I can still remember the look on her face.
It was the summer of 1984. I was taking some of my money I earned mowing Mr. Snowman's lawn and heading up to the old Record and Tape Traders in the Reisterstown Shopping Center. My intended purchase was Twisted Sister's Stay Hungry, on cassette of course, and a new pair of AA batteries for my Walkman. My mother gave me a ride up in her baby blue Ford Fairmont and waited outside while I went in to make my purchase. After quickly taking a look-see at some of the Iron Maiden and Def Leppard (10 armed version) albums I snatched up the my desired tape, a pair of copper tops and headed to the glass display counter full of marijuana smoking paraphernalia and plopped down my hard earned cash. Dee Snider and the guys were going to be making my ears melt in about 15 minutes at home. I hopped into the front seat and proudly showed off my newest heavy metal purchase, with Dee himself on the cover in all of his make-up covered, bone chewing, curly haired awesomeness. This is what I got...
"Where did I go wrong?"
So I write this installment of Cut the Chatter with a full understanding that my parents didn't get my music tastes. Just like their parents didn't understand the allure of four guys from England with matching haircuts that couldn't even spell their band name right. I get it. Every new generation thinks that their parents' music is dated and hokey sounding, the equivalent of black and white film compared to high definition movie making. And to a degree, they're right. Take Louie Louie by the Kingsmen, for example. "Louie Louie, oh no. Me gotta go. Aye-Yi-Yi-Yi!" Not exactly Stairway to Heaven or Won't Get Fooled Again. I could have used Imagine, but as I stated in a previous post, fuck John Lennon. What I'm trying to get at is that Louie Louie wasn't going to change the world, but it was a fun little song that had a catchy beat that eventually a fat drug addict could dance to on the silver screen.
You can't dance to anything Yoko Ono got her mitts on.
But I was buzzing through the radio stations out on the road last week and I came across this lump of coal. I would say little gem, but even a jaded prick like me can't convey enough sarcasm to get the point across of how insulting that reference would be.
If you decided not to listen to it by judging the thumbnail, I understand. But go back and take a listen. Done? Good. I can continue. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? Okay, that's out of my system. The first time I heard the song, it was half way through the first verse. I guess you could say verse. I should say the first set of self absorbed, inane, childish, borderline evil whining. I didn't think it was a real song at first. I thought it was one of those pop radio station versions of the old 98 Rock twisted tunes. No way it could be real. A couple of quick things. If you have ever said any of those things that the girl was saying in this song, punch yourself in the face. No, I'm serious. Right in the face and get some help. And get Darth Vader the fuck off of that video. I know he's just a movie character, but I'm pretty sure the Dark Lord of the Sith would lay waste to that entire room and turn these two "DJ" jokers into Sarlacc food. I truly hope my kid isn't lumped in to the worst generation this planet has ever seen. These club-going, Instagram addicted, hipster douches have got to be the worst thing this planet has hosted since small pox. Maybe I'm overstating a bit, but I would rather the worst parts of every zombie film come to fruition than to have this sub-culture of me first, narcissistic, infantile pseudo-adults get any larger. At least you're allowed to shoot zombies in the face.
Thank God they aren't playing any dubstep.
So what I'm going to do is show you some alternatives to some real shit that's out there keeping our ears from hearing some very beautiful music. The first suggestion I'm going to give you over the non-sense I just presented is going to prove me to be a bit of a hypocrite. I don't know if I have mentioned it before, but I really don't like TV talent shows. I find American Idol, The Voice, X-Factor and their ilk completely reprehensible. A while ago I posted on my Facebook page a picture of currently the greatest rocker on two feet today, Mr. Dave Grohl, and a quote that was attributed to him denouncing these cruddy talent shows. I guess it's as reliable as anything else on the internet.
Simon Cowell just shit himself.
All of that being said, I found myself in a YouTube wormhole that started out with learning the opening guitar riff for The Sword's Maiden, Mother and Crone, and came across this gem. And no sarcastic inference should be applied here. This young lady is brilliant and funny and can make you care about her songs and their subjects with the simple strum of her guitar. Have a listen to Ms. Lucy Spraggan...
I know there is a more polished and well produced version of this song out there, but just listening to her alone with her acoustic gives the song more power and emotion. She is talent personified. If you get a chance, hop over to YouTube and listen to a few of her other songs. I highly recommend Last Night and Mountains. The kid's a genius.
And back over on the shit pile I found this...
I know it's a little easy to pick on Miley "I have more daddy issues than the cast of Debbie Does Dallas" Cyrus, but an easy target is still a target. So back to the song. Let us go in order. Clubbing, percocet, shoes, clubbing, shoes, weed, shoes, percocet, blowjobs, shoes and shoes. Jam Master Jay would be turning over in his grave if he could see what happened to the music he helped pioneer. I'll take My Adidas all day long over this non-sense. Instead, give this a try...
Say what you want, this guy still fucking gets it. That, and Rick Rubin is a genius. The last real good rap song I heard before this was Jay-Z's 99 Problems. And Rubin had his paws all over that one too. Just good old fashioned rap music. It's got a wonderfully sampled music selection, ballsy lyrics and a unique style that screams good hip-hop.
And to show that I'm not just picking on rap and dance tunes, how about this that is somehow passing as alternative rock these days...
Is it bad? I don't know. Is it good? Not particularly. It isn't anything actually. It's vanilla ice cream, one scoop, in a cake cone. It's a rice cake. Not even one of those new rice cakes that taste like caramel or jalapeno peppers. Just a plain old rice cake. It's just there, on the middle shelf, waiting for you to finish the Utz salt and vinegar chips and anything else with some flavor before you get to it. Now this though...
Bluesy guitar riffs, screaming vocals and some good time honored beating the shit out of some drums? Check, check and check. I don't know when indie-rock went from Bullet with Butterfly Wings to Little Talks, but it's nice to see some bands out there trying to rectify the situation.
I tried. I really tried. I wanted to go the year without complaining about stuff that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. But man, that fucking Selfie song. (No, I'm not putting the hash-tag in front of it.) It was just taunting me, sitting there mocking me. Maybe my next post will be more positive. Something about the camaraderie we witnessed in Sochi during the past Olympics or the upcoming season and how our world will go from a dreary winter's gray to a vibrant spring's green. Just don't bet on it.
