Am I the only one who finds the lack of solid guitar playing in today’s music troublesome? Anyone else in on this? Anyone at all?
I remember when the guitar heroes of generations past used to actually be quite talented. Hendrix, Clapton, Page, Beck, Rhoads, Van Halen, Satriani, Vai, Hammett, Vaughan, etc. What happened? When did we trade in Angus Young for the non-descript dude from Linkin Park? When did Yngwie Malmsteen give way to Mike Mushok from Staind? When did we forget about Michael Schenker the second we saw Wes Borland?
I don’t get it. I seriously don’t get it. The guitar has been such an integral part of contemporary music since the 60’s, when did it take a backseat to everything else? My only hope is that with the current saturation of the Nu Metal genre that good old rootsy guitar playing will return to prominence.
Now it should be duly noted that I am somewhat excluding the blues from this list. Since ’95 we’ve been graced with great blues guitarists like Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Jonny Lang, Shannon Curfman, Joe Bonamassa, Eric Gales, Derek Trucks and Doyle Bramhall II. Those guys are OK by me. They’ve got chops and they know what it’s all about. They understand good blues and what the genre requires, so they are henceforth exempt.
I’m also not referring to virtuosos or progressive rockers. Joe Satriani, Steve Vai and Dream Theater’s John Petrucci simply live to bend and break the rules of what is possible with music, and in doing so they have spawned a few generations of relatively small but fiercely loyal fans. Don’t believe me? Check out the Dream Theater Scenes From Manhattan DVD, and take note of Petrooch onstage. I guarantee you’ll have no doubts.
No, good reader, I’m talking more along the lines of hard rock. Seems that with the exception of ageless classic rockers like Aerosmith’s Joe Perry and AC/DC’s Angus Young, nearly no one is bothering to put the time into their guitar work anymore. The heavy metal scene itself, once renowned for rapid fire riffs and scaling solos has given way to thick, out of tune riffs that seem to loop over and over without much feel. Hell, as I’ve mentioned here before, I love St. Anger, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t vexed about the fact that Kirk Hammett didn’t solo. Not once. It’s disheartening to see one of the best guitarists ever forego his trademark solos.
My major curiosity pertains as to where things took a left turn. Unlike most people, I do not blame the Seattle Explosion (I can’t stand the term “grunge”) for this sudden shift. Kurt Cobain’s fretwork, while obviously simple, was still graced with the occasional solo. In an Angus Young sort of way, he gave a lot of younger guitarists hope that they, too could be in a great band, even with simple riffs and solos. Kim Thayill from Soundgarden was not afraid to solo, and did quite well with it to boot. Mike McCready and Stone Gossard of Pearl Jam still have their chops when the time is right. And Jerry Cantrell from Alice In Chains is one of the best guitarists ever. Period.
So I don’t blame the Seattle Explosion. I think a lot of things changed when Korn got in the game. Now don’t get me wrong, I dig Korn. They’re a very creative band, but the whole amalgamation of metal, rap and funk mixed in with out of tune seven-string guitars did a lot to damage the music scene. Lots of imitators popped up in their wake, all of whom are not worthy of being mentioned. But they exploded big, causing Nu Metal to grow at a lightning-quick pace on ye olde product life cycle. But with accelerated growth comes an earlier maturation point, and that’s where the market is now. The only full-on metal bands, Nu or otherwise to survive the trend have been Korn, Disturbed and Godsmack. Fine, throw in Linkin Park as well, but they’re still a new band, so there’s plenty of time for them to jump the shark like all the rest.
Let’s be honest folks, there aren’t too many beacons of light out there for us guitar aficionados. Aside from active classic rockers like Perry, Young, Ted Nugent, Edge and Alex Lifeson, touring whores like Steve Howe, Billy Gibbons and (of course) Keith Richards, prog rockers/virtuosos like Vai, Satch and Petrooch, and the ubiquitous Kirk Hammett, how many actual guitar heroes are there anymore? Only other guys that come to mind are Tom Morello, Jerry Cantrell, Dimebag Darrell and the almighty Zakk Wylde. I mean, these are guys who, because of their axe-handling abilities have managed to inspire legions of aspiring guitarists without the brand equity of their band name. Sure, lotsa people love Godsmack (myself being one of them). But how many can actually name the lead guitarist?
See? Eh? For the record his name is Tony Rombola.
Y’know, it’s sad to see music devolving so quickly. And again, I’m talking about rock music. Screw pop and hip-hop, I don’t have a gauge on that stuff. We went from scores of breeding grounds for great bands in the 60’s (the Beatles, the Stones, the Yardbirds, the Who, Led Zep, Cream, Hendrix), 70’s (Aerosmith, AC/DC, Deep Purple, Rush, Pink Floyd) 80’s (Van Halen, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Blizzard Of Ozz) and 90’s (Nirvana, Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam, Rage Against The Machine, Korn) to an apparent cesspool of overrated under-practiced hollow rock.
That’s not to say there’s no hope. I think there are a few budding artists out there that show signs of potential. I dig Nickelback (ballads notwithstanding) if nothing else for the fact that they sound like a good ol’ fashioned classic rock four-piece. The guitar work ain’t too shabby either. Similarly, Theory Of A Deadman bring back that rootsy feel typical of Southern Rock with some good tunes. Stone Sour mixes old school metal norms with AIC-inspired melodies, thick riffs, and “ear-delicious” solos. Even Evanescence has the occasional solo to complement Amy Lee’s amazing voice, and y’know what? They’re not too shabby. I’m also excited about the Porch Ghouls, whom Joe Perry describes as sounding like “Peter Green-era Fleetwood Mac on steroids.” If you’ve ever listened to Peter Green’s chops, you know that’s a good thing. Australia’s Jet are a nice return to classic blues-swagger guitar-infused rock n’ roll with the odd solo here or there. Also, Velvet Revolver (comprised of STP’s Scott Weiland, GNR’s Slash, Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum, and Infectious Groove’s Dave Kushner) are almost guaranteed to bring back some of the traditional fretwork standards courtesy of the man in the black hat.
And more and more, young bands are getting away from downtuning and opting for melody. That in and of itself is a step in the right direction, and who knows? The next crop of real guitar heroes might not be that far around the corner. Until that time, I don’t mind swimming, wandering aimlessly through the melodic tributaries of the mainstream. You should consider joining me sometime.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
10/13/2003
9/16/2003
Y'know what I can't stand? These stupid bumperstickers that say, "God Is My Co-Pilot." How ridiculous is this? If the people driving these cars were such devout Christians, they'd know that God can do pretty much anything He wants. I mean, He's Lord and Creator of all of us, as well as this pebble we call home, not to mention the entire frickin' universe. I'd say He's got a good handle on pretty much everything there is.
So why would He need a co-pilot?
Think about it, if you're a professional pilot, and you step into that cockpit and the Big Man Himself is sitting behind the controls, are you really gonna intrude? He's God for cryin' out loud!
And $10 says He'll do one of two things. He'll either A) smile at you thoughtfully, as if to say, "aww, how cute!" Y'know, kinda like when you were a naïve child trying to figure out how to tie a necktie so you could be more like dad. Or B) look at you rather indignantly and say, "Motherfucker, get your ass back in coach! I'm God! I've got this one covered, kid!"
Who are you to think that you’re of a similar caliber as the Good Lord? You arrogant prick. You oughta be run off the road just for insinuating such a thing.
I’d do that myself, but I’m not gonna. I’m relatively certain God’s already got your number. And He’s gonna be mighty pissed that you think of yourself that highly.
My advice to you: bend over and say your prayers.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
So why would He need a co-pilot?
Think about it, if you're a professional pilot, and you step into that cockpit and the Big Man Himself is sitting behind the controls, are you really gonna intrude? He's God for cryin' out loud!
And $10 says He'll do one of two things. He'll either A) smile at you thoughtfully, as if to say, "aww, how cute!" Y'know, kinda like when you were a naïve child trying to figure out how to tie a necktie so you could be more like dad. Or B) look at you rather indignantly and say, "Motherfucker, get your ass back in coach! I'm God! I've got this one covered, kid!"
Who are you to think that you’re of a similar caliber as the Good Lord? You arrogant prick. You oughta be run off the road just for insinuating such a thing.
I’d do that myself, but I’m not gonna. I’m relatively certain God’s already got your number. And He’s gonna be mighty pissed that you think of yourself that highly.
My advice to you: bend over and say your prayers.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
9/15/2003
First off, I gotta pay my respects to one of the central focuses of my last post, the Man in Black himself, Mr. Johnny Cash. I think we all knew he wasn’t long for this world, but that cannot take away from his contributions. He’ll be missed.
Now, onto the matters at hand…
Have you noticed that everyone has their own talk show now? Seriously. Dear reader, I think it’s only a matter of time before you and I have our own talk shows. All we need to do is have a five-minute cameo in a moderately popular film in which we steal the scene. We’ll catch the eye of some half-wit producer from some lackluster cable station, and within a matter of seconds we’ll be signing a contract for our own talk show.
Can you smell the excitement? ‘Cause I can’t.
Folks, who wants a talk show? Seriously, are they even entertaining anymore? Save the almighty holy trinity of late night hosts (Letterman, O’Brien, Leno), the talk show is a dead art form, case closed. And even I have to admit that none of those guys are as funny as they were 5-10 years ago.
OK, let’s clear something up first. There are two divisions of the modern talk show. The first is entertainment-based. That is to say, shows that focus around celebrities, television, film, music, and various newsmakers. The second is shock-based. These are focused on trashy people in clothes that are way too tight bitching about how their mom slept with their boyfriend while neglecting their 900-pound obese brother and his 7-year-old out of control daughter who beat up the handicapped kid with the bizarre skin disorder at school.
I’m focusing on the former, not the latter. Stay with me here and please bear right at the fork in the road, lest ye want to be knee-deep in Mauryworld. What the hell kinda name is “Maury,” anyway? If you really hate your child, name him or her “Maury.” Heck, my mother named one of her garden gnomes “Maury” once, and a week into his stay at El Casa de Rico, he had an unfortunate encounter with a ball peen hammer. Sad, really. Moving along…
Now these talk shows can, based on their nature, be aired at almost any given point during the day. Early morning, mid-day, late afternoon, late night, late late night, hell, there’s a talk show for every meal of the day including in-between snackfests. But why? Do we really obsess over watching these shows so much?
An aside, in an upcoming post I will list the ten best programs on TV and why. Back to this post, already in progress.
I mean, look at some of the hosts. These are not superstars with major talents a la Letterman or O’Brien, let alone the almighty Carson. These are Hollywood Squares alumni who are too big for their britches.
I mean, does Caroline Rhea need a show? What gives her the right to take over Rosie O’Donnell’s spot? Not that I ever felt Rosie was anything special, but Caroline Rhea is a supporting cast member on Sabrina The Teenage Witch. Hardly what I’d call a barnburner of a television show. Or Jesse Ventura? Jesse, good wrestler, better commentator, quasi-joke of an actor, questionable governor, lets keep your resume limited to those items alone, OK? Or what about Wayne Brady? He’s the guy who improvises songs on the spot on Whose Line Is It Anyway? He’s a good-looking cat with a decent singing voice. But he is not as funny as Ryan Stiles or Colin Quinn, period. Hell, the fucking 7-Up guy has his own show! Orlando Jordan hasn’t even had a hit movie yet! Let’s see, The Time Machine, Evolution, and that horrible horrible film with Eddie Griffin. Oh, yeah. This guy is a superstar in every sense of the word. Hocking soda will only get you so far. Hell, I’m sure if Clara Peller hadn’t been so old during her “where’s the beef” days, she’d have wound up with her own talk show.
And now we’ve got Sharon Osbourne. Now Sharon, I give her credit for A) getting her husband straightened out, and B) being a savvy businesswoman. But the entire Osbourne clan has given into every Hollywood tabloid cliché possible. With the exception of Ozzy himself (who is too loveably brain dead to know otherwise), not a one of them is innocent. Heck, if I ever get together in a band and want it to be a big hit, all I’ll do is date Kelly Osbourne. Hey, sometimes a man has to get his hands dirty. Whatever pushes units, right?
So what is gonna separate Sharon’s show from anyone else’s? Probably nothing. Is she gonna put her own spin on things? Most likely. Will she cuss like a sailor? Undoubtedly. Will it be fresh and innovative? Hardly. Eventually, it will fall to every other tired cliché imaginable. I think this is why I hate television so much. There’s barely anything on that I haven’t already seen in some shape or form. And I’m not talking reruns, I’m talking cleverness, good writing, good characters, good hosts, etc. I feel truly sorry for Jimmy Kimmel, as I find the man truly funny. He is unfortunately handcuffed by the brass at ABC for his brand of comedy. A shame, really, ‘cause he’s got potential to be the next big thing in late night. If only he could’ve landed a gig at HBO.
Hell, word has it that Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez are in talks for their own talk shows. Folks, these two “supertalents” have gone from useless singers to useless actresses to soon-to-be useless talk show hostesses in a matter of four years. Granted, now that these two gems are no longer engaged or don’t have any hot 40-year-old women to make out with, they probably have a lot of free time on their hands.
Look, lemme sum it up for you nicely folks. Any day that Michael Essany, a 20-something no-name from Buttfuck, Generica USA can land an hour-long show on E!, it sets a dangerous precedent.
Anyone can get their own talk show. Anyone.
So with that in mind, I present to you a list of five individuals whom I would like to see host a talk show in the near future.
Kevin Smith. Aside from being wonderfully crass, the man is also brutally honest. You need look no further than Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back or the ill-fated Clerks cartoon to know that he pulls no punches, and has it in for celebrities. Not even his pal Ben Affleck is safe at all times. Moreover, the man is painfully intelligent, which would provide for a spectacularly enlightening show. His biting witticisms are off the cuff and hilarious.
Lewis Black. Saw the man live once, nearly ruptured my spleen laughing. I swear, you wanna talk about a guy who hates everyone, Lewis is that guy. No one is safe, period. Not Starbucks, not the president, not celebrities, not your mom. Just have an ample supply of black coffee and cigarettes on hand for the host of the moment. He’ll fly through ‘em.
Zakk Wylde. Zakk is completely unfiltered with no apologies whatsoever. Half the show would be him chugging beer, shredding on the “buzzsaw” and chugging more beer. Throw in the occasional live performance by the in-house band, Zakk’s own Black Label Society. Frequent guests would be Dimebag Darrell, Jerry Cantrell, Mike Piazza and Rob Zombie. If that’s not a winning combination, I don’t know what is. Hell, Fuse would eat that shit up and ask for seconds.
Henry Rollins. I think few things would be as entertaining as watching Henry Rollins psychologically dismantle half-hearted, weak-minded guests on a daily basis. I mean, c’mon. Can’t you just picture the man decimating Jewel for her recent “efforts” in the music business? Or maybe having an arm-wrestling match with Glenn Danzig. This thing’s got money written all over it.
George Carlin. If you really need me to explain this one, I don’t want you visiting this site again. Ever. The man is comedy’s answer to God, understand? Not only is he one of the longest active comedians around, but he’s also the funniest. Period. He says the things that no one else is willing to, and for that reason alone, I laud the man. Television is just aching for a dose of Carlin.
Until the time that any or all of those guys get their own shows, I don’t feel like I’m missing much by working in the morning or going to bed early at night. If I’m to be entertained, I first must be impressed, and quite frankly, the average talk show just doesn’t cut it anymore. Think of this as my “Dr. Phil” dose of advice to the industry: stop looking for the next pseudo-celebrity to be a talk show host and just stick with what works. Trust me, ratings will follow. If you build it, they will come. Case closed.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Now, onto the matters at hand…
Have you noticed that everyone has their own talk show now? Seriously. Dear reader, I think it’s only a matter of time before you and I have our own talk shows. All we need to do is have a five-minute cameo in a moderately popular film in which we steal the scene. We’ll catch the eye of some half-wit producer from some lackluster cable station, and within a matter of seconds we’ll be signing a contract for our own talk show.
Can you smell the excitement? ‘Cause I can’t.
Folks, who wants a talk show? Seriously, are they even entertaining anymore? Save the almighty holy trinity of late night hosts (Letterman, O’Brien, Leno), the talk show is a dead art form, case closed. And even I have to admit that none of those guys are as funny as they were 5-10 years ago.
OK, let’s clear something up first. There are two divisions of the modern talk show. The first is entertainment-based. That is to say, shows that focus around celebrities, television, film, music, and various newsmakers. The second is shock-based. These are focused on trashy people in clothes that are way too tight bitching about how their mom slept with their boyfriend while neglecting their 900-pound obese brother and his 7-year-old out of control daughter who beat up the handicapped kid with the bizarre skin disorder at school.
I’m focusing on the former, not the latter. Stay with me here and please bear right at the fork in the road, lest ye want to be knee-deep in Mauryworld. What the hell kinda name is “Maury,” anyway? If you really hate your child, name him or her “Maury.” Heck, my mother named one of her garden gnomes “Maury” once, and a week into his stay at El Casa de Rico, he had an unfortunate encounter with a ball peen hammer. Sad, really. Moving along…
Now these talk shows can, based on their nature, be aired at almost any given point during the day. Early morning, mid-day, late afternoon, late night, late late night, hell, there’s a talk show for every meal of the day including in-between snackfests. But why? Do we really obsess over watching these shows so much?
An aside, in an upcoming post I will list the ten best programs on TV and why. Back to this post, already in progress.
I mean, look at some of the hosts. These are not superstars with major talents a la Letterman or O’Brien, let alone the almighty Carson. These are Hollywood Squares alumni who are too big for their britches.
I mean, does Caroline Rhea need a show? What gives her the right to take over Rosie O’Donnell’s spot? Not that I ever felt Rosie was anything special, but Caroline Rhea is a supporting cast member on Sabrina The Teenage Witch. Hardly what I’d call a barnburner of a television show. Or Jesse Ventura? Jesse, good wrestler, better commentator, quasi-joke of an actor, questionable governor, lets keep your resume limited to those items alone, OK? Or what about Wayne Brady? He’s the guy who improvises songs on the spot on Whose Line Is It Anyway? He’s a good-looking cat with a decent singing voice. But he is not as funny as Ryan Stiles or Colin Quinn, period. Hell, the fucking 7-Up guy has his own show! Orlando Jordan hasn’t even had a hit movie yet! Let’s see, The Time Machine, Evolution, and that horrible horrible film with Eddie Griffin. Oh, yeah. This guy is a superstar in every sense of the word. Hocking soda will only get you so far. Hell, I’m sure if Clara Peller hadn’t been so old during her “where’s the beef” days, she’d have wound up with her own talk show.
And now we’ve got Sharon Osbourne. Now Sharon, I give her credit for A) getting her husband straightened out, and B) being a savvy businesswoman. But the entire Osbourne clan has given into every Hollywood tabloid cliché possible. With the exception of Ozzy himself (who is too loveably brain dead to know otherwise), not a one of them is innocent. Heck, if I ever get together in a band and want it to be a big hit, all I’ll do is date Kelly Osbourne. Hey, sometimes a man has to get his hands dirty. Whatever pushes units, right?
So what is gonna separate Sharon’s show from anyone else’s? Probably nothing. Is she gonna put her own spin on things? Most likely. Will she cuss like a sailor? Undoubtedly. Will it be fresh and innovative? Hardly. Eventually, it will fall to every other tired cliché imaginable. I think this is why I hate television so much. There’s barely anything on that I haven’t already seen in some shape or form. And I’m not talking reruns, I’m talking cleverness, good writing, good characters, good hosts, etc. I feel truly sorry for Jimmy Kimmel, as I find the man truly funny. He is unfortunately handcuffed by the brass at ABC for his brand of comedy. A shame, really, ‘cause he’s got potential to be the next big thing in late night. If only he could’ve landed a gig at HBO.
Hell, word has it that Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez are in talks for their own talk shows. Folks, these two “supertalents” have gone from useless singers to useless actresses to soon-to-be useless talk show hostesses in a matter of four years. Granted, now that these two gems are no longer engaged or don’t have any hot 40-year-old women to make out with, they probably have a lot of free time on their hands.
Look, lemme sum it up for you nicely folks. Any day that Michael Essany, a 20-something no-name from Buttfuck, Generica USA can land an hour-long show on E!, it sets a dangerous precedent.
Anyone can get their own talk show. Anyone.
So with that in mind, I present to you a list of five individuals whom I would like to see host a talk show in the near future.
Kevin Smith. Aside from being wonderfully crass, the man is also brutally honest. You need look no further than Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back or the ill-fated Clerks cartoon to know that he pulls no punches, and has it in for celebrities. Not even his pal Ben Affleck is safe at all times. Moreover, the man is painfully intelligent, which would provide for a spectacularly enlightening show. His biting witticisms are off the cuff and hilarious.
Lewis Black. Saw the man live once, nearly ruptured my spleen laughing. I swear, you wanna talk about a guy who hates everyone, Lewis is that guy. No one is safe, period. Not Starbucks, not the president, not celebrities, not your mom. Just have an ample supply of black coffee and cigarettes on hand for the host of the moment. He’ll fly through ‘em.
Zakk Wylde. Zakk is completely unfiltered with no apologies whatsoever. Half the show would be him chugging beer, shredding on the “buzzsaw” and chugging more beer. Throw in the occasional live performance by the in-house band, Zakk’s own Black Label Society. Frequent guests would be Dimebag Darrell, Jerry Cantrell, Mike Piazza and Rob Zombie. If that’s not a winning combination, I don’t know what is. Hell, Fuse would eat that shit up and ask for seconds.
Henry Rollins. I think few things would be as entertaining as watching Henry Rollins psychologically dismantle half-hearted, weak-minded guests on a daily basis. I mean, c’mon. Can’t you just picture the man decimating Jewel for her recent “efforts” in the music business? Or maybe having an arm-wrestling match with Glenn Danzig. This thing’s got money written all over it.
George Carlin. If you really need me to explain this one, I don’t want you visiting this site again. Ever. The man is comedy’s answer to God, understand? Not only is he one of the longest active comedians around, but he’s also the funniest. Period. He says the things that no one else is willing to, and for that reason alone, I laud the man. Television is just aching for a dose of Carlin.
Until the time that any or all of those guys get their own shows, I don’t feel like I’m missing much by working in the morning or going to bed early at night. If I’m to be entertained, I first must be impressed, and quite frankly, the average talk show just doesn’t cut it anymore. Think of this as my “Dr. Phil” dose of advice to the industry: stop looking for the next pseudo-celebrity to be a talk show host and just stick with what works. Trust me, ratings will follow. If you build it, they will come. Case closed.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
8/29/2003
Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been just laying in wait of something bizarre/stupid/outrageous/absurd to come along deserving of my brand of commentary.
Leave it up to MTV to accommodate me.
So yeah, last night were the ’03 VMA’s. Well light a fire under my ass and call me enraged (or underwhelmed, based on the quality of the show). It seems like with each passing year, MTV, the ever-loving bastion of superficiality, the seemingly endless well of shallowness manages to outdo itself.
Y’know, I remember when this worthless network used to award videos deserving of recognition. I remember Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U,” R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” Aerosmith’s “Cryin’,” Neil Young’s “This Note’s For You,” truly memorable videos that are hard to get out of your mind.
I’ve often criticized the music video genre. I’ve always felt that the blending of images and words, while novel and perhaps innocent in its conception, has managed to put style way over the top, burying substance to the point of no return. However, once in awhile, a video will come along that honestly blends images and words so beautifully, you cannot help but take notice. Sadly, more often than not these videos go unrecognized by the fine folks at Empty-V. See, it’s in the name of the award show itself. “VMA’s.” “Video Music Awards.” The “video” is placed before the “music.” The style comes before the substance. The image comes before the message. The song is secondary, case closed. I could write and record the next What’s Going On?, but if I don’t have a sufficient video for my first single, I’ll never get a second glance from MTV, and my art won’t see the light of day on their network. That’s why so many great videos go tragically unnoticed.
Case in point: a nice piece of work like Stone Sour’s video for “Bother” went completely unacknowledged, and was barely played on the network. Still, if you’ve seen the video, you know what I’m talking about. Corey Taylor singing this sad but beautiful song of lament to a rapidly aging version of himself. Simple, yet effective. It gets the message across beautifully. Yet no one really cares.
Similarly, I think Metallica’s video for “St. Anger” deserved some props. Props that were not received. Criticize the album if you will, but you’d be hard pressed to deny that the video, filmed at San Quentin, fit the theme of the song nicely. However, the video was only nominated for one bleeding award that was given to Linkin Park, a two-bit flash in the pan at best. And don’t give me the argument that the nominees are decided based on airplay, because according to a recent article on CNN.com, it would appear that one of the nominees for video of the year was played less than ten times on MTV itself.
I’m speaking of course about Johnny Cash’s video for “Hurt.” If this video doesn’t affect you in some way, check for a pulse, because you’re probably dead. It’s fraught with emotion, and if it doesn’t evoke some kind of emotional response from you, be it sorrow, pain, anything, then you’re missing the big picture. Let’s look at the other nominees:
“Cry Me A River” by Justin Timberlake. I’ll give this guy some credit since he’s managed to make a successful leap from cardboard cutout pre-packaged pop to some relatively solid R&B. The video features him making out with a girl, arguing with a girl, dancing around, and singing while water floods his surroundings. Not really a bad song, but hardly a memorable video.
“In Da Club” by 50 Cent. How this guy made it is mystifying to me. I attribute it all to his partner in crime, Eminem. Without his name in the liner notes and his face in the videos, 50 probably wouldn’t be where he is today, and you know what? That’s just fine with me. I honestly can’t figure out what the big deal about this guy is. I don’t think he’s a terribly talented rapper, not on the level of an Eminem or a Tupac. His video is him working out and partying. Well, sans the working out bit, that’s every rap video today. See, that’s the thing. 50 is in serious need of some Band-Aids, ‘cause he’s all cut up. Moreover, his tough guy image and bulletproof vest make him a sure thing in da “Image is Everything” club.
“Lose Yourself” by Eminem. Granted, a great song. My flirtation with hip hop ended with MC Hammer, but to be truthful, there have been some noteworthy luminaries in the genre. To me, the legends are Run DMC, Public Enemy, NWA, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, and Eminem. End of story. No more, no less. I think this is Em’s best song to date, but not his best video. It’s just a medley of images from 8 Mile intertwined with him rapping. Fair enough, great promotional tool, better song. Not his best video. I think something like “Cleaning Out My Closet” would be much more appropriate for this nomination, since it’s a good strong blend of imagery and lyrics. So while I (surprisingly) give credit to the man, I don’t feel this video is deserving of the nomination, let alone the award.
“Work It” by Missy Elliott. A new, improved, Trim-Spa imbued Missy Elliott dances, raps, and works the turntables while covered in bees. To me, the most memorable thing about this video is the recurring image of the old, fat-ass Missy. All the lipo in the world still can’t repair that Mr. Ed-like horseface of hers. Once again, like 50, I don’t get it, don’t see the point, don’t know why it even deserves to be nominated.
Meanwhile, Johnny Cash’s thoughtful, emotional treatment of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” went home with one award that wasn’t even presented on the program. Best Cinematography. Well big whoop. Lets piss away all the poignant, emotional value of the video and award it for its technical merits. Screw the song, respect the tech. And that, my friends, is Empty-V for ya. Style over substance, now and forever. We reached a point of no return in 1999 with the insurrection of cookie cutter pop and bling-bling-pass-the-Cristal-fuck-ya-hoes hip hop. There’s no looking back. Those of us salivating for musical substance are up Shit Creek without a paddle. Welcome to 2003, can I take your coat?
As for memorable moments, well the one that everyone is talking about is the opening segment. Madonna, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera, paying homage to the Material Hack’s first-ever VMA performance, replete with oversized wedding cake and bustier-style wedding dresses on the juniors. But it wasn’t just that, it was the open mouth kiss Madonna planted on each of her young protégés.
Meanwhile, Timberlake is in the audience thinking, “I can’t believe my ex kissed Madonna before me.”
But see, this is where the VMAs are consistently coming up short. Their live performances. To me, the last great live performances were U2 at the ’01 VMAs, and Kid Rock, Run DMC, and Aerosmith at the ’99 awards. Memorable moments beyond live performances are getting few and far between, save Tim C. from Rage storming the stage back in 2000. Very little since has raised an eye. I was shocked when Metallica was announced to be playing. “Holy shit, a band that has some relevance in our musical culture! What will they think of next?” For the record, I dug their performance. It was a side of them we don’t see often, and a nice little homage to some of the better artists of the MTV generation. That, and ya can’t go wrong with “Frantic, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tock.”
But for the most part, when it comes to live performances, those folks at MTV now have to rely on absurd schlock like last night’s embarrassing opening display, or nostalgic wistfulness like last year’s “big” performance by the new and not-so-improved Guns N’ Roses. The motivation for all three women in last night’s bisexual moment of the year was similar to Axl Rose’s motivation last year. The motivation is, “what’s best for me?”
Let’s travel into the minds of these four headcases:
Axl: “Well, the world tour is coming up, we need some publicity, otherwise people aren’t even gonna know that there is a GNR anymore. Better take those folks at MTV up on their offer and stir the shit a little bit.”
Madonna: “My career is flagging, I’ve been branded an anti-American, my new album tanked, my last movie tanked, and my new GAP commercial is an embarrassment. Better reprise the wedding cake bit with Britney and Christina and stir the shit a little bit.”
Britney: “Well, I’ve been outta the limelight for a good year now, everyone knows I’m not a virgin anymore, and my ex-boyfriend is enjoying success that is nothing short of a slap in the face to me. Better take Madonna up on her offer for the wedding cake/kiss bit and stir the shit a little.”
Christina: “I’ve been labeled a whore, a sellout, a skank, everyone hates me, my album is faltering in sales, no one will take me seriously, I’m a joke. Better take Madonna up on her offer for the wedding cake/kiss bit and stir the shit a little.”
See, the line of thinking here is no different than Michael Jackson’s when he kissed Lisa Marie Presley at the awards some years ago. “What can I do that will benefit me? How can I use the VMA’s as a podium to promote me?” Egotism at its most rampant, ladies and gentlemen.
I’m sure millions of red-blooded American males have developed an everlasting hard-on since last night’s display, and I applaud them for showing that their peckers work proper. Nevertheless, I will remember the display less for its sex appeal and more for the sheer shallowness of the intentions.
Meanwhile, Johnny Cash spent last night in the hospital with a stomach ailment. I’m glad he wasn’t at the live show, because I would’ve been personally insulted to be lumped in with the rest of these “winners.”
I’ll also give credit to Timberlake for at least mentioning the man. His nominations were grossly under-acknowledged by the producers, and they should be ashamed of themselves. For a guy the magnitude of Timberlake to give credit to Cash, that proves him to be a class act in many ways, and to that effect, I have a newfound respect for the man. Humility, when genuine, never goes unrecognized.
So another VMA has passed, and most of us have probably learned nothing. I’m resentful over the fact that I killed my Thursday night watching just to see Metallica perform, and to see Johnny Cash get his dues. And I only got half of that combination. I don’t want my MTV, I want my Thursday night back. In fact, I want the last 20 years back. The only real “triumphs” to MTV’s credit are, in my eyes, Guns N’ Roses, U2, and the Seattle Explosion of the early 90’s. I hate to say it, but without the music video, there’s a relatively good chance that those artists may have gone unnoticed, so I have MTV to thank for that at least. The rest has been 20 solid years of soft fluff. Think about it, how many one-hit wonders has MTV spoonfed and provided us over the years? Not since the golden days of disco have so many artists pissed away 15 minutes of fame. A few diamonds in the rough do not make for a legacy, they make for a hype machine.
MTV has degenerated to a cultural burp. Their waning influence is noted by the fact that TRL no longer has all the top artists on its countdown. Where were Godsmack and Disturbed on TRL? How about Audioslave or Evanescence? They all had albums that made into Billboard’s Top Ten. What? They’re not MTV material? Let MTV2 cover those bands? Better yet, leave them as debris for Fuse to gobble up? But I thought MTV had a thumb on the pulse of all things music. Well that thumb is slipping rapidly. Why else do you think that they were charging 99 cents a call to vote for the Viewer’s Choice Award last night?
I could go on and on, but I’m already up to four full pages of rant in Microsoft Word, so as I end this post, I give you some thought-provoking lyrics by one of my favorite bands, Dream Theater.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Just Let Me Breathe
By Dream Theater
Open your eyes
And turn off your mind.
Step right up folks
And you will find
A growing trend,
An epidemic
Spread with Zen
And hypodermics, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines take care of you
Until you kill yourself,
And then the sales go through the roof,
Calculated, formulated.
Feed my head with simple thoughts
And let me breathe instead of being taught.
All bottled up and tearing at the seams,
I’m bored.
Just let me breathe.
A daily dose of eMpTyV
Will flush your mind right down the drain.
Shannon Hoon and Kurt Cobain,
Make yourself a household name, yeah, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines take care of you
Until you kill yourself,
And then the sales go through the roof,
Calculated, formulated.
Feed my head with simple thoughts
And let me breathe instead of being taught.
All bottled up and tearing at the seams,
I’m bored.
Just let me breathe.
Strike up your best angst-ridden posture,
Manufactured angler.
Let’s not forget my legacy,
All my heroes have failed me.
Now they’re dead and buried, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines will take care of you
Until the fashion fades
And the checks go through.
My bankroll’s red
And my face is blue,
And still they’ll turn their backs on me for someone new.
Feed my head
With some real thoughts,
And let me think instead
Of being taught.
I’ll say things
You won’t believe.
Just stand back,
Just let me breathe…
Leave it up to MTV to accommodate me.
So yeah, last night were the ’03 VMA’s. Well light a fire under my ass and call me enraged (or underwhelmed, based on the quality of the show). It seems like with each passing year, MTV, the ever-loving bastion of superficiality, the seemingly endless well of shallowness manages to outdo itself.
Y’know, I remember when this worthless network used to award videos deserving of recognition. I remember Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U,” R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” Aerosmith’s “Cryin’,” Neil Young’s “This Note’s For You,” truly memorable videos that are hard to get out of your mind.
I’ve often criticized the music video genre. I’ve always felt that the blending of images and words, while novel and perhaps innocent in its conception, has managed to put style way over the top, burying substance to the point of no return. However, once in awhile, a video will come along that honestly blends images and words so beautifully, you cannot help but take notice. Sadly, more often than not these videos go unrecognized by the fine folks at Empty-V. See, it’s in the name of the award show itself. “VMA’s.” “Video Music Awards.” The “video” is placed before the “music.” The style comes before the substance. The image comes before the message. The song is secondary, case closed. I could write and record the next What’s Going On?, but if I don’t have a sufficient video for my first single, I’ll never get a second glance from MTV, and my art won’t see the light of day on their network. That’s why so many great videos go tragically unnoticed.
Case in point: a nice piece of work like Stone Sour’s video for “Bother” went completely unacknowledged, and was barely played on the network. Still, if you’ve seen the video, you know what I’m talking about. Corey Taylor singing this sad but beautiful song of lament to a rapidly aging version of himself. Simple, yet effective. It gets the message across beautifully. Yet no one really cares.
Similarly, I think Metallica’s video for “St. Anger” deserved some props. Props that were not received. Criticize the album if you will, but you’d be hard pressed to deny that the video, filmed at San Quentin, fit the theme of the song nicely. However, the video was only nominated for one bleeding award that was given to Linkin Park, a two-bit flash in the pan at best. And don’t give me the argument that the nominees are decided based on airplay, because according to a recent article on CNN.com, it would appear that one of the nominees for video of the year was played less than ten times on MTV itself.
I’m speaking of course about Johnny Cash’s video for “Hurt.” If this video doesn’t affect you in some way, check for a pulse, because you’re probably dead. It’s fraught with emotion, and if it doesn’t evoke some kind of emotional response from you, be it sorrow, pain, anything, then you’re missing the big picture. Let’s look at the other nominees:
“Cry Me A River” by Justin Timberlake. I’ll give this guy some credit since he’s managed to make a successful leap from cardboard cutout pre-packaged pop to some relatively solid R&B. The video features him making out with a girl, arguing with a girl, dancing around, and singing while water floods his surroundings. Not really a bad song, but hardly a memorable video.
“In Da Club” by 50 Cent. How this guy made it is mystifying to me. I attribute it all to his partner in crime, Eminem. Without his name in the liner notes and his face in the videos, 50 probably wouldn’t be where he is today, and you know what? That’s just fine with me. I honestly can’t figure out what the big deal about this guy is. I don’t think he’s a terribly talented rapper, not on the level of an Eminem or a Tupac. His video is him working out and partying. Well, sans the working out bit, that’s every rap video today. See, that’s the thing. 50 is in serious need of some Band-Aids, ‘cause he’s all cut up. Moreover, his tough guy image and bulletproof vest make him a sure thing in da “Image is Everything” club.
“Lose Yourself” by Eminem. Granted, a great song. My flirtation with hip hop ended with MC Hammer, but to be truthful, there have been some noteworthy luminaries in the genre. To me, the legends are Run DMC, Public Enemy, NWA, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, and Eminem. End of story. No more, no less. I think this is Em’s best song to date, but not his best video. It’s just a medley of images from 8 Mile intertwined with him rapping. Fair enough, great promotional tool, better song. Not his best video. I think something like “Cleaning Out My Closet” would be much more appropriate for this nomination, since it’s a good strong blend of imagery and lyrics. So while I (surprisingly) give credit to the man, I don’t feel this video is deserving of the nomination, let alone the award.
“Work It” by Missy Elliott. A new, improved, Trim-Spa imbued Missy Elliott dances, raps, and works the turntables while covered in bees. To me, the most memorable thing about this video is the recurring image of the old, fat-ass Missy. All the lipo in the world still can’t repair that Mr. Ed-like horseface of hers. Once again, like 50, I don’t get it, don’t see the point, don’t know why it even deserves to be nominated.
Meanwhile, Johnny Cash’s thoughtful, emotional treatment of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” went home with one award that wasn’t even presented on the program. Best Cinematography. Well big whoop. Lets piss away all the poignant, emotional value of the video and award it for its technical merits. Screw the song, respect the tech. And that, my friends, is Empty-V for ya. Style over substance, now and forever. We reached a point of no return in 1999 with the insurrection of cookie cutter pop and bling-bling-pass-the-Cristal-fuck-ya-hoes hip hop. There’s no looking back. Those of us salivating for musical substance are up Shit Creek without a paddle. Welcome to 2003, can I take your coat?
As for memorable moments, well the one that everyone is talking about is the opening segment. Madonna, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera, paying homage to the Material Hack’s first-ever VMA performance, replete with oversized wedding cake and bustier-style wedding dresses on the juniors. But it wasn’t just that, it was the open mouth kiss Madonna planted on each of her young protégés.
Meanwhile, Timberlake is in the audience thinking, “I can’t believe my ex kissed Madonna before me.”
But see, this is where the VMAs are consistently coming up short. Their live performances. To me, the last great live performances were U2 at the ’01 VMAs, and Kid Rock, Run DMC, and Aerosmith at the ’99 awards. Memorable moments beyond live performances are getting few and far between, save Tim C. from Rage storming the stage back in 2000. Very little since has raised an eye. I was shocked when Metallica was announced to be playing. “Holy shit, a band that has some relevance in our musical culture! What will they think of next?” For the record, I dug their performance. It was a side of them we don’t see often, and a nice little homage to some of the better artists of the MTV generation. That, and ya can’t go wrong with “Frantic, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tock.”
But for the most part, when it comes to live performances, those folks at MTV now have to rely on absurd schlock like last night’s embarrassing opening display, or nostalgic wistfulness like last year’s “big” performance by the new and not-so-improved Guns N’ Roses. The motivation for all three women in last night’s bisexual moment of the year was similar to Axl Rose’s motivation last year. The motivation is, “what’s best for me?”
Let’s travel into the minds of these four headcases:
Axl: “Well, the world tour is coming up, we need some publicity, otherwise people aren’t even gonna know that there is a GNR anymore. Better take those folks at MTV up on their offer and stir the shit a little bit.”
Madonna: “My career is flagging, I’ve been branded an anti-American, my new album tanked, my last movie tanked, and my new GAP commercial is an embarrassment. Better reprise the wedding cake bit with Britney and Christina and stir the shit a little bit.”
Britney: “Well, I’ve been outta the limelight for a good year now, everyone knows I’m not a virgin anymore, and my ex-boyfriend is enjoying success that is nothing short of a slap in the face to me. Better take Madonna up on her offer for the wedding cake/kiss bit and stir the shit a little.”
Christina: “I’ve been labeled a whore, a sellout, a skank, everyone hates me, my album is faltering in sales, no one will take me seriously, I’m a joke. Better take Madonna up on her offer for the wedding cake/kiss bit and stir the shit a little.”
See, the line of thinking here is no different than Michael Jackson’s when he kissed Lisa Marie Presley at the awards some years ago. “What can I do that will benefit me? How can I use the VMA’s as a podium to promote me?” Egotism at its most rampant, ladies and gentlemen.
I’m sure millions of red-blooded American males have developed an everlasting hard-on since last night’s display, and I applaud them for showing that their peckers work proper. Nevertheless, I will remember the display less for its sex appeal and more for the sheer shallowness of the intentions.
Meanwhile, Johnny Cash spent last night in the hospital with a stomach ailment. I’m glad he wasn’t at the live show, because I would’ve been personally insulted to be lumped in with the rest of these “winners.”
I’ll also give credit to Timberlake for at least mentioning the man. His nominations were grossly under-acknowledged by the producers, and they should be ashamed of themselves. For a guy the magnitude of Timberlake to give credit to Cash, that proves him to be a class act in many ways, and to that effect, I have a newfound respect for the man. Humility, when genuine, never goes unrecognized.
So another VMA has passed, and most of us have probably learned nothing. I’m resentful over the fact that I killed my Thursday night watching just to see Metallica perform, and to see Johnny Cash get his dues. And I only got half of that combination. I don’t want my MTV, I want my Thursday night back. In fact, I want the last 20 years back. The only real “triumphs” to MTV’s credit are, in my eyes, Guns N’ Roses, U2, and the Seattle Explosion of the early 90’s. I hate to say it, but without the music video, there’s a relatively good chance that those artists may have gone unnoticed, so I have MTV to thank for that at least. The rest has been 20 solid years of soft fluff. Think about it, how many one-hit wonders has MTV spoonfed and provided us over the years? Not since the golden days of disco have so many artists pissed away 15 minutes of fame. A few diamonds in the rough do not make for a legacy, they make for a hype machine.
MTV has degenerated to a cultural burp. Their waning influence is noted by the fact that TRL no longer has all the top artists on its countdown. Where were Godsmack and Disturbed on TRL? How about Audioslave or Evanescence? They all had albums that made into Billboard’s Top Ten. What? They’re not MTV material? Let MTV2 cover those bands? Better yet, leave them as debris for Fuse to gobble up? But I thought MTV had a thumb on the pulse of all things music. Well that thumb is slipping rapidly. Why else do you think that they were charging 99 cents a call to vote for the Viewer’s Choice Award last night?
I could go on and on, but I’m already up to four full pages of rant in Microsoft Word, so as I end this post, I give you some thought-provoking lyrics by one of my favorite bands, Dream Theater.
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Just Let Me Breathe
By Dream Theater
Open your eyes
And turn off your mind.
Step right up folks
And you will find
A growing trend,
An epidemic
Spread with Zen
And hypodermics, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines take care of you
Until you kill yourself,
And then the sales go through the roof,
Calculated, formulated.
Feed my head with simple thoughts
And let me breathe instead of being taught.
All bottled up and tearing at the seams,
I’m bored.
Just let me breathe.
A daily dose of eMpTyV
Will flush your mind right down the drain.
Shannon Hoon and Kurt Cobain,
Make yourself a household name, yeah, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines take care of you
Until you kill yourself,
And then the sales go through the roof,
Calculated, formulated.
Feed my head with simple thoughts
And let me breathe instead of being taught.
All bottled up and tearing at the seams,
I’m bored.
Just let me breathe.
Strike up your best angst-ridden posture,
Manufactured angler.
Let’s not forget my legacy,
All my heroes have failed me.
Now they’re dead and buried, yeah.
Just close your mind,
You can find all you need with your eyes.
The big machines will take care of you
Until the fashion fades
And the checks go through.
My bankroll’s red
And my face is blue,
And still they’ll turn their backs on me for someone new.
Feed my head
With some real thoughts,
And let me think instead
Of being taught.
I’ll say things
You won’t believe.
Just stand back,
Just let me breathe…
8/04/2003
Incoming!
Checking in for just a second of my precious summer time to let you know about my new passion, the Lyrical Hotbed, where you can find my all-time favorite song lyrics. Once more, thanks go out to Maggie for the inspiration. You're alright, kiddo.
Here's what to expect when I do return (which oughta be relatively soon): a rant on the Kiss Army, and a commentary on the current state of guitar in today's musical scene.
And with that, I bid you adieu.
Outgoing!
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Checking in for just a second of my precious summer time to let you know about my new passion, the Lyrical Hotbed, where you can find my all-time favorite song lyrics. Once more, thanks go out to Maggie for the inspiration. You're alright, kiddo.
Here's what to expect when I do return (which oughta be relatively soon): a rant on the Kiss Army, and a commentary on the current state of guitar in today's musical scene.
And with that, I bid you adieu.
Outgoing!
Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
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