Emily Says...

I love Concrete Blonde as much as the next guy, but is Johnette Napolitano really qualified to be head of Homeland Security?

No Rest For The Wicked

I've been a bad blogger. It's no excuse, but work has been more than the usual annihilating, soul-crushing grind recently. I'll get back on the horse.

I will do a Top Chef season recap, hopefully before they do the reunion and beat me to it. I started a couple of posts and found that they were just not funny. After a short hiatus, I think I'm ready to bring the funny again.

What's it all about?

An Open Letter to MIA

Dear MIA,
So, yeah, you know that song you did that people seem to like? They like it because it's by the Clash, asshole.

Straight to Hell is a fine little song because the Clash, and I cannot stress this enough, are a fine band. Paper Planes on the other hand is not a fine little song, and because you lifted the whole fucking song directly from Straight to Hell, I think it should be obvious to everyone where the fault lies.

I know you think you're clever, but putting your own lyrics over a Clash song doesn't make you a songwriter, it makes you a dumbass who doesn't know the words and won't shut the hell up.

Go write your own damn song.


Grumpily yours,
Deadspot



P.S. No, it was not clever when Beats International did it to Guns of Brixton.

"No Elvis, Beatles, or the Rolling Stones..."

Recently, Johnny reminded me how cranky boomers get when you disagree with their claim to have produced the best music in the history of the universe ever. See, Johnny has a dirty secret. He's one of them. He falls in the tail end of the Boomers, and I, well I am in the vanguard of the musically superior Generation X.

(I may have mentioned this before, but even the name Generation X is an indication of just how self-absorbed the Boomers are about their music. A pair of Boomers named my generation after a band made up of musicians from their generation. What tools.)

But I digress. Every once in a while, Johnny does something that reminds me that we are not just a few years apart, but a whole generation apart. One of them is when he rambles on and on about his appalling taste in music. Tired old Motown this... Crusty old folk singer that... But you have to forgive the guy. He's a product of a different generation, and that's just the way they are. You can't change them. Just nod and smile when they talk about the good ol' days. They like that. It comforts them.

With a few notable exceptions (elect me president and my first executive order will be to make the Jimi Hendrix version of the national anthem the only version you're allowed to play at sporting events) the 60s and 70s were a musical wasteland. Honestly, has there ever been a band more overrated than the Beatles? I think not. Fridays I'm In Love is so much better than Eight Days A Week that it's not even funny, and Fridays I'm In Love isn't even a particularly good song by the Cure.

Sure, the late 70s had some redeeming factors. Punk was starting up and some good alternative bands were starting their careers... but please, it was practically the 80s by then, and their music belongs to us, not to you.

Oh, and if Johnny offers you a Werther's, just thank him and fiddle with the wrapper until you can put it back in the candy dish without him noticing. It won't be hard. Just get him started about Bob Dylan...

A Song For Super Tuesday

When this song came up on my iPod, it just seemed to sum up the day. Our choices may suck, but it's nothing that some loud, jangly guitars can't fix.

(The video quality kind of sucks. It may just be my new computer, but it seems awfully quiet. If you find a better version let me know and I'll replace it.)

In Music News

Old people still like boring, irrelevant shite.

Number One is Number Two

In lieu of actual content, I present The Soviettes.



Rock, Rinse, Repeat.