Archive for the ‘your music’s bad and you should feel bad’ Category

Hardly worth noting, yet something I’m unable to ignore.  Sample last.fm tags for the Ritalin-and-tequila-fueled Weezer song “Hash Pipe”:

  • rock
  • alternative
  • alternative rock
  • indie rock
  • power pop
  • punk rock
  • alternative punk
  • geek rock
  • nerd rock
  • rockin
  • rock out
  • drugs
  • weed
  • marijuana
  • under the influence
  • cali baby
  • this is it [This is what?]
  • fucking awesome
  • needs to be in guitar hero
  • songs that should be in rock band
  • know how to play on guitar
  • rev my engine
  • cryptic lyrics
  • hooky rock
  • fire in the hole
  • druuugs
  • songs especially familiar to jordain
  • Sorry, Jordain.


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    Dear Tom Petty,

    Don’t ever stop being awesome.  I recognize that in a lot of ways, it’s like asking a dolphin to stop swimming or a tree to stop undergoing photosynthesis.  It’s pure science, baby, pure chemistry.

    Tp +  Gu + 5Hb +2Hb → Aw

    (Tom Petty + Guitar + various Heartbreakers over the years → Awesome.  Can you tell it’s been a long time since I’ve taken any science classes?  My chemistry teacher is rolling in his grave right now.  If he were dead.  He might just be retired, now that I think of it.)

    Anyway, I was having a conversation with a gentleman friend earlier about Tom Petty’s ability to write incredibly sad songs, to the point that even his happier songs have a faint trace of melancholy.  And yet, they never particularly go out of their way to make the listener unhappy.  It’s remarkable.  That, and the guitar on ‘Mary Jane’s Last Dance’ still makes me shiver.  But maybe I’m just a big ol’ softie.

    What was my point, again?  Oh, right.

    Thank you for being awesome, Mr. Petty, for being the common musical thread between all the people I hold dear, whether they love inoffensive white boy rap or eighties synth pop, whether their CD collection includes Donovan or Death Cab for Cutie.  It’s a beautiful thing.  Please don’t ever change, and please don’t ever stop runnin’ down your dream.


    the Brain

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    One of my “secret” guilty pleasures (along with Samoas, novels that explore another side to the story of existing novels (which is more or less published fanfiction, but that’s another matter), and VH1 programming, the crappier the better) is booty songs. Objectifying and borderline misogynistic though they may be, they are catchy as anything. I’ve been known to passionately declare that no booty mix is complete without the classic “Rump Shaker”, which, for me, is the definitive Awesome Ass Song (hyphens optional, positioned at your discretion). It’s a sad fact of the matter, hence the use of the phrase guilty pleasure, that I enjoy these things. There’s no indie cred to be earned in admitting you like “retro”, early-90s, heavy radio-play songs about the female posterior. (Unless, of course, the song in question was an ironic, possibly acoustic tune by a band named something like The Deli Llama.) And yet, I’m weak. If Juvenile pops up on our local “80s, 90s, AND NOW!” radio station, those windows are going down and that volume knob is going up. (Indie cred is for suckers, anyway.) Music should be enjoyable, and songs that make me sad (or that want to make me sad) just aren’t going to cut it. I’m in touch with my emotions, damn it! My emotions just happen to want more Mystikal. And Mystikal wants me to be in touch with my booty.

    The point? There is no point. I’m just saying that my anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go scarf some cookies and Love the New Millennium.

    Fun bonus links designed to make you rock out:
    The Top 10 Rap Songs White People Love
    The Top 10 Rock Songs Black People Love

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    (Important preface that you’d be wise to not forget: I am not a music blogger.  At all.  What I know about music is limited to correctly guessing the band name of a song I’ve heard only two and a half times.  Lectures from those more knowledgeable than myself should be checked at the door.  And take off your shoes; I don’t want mud all over my new carpet.)

    This week the Big Brain’s favorite get-this-on-repeat song is perplexingly-spelled Wreckx-N-Effect’s opus, “Rump Shaker”.  We’re going to ignore other hot topics for a moment (my guilty pleasure for songs focusing on ladies’ rears; the themed lyrics in reference to the female body that bring a new meaning to the phrase “sexual exploration” and leave me unable to look at a raised-relief map without giggling), since I realized that this timeless tribute to the booty features a trend I’ve been noticing lately in the retro songs of which I just can’t get enough.  A horn section.

    Now, if memory serves, the opening to this video features a bikinied woman strutting across the beach, playing a saxophone.  My musical prowess is unfortunately nonexistent, and I can’t distinguish between horn accompaniments (plebe), so I couldn’t safely say that the actual track actually features actual sax.  But regardless, there are some songs I’ve been enjoying lately that feature this trend, like Hall & Oates’s “Maneater”, or Duran Duran’s “Rio”.  (At a recent concert, while the audience was pleading for the song in encore, my East Coast BFF wisely pointed out, “They brought a sax player.  If they brought a sax player… they’re gonna do ‘Rio’.”)

    What is it about the eighties and the early nineties that so appreciates a good horn?  Where did that trend go?  I think there’s a band or two these days that incorporates a violinist, and there’s of course ska and there was that whole swing thing (et tu, Brian Setzer?), but it’s not exactly radio mainstay material (unless you’re an insomniatic college radio DJ).  Where’s the synth/bass/horn that only exists in Simon LeBon’s feverish dreams?  Where’s the old school/new school urban crossover appeal (did that even make sense?) of W-N-E?  Wherefore art thou, mustache/horn combo of Hall & Oates?  We miss you.  (Well, I do.)  Jay-Z sampling for “Show Me What You Got” just doesn’t cut it.  Not once does he ask me to shake it baby, shake it down, shake it like that.  I would have, Jay-Z.  I would have.

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