer in the sixties.  This is the exact movie that I would make if I wanted to mock of all those people who loved folk music maybe just a little too much(me included).  The Coen Brothers clearly had a good bead on all the Dylan fanboys(again, myself included) dreaming of Greenwich Village.  Also, on a side note, when did “Dink’s Song” have a real name?  And why was that song the centerpiece of the film?  Not surprisingly, I played that song a ton back in my folk singing/open mic days but it was weird to hear it in a movie.  Speaking of weird, and completely off topic, I was watching “Rock N’ Roll High School” today and I couldn’t help but think of what a strange career PJ Soles has had.  She has been up close and personal with Joey Ramone, Bill Murray and Michael Myers(the fictional psycho serial killer, not Wayne Campbell).  That’s a lady after my own heart.  Rock N’ Roll, Comedy, Horror, she does it all…  What more could you ask for?  But back to Llewyn.  The other thing that I thought particularly funny, was his inability to use condoms properly.  I agree that its fully possible for lightning to strike and for a freak accident to occur, but multiple times?   C’mon, I don’t believe that.  He’s just being careless and lazy.  Get it together buddy, condoms are not that hard to use.  OR, just pull out and shoot it on her stomach.  OR, even better, do both.  Not getting a girl pregnant isn’t rocket science, and I’m sure it wasn’t any different back in the sixties.   I can’t even imagine how horrible it would be to have to go through an abortion, then or now.  I felt bad for the girl and she had every right to be pissed off at Llewyn for making her have to go through that.  Though I suppose that was probably meant to be more of a character flaw, mainly due to his lack of future planning and just general nonchalance toward everything; which always seemed to get in his way.  Either way, I found a lot of humor in his failures and his anger and his resentment towards others, mainly those more successful than him, throughout the film.  It’s a very common theme in the entertainment world, and I’m sure in most fields of work.  I don’t think they quite explored this enough as it has been a very large part of my life as a musician, and in talking to my musician friends, theirs too.  We musicians are a very jealous bunch and we spend quite a bit of time and energy specifically devoted to hating others.  It’s a sort of pastime amongst the brethren.  But anyways, that was wave number two, the folly of it all…

Wave number three was the one I thought might strike first and therefore was the most predictable; the overwhelming urge to move back to New York and, once again, start singing folk.  I knew this would be impossible to avoid so I was quite prepared for it.  I knew that upon seeing the film I would once again wax poetic and romanticize that former part of my life.  Even after seeing, and laughing at, how ridiculous it all was/is, there will always be a part of me that cherished that time immensely and will always want to relive it, sort of.  I know, that in my heart of hearts, I am much happier now with all that is happening in my life, both personally and musically, but it was always much more exciting and chaotic to never know what was going to happen next, to pack up and move to a new city with only a backpack full of clothes and a guitar(my cherished Martin D-15 if you were wondering) and see where life takes you next.  I was in love with the chaos as much as anything else.  It was the whole Dean vs. Sal thing and I know better now.  But even so, I can’t stop myself from daydreaming occasionally about just leaving all my shit at my apartment, except my guitar and my blue Jansport backpack(which I lost some years ago and my wonderful, amazing girlfriend replaced this past Christmas.  Thanks Love!) full of clothes, and taking a bus, or train, to Nashville or New York or Chicago or wherever and just living by the seat of my pants and…  Fuck, someone’s car alarm has been going off for the past twenty fucking minutes and its driving me fucking insane!  I can’t handle it.  They ruined my little folk music fantasy and now I’m pissed.  God, I hope it isn’t my car.  That would suck.  It’s probably not…  Shit, now I got to put on pants and go back out into that fucking snow and check.  Fuck, this sucks…  Well, I guess that’s the end of my thoughts on “Inside Llewyn Davis.”  Hopefully, it was stimulating and titillating; especially for the ladies out there.  Wink, wink…  I should probably learn to type those symbols for the “winks” because I know there’s a way, but I kind of don’t care enough and it’s a little too I’m-a-thirteen-year-old-girl-who-just-got-my-first-iphone-and-I’m-a-textaholic-lol.  So I guess maybe I shouldn’t.  Why am I still talking?  Still titillated, ladies?

New Music Sucks Part II, So Who or Whom do we Blame for all of This?

Pt. II:  The Summer of 2012...  The Horror...

Fun. is a band that was unfairly, and unavoidably, thrust upon me.  No one should ever have anything this awful thrust upon them.  They’re like the 9/11 of music, terrible and tragic, and hopefully send us into a full on war against the industry and all terrible bands everywhere.  No shitty band, or harborer of said shitty band, will be safe.  Like Hitler’s invasion of Poland, Fun.’s releasing of “Some Nights” upon the world will only lead to their eventual demise.  Alright, sorry, maybe that’s a bit extreme, but they do suck, hard.  And it is also true that no one should have bad music thrust upon them.  This is my tale regarding Theory Three(Maybe it’s not that bad, and I just need to listen to it), I’ll get to Theory Two in a bit.

I was working in retail, a shitty paint store to be exact, and in the summer of 2012 we had a certain radio station, and I won’t specify which since I am in a band and need all the radio support I can get, on all day as our “background”music; and I say “background” because you can’t tune out all the awfulness that I was forced to listen to, ten hours a day, five days a week, for an entire summer.  2012 was the summer that Fun., the Lumineers, M*mf*rd *nd S*ns, the Head and the Heart, pretty much every band I despise, were the biggest things in Music, and I hated every minute of it.  And to rub salt on the wound, with a side of swift-kick-in-the-junk, they played them OVER and OVER and OVER again.  I think I heard twelve songs, and they cherry picked the very worst ones, repeated a THOUSAND fucking times a day.  If it was an iTunes playlist it would have been called “I hate Bradley Wik and I am going to endlessly torture him with a playlist specifically tailored to his disliking and to attack his every weakness and bring him to his knees until he prays for an easier way out, like say, I don’t know, death by drowning or being dragged through the desert like Clint Eastwood in "the Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” It has become my life’s goal to never hear “We are Young” or “Some Nights” ever again. I would rather spend the rest of my life listening to the Soundtrack for Xanadu, then hear one of these songs again.  I have never been so dedicated, in all my life, to a cause before this.  I pray that I never hear that shitty, annoying, out of pitch(even though it sounds like Autotune is desperately trying its best but is on the verge of exploding with each terrible note) voice,  or those lyrics(which I would like to say are the worst I have ever heard, but, alas, the Head and the Heart claim the title for worst lyrics ever written.   M*mf*rd might have some worse ones, but that would require me to actually listen to a M*mf*rd song in its entirety and pay attention at least a little bit, which I am wholly unwilling to do), or any part of all those terrible sounds that they’ve put together, which they inexplicably call, since it bears no actual semblance to, music.  So far, I’ve been successful.  But the Summer of 2012 will forever be embedded in my memory, like a really bad break up I’m still not fully over, or my broken middle knuckle, which I broke in a fight when I was thirteen and has never fully healed correctly and still hurts when I lift things a certain way, which I always seem to forget and do constantly.  I could go on about Fun., and have many times, but for right now, the memory is too much to bear, so I’ll move on…

(to another topic in this discussion, I’ll probably never be able to fully move past the horrors of the Summer of 2012. Many hours of therapy have only helped me to cope with the disaster, but my life will never be the same...  So, anyways, moving on, this is my rationalization of Theory two, and I am, indeed, a bitter old man jaded by my love for classic Rock N’ Roll.)

Now, the problem with all of this, which I mentioned earlier, is that for some reason, unbeknownst and unfathomable to me, people like this music.  And as I said before, I don’t fault them for it in the sense that it is fully their right to like something shitty, and it is shitty, though they will probably tell you that since they like it, they see it as good, and that’s true, but it’s only a truth in their own little messed-up, misguided world, not the one we all have to share with these idiots.  Many times I have had the “All art is subjective, and therefore, you cannot definitively and quantifiably say something is bad, or in fleshing out that theory, good either.  It is merely art and the only true judge a person need is him or herself,” and this is all bullshit. “Some Nights” or whatever the fuck any of the M*mf*rd *nd S*ns albums are called, are in no way equal to, say, “Thriller” or “Born to Run” or “Revolver” or “Blood on the Tracks.”  Now to be fair, not many albums are.  But, using those as a point of comparison, as a jumping off point if you will, we can see that “Some Nights”and whatever the fuck any of the M*mf*rd *nd S*ns albums are called, are so far away from anything resembling what we might call “Good Music” that they might as well be polar opposites, and could very well be used to represent the other extreme of our musical litmus test; “Born to Run” or “Blood on the Tracks” turn the paper blue and signal sitting on the throne of greatness,  while“Some Nights” or whatever the fuck any of the M*mf*rd *nd S*ns albums are called turn the paper red and signify sitting on a porta-john, with syphilis on the seat.

I’ve also heard the argument that people like the aforementioned bands because they might be the best option available.  That yeah, they aren’t great but they are much better than all the stuff on top-40 radio, which I can’t even begin to name since I am so far removed from that world, but I do know there is lots of Autotune and is supposed to make people dance but should make people Van Gogh their fucking ears off; and people need to listen to something.  This, again, is a bullshit answer.  Music is art, and therefore fluid and alive and it can never die once it is released to the world, it is timeless.  Given this,  there is no grading on a curve for new music.  Like in Baseball, you are constantly judged by all those who came before you, and always will be.  No one forces people to listen to music from only their generation; if they are too lazy or don’t care enough to go out to a record store and find something better, it is their own damn fault and no one elses.  And, therefore,  I have no pity for them, and I can make fun of and mock them all I damn please without even a twinge of that Catholic Guilt rising back up, like an Easter Jesus, trying to make me feel like shit about everything that I do.  And it most certainly does not mean that their music is any better just because they didn’t take the time to fully appreciate anything else.  Ignorance doesn’t make new music better, it only reinforces and displays their own ignorance for all to see.  But because of all these people listening to and buying the records and going to the shows of these terrible artists, the people deciding the future of music are making money off of those same terrible artists.  And since people who have money generally like to have more money, they are constantly trying to find whatever new band fits this current fad, and follow the same old business model which just made them money, in order to make the always lucrative “more money.”  And this is the issue I take with these people who like these terrible bands:  it inflicts more terrible bands, ones who are trying to copy the already shitty ones and failing, therefore systematically spiraling downward, dumbing itself down with each copy of a copy.  For instance, the Lumineers and the Head and the Heart are just crappier versions of M*mf*rd *nd S*ns(if that’s even possible), and I know there are countless bands “influenced” by the Lumineers and the Head and the Heart, but inexplicably worse(I’ve played shows with many, trust me), which I won’t glorify and name.  And so it goes, on and on downwards into oblivion…

But all of this is not meant to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the consumers, as much of the blame, well, most of the blame, should still still be hurled towards those with the money and the power:  the music industry.  A decade or so ago, maybe even before that, but that was the first I heard of this happening, music labels starting handing over power from “music” people to “business” people.  These men and women could care less about the “art” of it all and started chasing money, as there was loads and loads of it kicking around back then and they were bound and determined to get the biggest chunk they could, cash out and live the life of Riley, not at all worried about the wake of destruction(shitty music) they have left behind for all of us.  The problem that they, for some reason, couldn’t see, is that this would create a lack in the talent gathering and developing department.  Simply put, the best bands don’t always make the most money, at least not initially.  It takes time to cull a great catalogue of music and it didn’t always mesh perfectly with the new, internet-crazed, ADHD-diagnosed, using prescription pills for getting up and prescription pills for getting back down again society which needed its next “fix” as quickly as it will eventually discard it.  So, instead of packing up and preparing for the long haul, these “music execs” decided it was easier to cash in on fads and keep their jobs another week than to invest in real musicians in it for the long haul.  And thusly, and not surprisingly, it all fell apart, as do most get-it-while-its-hot business strategies(see:  housing market crash).  The dumbest part of all of this is that they are not only forcing us to miss out on tons and tons of great music, but they are also missing out on their cash cows of the future.  Nobody makes more money to this day than Bruce Springsteen or the Rolling Stones or U2 or Madonna or Bon Jovi, but almost none of those artists would have been allowed the time to become the mammoths they are in these modern, terrible times; Madonna excepted as she was just as brilliant at marketing herself as her music was, and, like the great chameleon, molding and shaping the way she was/is perceived by others, would’ve figured out something.  Which I suppose they all were great at marketing themselves to a degree, but not quite in the same way.  The other guys mainly did it the old fashioned way of making great Albums, not just a few singles and filler(with a few exceptions, of course, no one is perfect), and working hard on the road and building a very supportive, and lifelong fan base.  But there are currently no more bands to fill that void.  I remember watching the Hurricane Sandy benefit show and thinking that all of those bands and artists have been around forever and soon they will be gone, both figuratively and literally, and there will be no one left for the next star-studded event or benefit for whatever might come up(the world is a crazy place and getting crazier all the time, so I can only imagine, or rather, try not to imagine).  I could feel us slowly moving towards the edge and once we turn the corner we’ll all be staring at each other wondering where all the guardians went.  The Kings and Queens of Rock N’ Roll will soon be gone, no more Boss or U2 or Billy Joel or Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan or Neil Young, with no one to pass the baton to.  Which I suppose is exactly what this new generation of hipsters wants, no greatness, just mediocrity.  But I strongly feel, and always will, that we need our heroes.  We need someone to take us out of our own lives.  We need those giants to look up to and aspire to be like.  Anyone can make mediocre music, and that’s what makes the hipsters feel good about themselves, that they can do it too; and they do, in droves.  There’s thousands upon thousands of mediocre-to-shitty bands all over the place, and that’s fine, as long they have fun and, more importantly, we don’t glorify them.  They don’t deserve it and shouldn’t receive it.  The Rock N’ Roll Gods will punish us for bestowing it upon them.  Well, I guess from the looks of it, they already have…