let’s make another music video that takes place in a bowling alley. please.

it's a swirly tuft of shit.i don’t like a whole lot of current popular music. anyone who knows me even a little bit probably knows this. i think just about everything that gets played on commercial radio and music-themed TV stations today is insipid, unmusical, generic, pathetic drivel.

i have nothing against anyone who feels differently. that’s just my opinion. it does nothing for me. actually, it does something to me: it makes me angry if i spend any amount of time thinking about how the vast majority of people just lap up this bullshit like starving animals.

still, i am cursed with a strange musical memory that latches onto just about every piece of anything musical i’m exposed to, whether it’s good or not. play me random songs by popular artists, and even though i don’t listen to them, i can probably tell you who most of them are after only hearing a short snippet of a song. i don’t know why this is. it just is.

generally i just try to avoid that which causes me to grow more profane than i already am, and that’s that. but then i heard something that changed my life. you see, sean kingston has just released an album on which he gets personal. he’s not just lifting the music from “stand by me” completely unaltered and singing some horrible shit over it anymore. he’s going deeper.

in one song he sings:

sayin’ that i’d look better if i was thinner
don’t you know you should have loved me for my inner?

what

the FUCK

is that?

seriously. it makes me want to rip my small intestine out and eat it. that’s an insult to music. it’s an insult to my brain. it’s an insult to the written word. hell, it’s an insult to the universe. even the auto-tuned garbage that allows such “artists” who can’t actually sing to make a living takes a back seat to lyrical brilliance like that.

if i hadn’t said to hell with trying to build an audience and achieve any kind of success in the music industry long ago, this sort of thing would work me up into a lather and you’d be reading a furious diatribe somewhere between five and ten thousand words long. i wrote something like that maybe six years ago and emailed it to george stroumboulopoulos, just for something to do. i have no idea why i did that, or how i ever thought i might get a response to what amounted to little more than a cross between an unsolicited rant and an essay that swallowed itself in a sea of its own bitterness.

not that george cared. why would he? i’m nobody.

i know now that there’s no point in fighting battles that can’t be won and screaming into a void. so instead, here’s some psychotic john cale live footage from the early 1980s to combat the musical abomination that is sean kingston, and all those like him. master cale was a huge influence on me back in my angry young days, and for my money had (and still has) one of the best blood-curdling screams in music. and as for his version of “heartbreak hotel”…that’s how you cover a song and make it your own.

some of the songs are followed by full-band performances from a year later, but i think the solo versions trump them all.

3 comments

  1. where have you been? i need some illogical advise and psychopathic ranting to make me feel better. i know you’re the only one who can truly give me that.

    in regards to what you’ve said about music, i would have to agree entirely. the mainstream is so horrible now, that i refuse to even listen to stations other than CJAM and WRCJ [classical days & jazzy nights <3].
    i have an excellent talent at picking out, what i consider to be "good music" while surfing through the stations. this of course, goes back to when i would listen in attempt to hear one or two things i actually enjoy, like pink floyd, who is pretty commercialized now. i could listen to less than one second of song, and know it's them, and flip back to listen. now, i don't even bother. anything i consider good, that can be found on the radio, is downloaded and saved and burned and with me anywhere i go.

    an example of a particular song which made me feel the radio had lost all hope is Lady Gaga's Just Dance. her words are something along the lines of this: "whats going on on the floor? i love this song but i can't see straight anymore. whats the name of this club? i don't remember, but it's alright, JUST DANCE!"
    as if dancing cures being a waste-case slut. and this girl is a fucking role model for young girls today. if i ever meet her, she will not survive the encounter.

  2. erin…i love you. if you ever do kill lady gaga, i’ll throw a party like nothing anyone’s ever seen in celebration of a slight decrease in scary music.

    as for where i’ve been, check yer email…

  3. i always get jj cale and john cale mixed up
    heroin and cocaine are synonymous to me for some reason…

    is it just me, or did paris 1919 not have any screams on it?

    ps b-flat!

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