The Payoff

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about how our culture has lost its sense of anticipation. I wrote about how I will spend the next few months of my life in a place where I didn’t have access to iTunes or bit torrents. I wrote that this break from the right now, fast food concept of music we have become accustomed to would give me a chance to really appreciate what I have instead of always searching for something new and shiny.

            It still sucks that I can’t download The Walking Dead finale, but that being said, finding a package from home on my desk when I came into work this morning was pretty awesome.

            It was from my mom, who is awesome.

She sent me apples to apples, an incredibly easy and fun game that looks way too nerdy for any of my coworkers to go near unfortunately.

She also sent me two CDs Specter at the Feast by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and Sound City: Real to Reel, the soundtrack to Dave Grohl’s documentary on recently defunct Sound City Studios and it’s legendary Neve mixing board.

Both are great albums, made all the more exciting by my waiting weeks to listen to them.

It’s been a while since I’ve listened to a CD with the album sleeve in my hand. I’m not vinyl guy or anything, I move around way too much to lug around a turn table and a bunch of records with me, but I do love holding the CD booklet in my hand, looking at the artwork and reading along with the words as I listen to a song for the first time.

I don’t want to sound like a sycophant; neither album is perfect, they won’t change the face of music like Nevermind or the Led Zepplin IV, but they are both solid collections of honest rock n’ roll tunes, and I think that is something we need right now.

Specter may not be BRMC’s best album, but that’s sort of like saying Payton Manning wasn’t at his finest with the Denver Broncos last season. Sure BRMC didn’t make it to the Super Bowl, but they definitely put a lot of points on the board with their 7th studio album.

Touchdowns for me include, Hate the Taste and Teenage Disease.

Like Manning returning to football after missing a season due to injury, the journeymen rockers recorded their latest album after the passing of bassist Robert Levon Been’s father Michael Been, who traveled the world with his son’s band as their soundman and musical mentor.

In tribute to Michael, who sang lead for 80s band The Call, BRMC covered his song Let the day begin, a much needed bright note on an album full of sad bastard music.

Sad bastard song or not, Sell it is my favorite tune on the album. While most of the album will feel comfortably familiar to longtime fans, Sell It has far and way the most forward momentum.

On Sound City: Real to Reel Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Them Crooked Vultures) collaborates with an eclectic group of musicians ranging from 70s and 80s rock ballad goddess, Stevie Nicks, to Lee Ving, singer for SoCal hardcore punk outfit Fear.

 I watched the Sound City documentary a couple months ago and really enjoyed the music. The cool thing about collaboration albums is that, while they don’t usually sound as tight as a band that practiced for months before recording, everyone seems to be having a lot of fun.

I’ve always thought Jessie’s Girl was a terrible song, but Rick Springfield rocks on a Foo Fightery Man That Never Was.

 A million other writers have already given their two bits about this album (especially about Sir Paul McCartney playing Kurt in a Nirvana revival) and I really don’t know that I have anything new to at to the mix, but if you’re one of those sad people who think collaboration albums are lame, all I have to say to you is: Track 11, Mantra (Dave Grohl, Josh Homme and Trent Reznor).

That’s right, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age and Nine Inch Nails had a baby, and it’s a miracle the universe didn’t explode from all that awesomeness.

My bubble gum confessions

Last week I wrote about Neil Young. He personifies almost everything I love about Rock n’ Roll. He blended brilliant songwriting with tenacity and heart to create truly powerful music despite his lack of innate vocal talent or good looks.

He’s a Rock n’ Roll Hall of Famer who will be influencing other musicians for years to come.

Of course other than musicians and weird guys who sit in their parents basement ranting about shit on the Internet, (my people) nobody really cares about his music.

Instead the youth of America, and the rest of the world for that matter, care about Lady GaGa and Katie Perry and Bruno Mars.

The idea that modern popular music sucks is one of my chief reasons for starting this blog in the first place, and I will stand by that claim until I die, or popular music stops sucking... So until I die basically.

That being said, this time I’d like to share a few “bubble gum” artists who, one way or another wormed their way into my affection. Whether I like it or not.

First on my list of shame: Justin Timberlake.

I’ve had mixed feelings about JT for the past 5 years or so. He was the annoying, prettyboy, Mickey Mouse Club drama queen at the heart of the boyband faze, who became cool almost overnight by acting in cool movies and cracking jokes with the Lonely Island guys instead of focusing on his singing career.

Now he’s got a new album out, and I like it. I’m not really happy about it, but for some reason I can’t get Suit and Tie out of my head… in a good way.

         I always knew the guy had a great voice; I just wanted to punch his face every time he used it. Now I don’t for some reason.

Maybe it’s all the cool things he’s done in the past few years coloring my perception, or maybe my tastes have changed drastically.

I choose to believe that while he was acting and singing about naughty Christmas presents, JT learned how to use his vocal talents for good.

The next contestant on my game show, Music I Should Hate is an emotional train wreck with a history of getting beaten up by abusive assholes after she gives them the clap. Ladies and gentleman put your hands together for… Rihanna!!!

This girl represents almost everything I hate about pop music. She’s overly theatrical and in videos her sexuality seems more important than the actual music. Oh yeah, and her crazy, co-dependent Friday Night Smack Down of a “relationship” with Chris Brown has been so widely publicized that even shut-ins like me know about it. (I’m the guy who didn’t know the British prince’s wife was pregnant until, like last week.)    

All of that nonsense aside, though, her songs rock harder then just about anything else getting played on pop radio these days. (If you think Dubstep rocks harder, you are welcome to stop reading this blog and bludgeon yourself with the nearest blunt object.)

I remember the first time I heard Shut Up and Drive. It sounds kind of like a Cult song… you know… if The Cult was fronted by a fun, hot chick instead of a depressed guy. It’s straight up rock n’ roll, and I’ll fight anybody who says otherwise.

I almost left this last group off my list, because its almost too embarrassing for me. I’d even worked out a whole bit about liking Michael Jackson’s music even if he was a freak of nature, but that’s a cop out, everybody likes MJ, if you say you don’t your probably a hipster and lying or you’re dead.

Besides, nobody except my mom reads this blog, and she probably doesn't know who this band is anyway.

So, Here it goes…

I like Fall Out Boy.

I don't want to.

I tried not to.

But… they… were… too… damned… catchy!

          This band represents a subculture I can’t stand. Like dead fish washed up on shore after high tide, they rose to popularity in the wake of Blink 182’s pop punk sellout explosion.

         Touted as the kings of emo, these skinny jeanned fuckers made a killing selling albums and t-shirts to over-privileged and over-simulated middleclass teens with delusions of angst.

         Maybe it was an unavoidable reaction of the 90s when grunge made it cool to be sad, but good god, kids in the 00s took it to a whole new level. I should know; that’s when I grew up.

         For a long time I’ve pretended to hate this band, but I’m outing myself. I think Dance, Dance is pure candy corn bullshit, but I can’t help but love that song.

         Fall Out Boy is what the Ramones would sound like if they stopped huffing glue… and started doing something that made them even more up beat and sarcastic in a way more pretentious way. Canned air maybe?

         OK, I’ve bared my soul to you and shared a few of my more embarrassing musical proclivities. (“Proclivity” is a hard word to use in a socially acceptable context.) And I’ve probably alienated at least two of my readers. So, now I want to hear from the other three of you. What are a few of your guilty pleasures, musical or otherwise? The more embarrassing or humorous the better! Have fun with it.

Neil Young: Man with the Mutton Chops

I mentioned in my previous entry, Punk is Dead, that you don’t need to sound pretty or particularly talented to be an honest rock n’ roller.

No one demonstrates this better than Neil Young.

                       

Don’t get me wrong, the guy can play guitar pretty well, but this Canadian folkie isn’t going to win a singing contest any time soon.

His voice can best be described as… whiny, he isn’t pretty, and he’s got a reputation for being insufferable to work with.

He’s made a career about playing the music he wants to play, regardless weather it sounded awesome or completely sucked.

         He’s the guy who played guitar on Buffalo Springfield’s, For what it’s worth. If you bothered to watch the video, he’s the Mutton Choppy dude in the yellow and green sweater.

That’s the guy Kurt Cobain dubbed the Godfather of Grunge. Why? This might have something to do with it.

Yes Young is considered one of the best “singer/songwriters,” but he also encompasses everything it means to be a true, badass rock n’ roller.

Forget the booze and the boobs and the bullshit. He has never been about loud guitars, heroin, and dying a young tragic death, Neil knows this is all just window dressing.

In his damn near 50-year career, Young has demonstrated a destructive streak to match the hardest of punk rockers, a lyrical depth comparable to Paul Simon or Bob Dylan, and a dedication to the spirit of rock n’ roll second to none.

I won’t even get into all the weird and varied ways he’s trying to save the world, it would take too long and he wrote a book about it anyway. (I’d link it, but I don’t get paid to endorse Amazon, steal a copy for all I care.)

Neil Young knows rock is about shoving a grease-stained middle finger the establishment’s nose, living life on the terms you set for yourself and taking the consequences like a man.

Rock is alive and well, and will stay that way so long as people remember the man with the whiny voice and mutton chops.

Anticipation

As the readers who know me personally know, (And lets face it, if you don’t know and love me you probably aren’t reading this), my work has taken me to a not so hospitable place.

         Lets just say, it’s hot and sandy, and leave it at that.

What bothers me more then the heat and sand, though, is that I lost access to all of the new music, television shows and movies that are coming out in the next few months.

You see, due to local morality laws and the general slowness of my employer’s Internet contract, I can’t download these new releases, and it’s not like I can walk into a local store and buy them.

  For a guy who loves music as much as I do, this is a big deal. It pisses me off that I can’t just get on itunes or a torrent site and download the new BRMC album or Dave Grhol’s new project.

I can’t even stream the next episode of the Walking Dead!

I’ve been moaning about it for the past month. To be honest I’ve been a bit of a bitch about it. So have a lot of my co-workers.

We need to get over it.

I mean, how spoiled is this generation?

On my external hard drive I have literally thousands of hours of music, over 100 movies and more then a dozen complete television series ranging from Game of Thrones to M.A.S.H.

I literally have enough music to play continually for months without hearing the same song twice. And I’ve been complaining.

Back in the day, it could take a music lover months or years to build up a record collection comparable to what I can download in an afternoon. (Yes I download music. I also buy it, and borrow it, and this entry isn’t about the morality of stealing from the record companies.)

   Brothers and sisters, I know you’ve heard it before, but we have become a generation, hell, a society, of spoiled little bastards.

We want what we want when we want it, and God help the poor soul who gets in the way of our Fast food mentality.

Do you know who else acts like that?

Two-year-olds and sociopaths.

I’ve been a two-year-old once already. The memories are fuzzy, but I seem to remember getting my ass spanked when I threw hissy fits for not getting what I wanted, why should now be any different.

I’ve also known a couple of sociopaths in my day, and I’d rather be a two-year-old.

I want to remember what it is like to wait for something, be it a piece of music or an Arby’s roast beef. I want to get excited about that sandwich, and when I finally have it, truly savor it.

So, for the next few months, sequestered from a few of my western comforts I’m going to take a break from the now, now, now mentality that permeates our society.

I have friends and family back home who love me enough to send me care packages every now and again, and if I ask real nice, they might even slip in a CD or DVD…. Please no sandwiches.