Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Thursday, February 03, 2005

I've got something (atrocious) to say

It never ceases to amaze me how non-amazing musicians are. Just the other day I got roped into yet another conversation with some tough-guy wannabe windbag musician blowing bad breath in my face about what a hardass he is and how his music is his life and all the sheep around us have no souls and blah dee blah dee blah. Seriously, I have conversations like this ALL the time when I am simply trying to watch TV and get drunk in a bar. It’s like the dudes who think Drowning Pool are deep thinkers see me as their spiritual pocket watch and they need to tell me “WHAT TIME IT IS!!!”

Regardless…….

So I get the nauseating life update while I’m looking over Rockface’s spindly shoulders watching Juan Dixon spark another heroic 4th quarter charge and thanking god for hanging plasma TV’s while wishing he would just evaporate (Rockface….not Juan. I love Juan) and then Rockface says something that surprisingly (especially to me) made me take a wee bit of notice.

“It’s all in the lyrics man, everything I have to say…it’s there. You want to know what I’m about……fucking listen man…I put it all on the line. The things I have to deal with man, I get it all out there in my words. ”

OK imagine you’re me and you’re trying to listen to this stupid shit with a straight face. I have a wife, two kids, a cat, a dog, a mortgage or two, a hefty case of narcissism, (my hair looks adorable today by the way), a job, adoring fans like you to placate, an ever expanding weight to height differential to contend with, my own band, my Grandfather in the hospital with a broken hip, my trying to be better than me neighbors and their damn auxiliary basement and 50” TV and a zillion other things that functional members of the human race have to deal with and this fucking dimwit wants me to give a rat’s ass about his travails? He lives with his MOM and drives his Daddy’s Audi around for fuck’s sakes!!!!!! But due to his card-carrying membership in the local music militia he is absolutely convinced that I, just like all of you, HAVE to feel his pain as it’s oh so very very special and he conveys it so poignantly via his drop-tuned piece of crap guitar and nasally voice.

So as not to be rude and needlessly prolong the conversation I steeled myself (the Wiz won by the way so I was free to chat) and said – “That must be some pretty hefty lingo you’re laying out there.”

“You know it……. (here it fucking comes)…..Bro!”

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bro’d again.

Over the last few days I have been listening to his insufferable CD and mp3’s to discern from said lyrics the weight of the burden that an unjust and cruel world has placed upon his spindly back. Lemme tell you, this motherfucker needs to take some Pilates classes or buy a wheelbarrow or something because the angst pickings are pretty slim and if he has trouble carrying them around I can guarantee he throws a baseball like a girl. It all pretty much comes down to the “blindness” of everyone else in the world, (you know, those of us that work), some amorphous woman who severely hurt his feelings and the obligatory dopey screed about how bad a world it is for children these days.

Well guess what motherfucker I have kids and while they still have to look both ways before crossing the street unless you live slightly outside of Fairfax, like say in the THIRD FUCKING WORLD, the Middle East or in the path of a Tsunami being a kid is pretty much a stroll down easy street these days as is being an adult. You know why I piss and moan about nothing on this blog (like this shit)? Because I don’t really have anything of import to piss and moan about you feeb nor do you and if we did we certainly wouldn’t be talking in bars about how tough it is we’d be trying to live, (as in not die).

Please, I beg of you and all your sad brethren write about something real for a change. Write about how your finger oddly smells like tacos when you stick it in your buttcrack or how you get a boner over Doreen Gentzler or something, anything, that has some basis in reality but PLEASE unless you’re going to be creative about it STOP WRITING ABOUT YOUR POOR LITTLE SAD HEART BECAUSE NO ONE CARES!!!!!.

The worst part is Rockface is in the vast majority of “lyricists” out there. I mean sure the subject matter isn’t all that different than it was 40 years ago but can you really compare “Heartbreaker” by the Stones to this –

I gave my everything to you
And you took it away from me
And now I have nothing left to give
I am empty and feeling crazy

Could you at least fucking try?!?!??! Just a little? I was starting to play a game called “guess what stupid lyric comes next” and it would have been fun if it wasn’t so retardedly easy.

Take any combination of these words and you can pretty much write 99% of bad (which is most) rock music these days: soul, hurt, heart, give, take, memory, memories, dark, ceiling, back, remember, fire, desire, rain, pain, remain, drain, mirror, fear, clear, hear, here, there, everywhere. It’s like Dr. Suess for morons with a myspace account and a digital camera but a severe lack of cranial function.

So who am I to say this shit you say? Are my lyrics any better? Well boys and girls I can answer that very simply.

Yes they are.

And gee, my hair smells terrific.

5 Comments:

  • You mean the hair on your head or the other kind?

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 2:35 PM  

  • That's pretty harsh, bro.

    Let's see if sarcasm translates well into text!

    By Blogger Clark, at 2:41 PM  

  • that just must be your hair gel....that is hair gel, now isn't it?

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 7:55 PM  

  • Wendy Rieger is hotter than Doreen.

    -- Dennis

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 2:32 PM  

  • That Kim Martucci on 9 weather gets my storm cloud rising....

    Hey was that the same guy that had you cornered, loudly contending: "I've PAID my DUES! What else does it take?!" and I just walked on by and went to the bathroom instead of saving you from that vocal terrorist. I washed my shame away with the flush of a toilet handle.

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 1:44 PM  

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