[Editor’s note: I’ve been under the weather lately, so I thought I would repurpose a music-related humor piece I wrote during my early days as a blogger.]
LOS ANGELES—Pop vocalists Corey Hart and Sammy Hagar received citations for their roles in a head-on collision on Interstate 5 early this morning.
Corey Hart (left) and Sammy Hagar
According to reports filed by officers of the California Highway Patrol (aka CHiPs), Hart was traveling northbound in the southbound lanes of the multilane highway around 1:30 a.m. Officers observed that Hart seemed to be in full control of all of his faculties, and no drugs or alcohol were found in his 1992 Ford Taurus or on his person.
He was, however, wearing sunglasses, which officers believe was a contributing factor in the crash.
Oncoming drivers avoided Hart for nearly a mile, according to witness statements. However, Hart’s luck ran out when Hagar came roaring down the freeway in his 1989 Pontiac Grand Prix at speeds well over 55 miles per hour.
“Hart’s nighttime use of dark lenses coupled with Hagar’s inability to operate a motor vehicle at reasonable speeds, that’s a bad mix,” said CHP spokesman Randy Baddington. “Kinda like a mixtape featuring Corey Hart and Sammy Hagar is a bad idea.”
Hart and Hagar collided, but miraculously neither rocker suffered serious injury. Hagar was cited for refusing to drive 55, despite his insistence that he is simply incapable of doing such; Hart was nabbed for wearing his sunglasses at night.
“Hart was a little surprised to receive a ticket—he went as far as to ask if I was kidding,” said CHP officer Sean Tavin. “I reassured him that I knew better than to masquerade with the guy in shades.”
The better half is busting my balls to go to Disney World sometime soon, before our son loses interest in such festive fun. The boy already listens to Crystal Castles and Sigur Ros, so a typical childhood may not be in the cards, at least from an entertainment perspective. (Plus, in my opinion, Disney World is nothing more than an overhyped Adventureland, amiright?)
Apparently the Rodent knows that my son’s musical leanings mirror mine, so he rolled out this gem of a T-shirt: the Waves Mickey Mouse, inspired by the cover of the Joy Division album Unknown Pleasures.
I was making a mix the other day, one that incorporated “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” and I said to myself, “What would be the perfect transition song from Joy Division? A song that will continue the melancholy of Ian Curtis?” Naturally I landed on “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” so this shirt design makes perfect fucking sense.
Unless the next episode of Playhouse Disney involves Daisy carving the lyrics from “Atmosphere” into her torso or Goofy dangling broken-necked from the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse rafters, I’m calling hipster-baiting capitalist-greed bullshit on the Mouse. What’s next, a re-creation of Jane’s Addiction’s Ritual de lo Habitual cover with Mickey, Minnie, and Clarabelle lying naked and intertwined?
Bad form, Mouse. You’ve only strengthened my resolve to avoid your brand of theme-park fun!
(If you’re an asshole and want to buy this shirt, visit the Disney site.)
I ate fried chicken this weekend with my fellow MoSS? CEO before playing some cards and catching the new episode of Saturday Night Live. The poultry was not procured from Flav’s Chicken Shack. But I’m going to paraphrase Flavor Flav (and Perez Hilton, as it turns out) all the same: the weekend of Jan. 14-15 was one where the hype could not be believed, thanks to the wonders of live television.
Lana Del Rey—the girl whose first album came out two years ago under her real name, Lizzie Grant, with the title of Lana Del Rey, an album that was quickly pulled from iTunes—hyperventilated her way through her Internet hit tune, “Video Games,” on Saturday Night Live on the 14th. (It was a bad omen when Daniel Radcliffe flubbed the simple introduction.) She got behind on the first verse, threw in some nonsense ad-libs, and forced Todd to look for the silver lining in the performance for the next hour or so while I sat there in a world of disapppointment and our wives railed against the performance/discussed a comparison to Bette Midler (Todd’s and mine, respectively).
It was the tipping point in the delicate style-over-substance tightrope walk she’d been walking for months. I’ve been skeptical ever since seeing how Pitchfork chose to present photo coverage from a live event. And even more so after seeing the video for her forthcoming album’s title track, “Born to Die,” which features Lana “hunkering down” with some dude who could easily have “American Apparel model” on his résumé before he apparently kills her and sets his own car on fire (or something like that). The first time I heard “Video Games,” I found myself quite impressed; now I’m asking, “Can anyone possibly take her seriously for much longer?”
She did recently sign a modeling contract, which makes me think that this singing thing is like Michael Jordan playing minor league baseball for a bit. It was worth a shot and a lot of people paid attention to it. Eventually Jordan went back to doing what he did well (directing a ball through a circle); soon she’ll be doing what she does with ease (looking good).
I suppose that’s one big reason her career hyperdrive was engaged, because, damn, she’s easy on the eyes. But she’s apparently very conscious of every last eye that falls on her, because she looked extremely uncomfortable up there. And my hyperventilation comment is not some bit of hyperbole; it truly looked like she was gassed by the second verse of “Video Games.” But before anyone should feel sorry for Lizzie, it would seem her looks are a big part of what Lana and her team use to gain attention. Meanwhile, fellow Internet sensation Abel Tesfaye (a.k.a. The Weeknd) released three mixtapes in a calendar year, all to at least modest acclaim (the first to very favorable reviews), but for the longest time people didn’t even know the dude’s identity, much less what he looked like. People were left with nothing but the music: nearly 30 songs full of smart sampling, inspired vocals, and lyrics that painted the clearest picture of a hazy party world.
I’ll probably give Born to Die a listen once it hits Spotify, but with 1/100th of the enthusiasm I had last summer. Somewhere I believe the band Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (remember those guys, blogosphere?) is nodding solemnly about the situation Ms. Grant/Del Rey finds herself.
Lana wasn’t alone in her live TV misery this weekend, and unless she went out and role-played that “Born to Die” video after SNL, she probably is the least sore of this group of fallen stars:
Tim Tebow. He completed three passes in the first half of the Broncos game against the Patriots. Counterpart (devil!) Tom Brady completed five passes for touchdowns in the same amount of time. The Patriots outrushed the Broncos, thanks in part to New England TIGHT END Aaron Hernandez rushing for 61 yards, and tacked on nearly 400 yards of passing. The other New England tight end (the one who takes photos with porn stars) caught three touchdowns from Tom Terrific. Tebow ran for a paltry 13 yards and was limited to 136 yards passing. Everyone who made such a big fucking deal about Tebow throwing for 316 yards last week (as in John 3:16!!!!) should note that the Evil Lord Belichick simply rearranged those numbers, causing Tebow to have a below-average game of 136 yards. (And if my Bible study recollection is accurate, the Book of Belichick, Chapter 1, Verse 36 reads “Whilst one’s abstinence can be commended, my quarterback fucks the lady Gisele, and still the gods allow him to accurately throw an eight-yard hook and complete a 12-yard out route at will.”) In this battle of good versus evil, the hoodied reaper reopened a book of revelations about Tebow: he actually really pretty much sucks. Not as a person, but as a quarterback in the National Football League.
The New Orleans Saints. It’s so cute how they let that little boy stand in the middle of the Saints huddle, with real shoulder pads and jersey on, and lead the pregame chants! Look at him bouncing around with the players, so full of energy, so spunky, so…oh, wait, that’s Drew Brees. The NFL’s new passing yardage champ’s enthusiasm couldn’t conquer the road playoff curse of the Saints, even though the 49ers defense did its best to give the game away down the stretch. Yet the Saints allowed the game-winning TD with 9 seconds to go, giving San Fran another “The Catch” moment (I guess) and the Brothers Harbaugh hope for a Super Bowl showdown on Feb. 5. The NFC Harbaugh might hold up his end of the bargain, as the Niners will host the NFC title game, all thanks to…
The Fucking Green Fucking Bay Fucking Packers. My favorite team won 15 games this year, against only two losses. How great for those players! Except that one of those losses came in the single-elimination fun known as the PLAYOFFS! (And the other was against the Chiefs, which is almost as bad, really.) Dropped passes (nothing new, really) were coupled with a string of fumbles (even cult hero John Kuhn had his first career fumble) and the failure to defend a halftime Hail Mary touchdown pass. And the inability to tackle. Or cover receivers on third and long. Or convert fourth down. Or resist the urge to try an onside kick after tying the game at 10. Or whatever the fuck else. Aaron Rodgers was off the mark too, although his running kept the Pack alive for much of the game.
I’m convinced this is State Farm’s fault. Fucking commercials (which I found funny until Sunday evening).
Watching Green Bay suck it up against the Giants pretty much looked like this:
This guy got a Tosh.0 Web Redemption out of his shame. Maybe we’ll see Lana Del Rey on there soon.
This photo might as well adorn the back of a milk carton.
NEWMARKET, Ontario—The Canadian band Glass Tiger’s worst fears have become a reality: despite pleading for fans to not forget the five musicians when they’re gone, most people do not recall the band’s existence.
The average music fan was unable to identify the band by name when played a snippet of “Don’t Forget Me (When I’m Gone),” even though Glass Tiger topped the charts with that song, and collected a grand total of five Juno Awards (whatever those might be) in the mid-1980s.
“Um, um, Bryan Adams!” guessed Susie Brinks, 36, who was wearing a Corey Hart “World Tour ’87″ t-shirt at the time of the on-the-street interview. “I’d never forget that. I had a huge crush on him…and Howard Jones, if you want full disclosure.”
Although Adams did sing backup vocals on “Don’t Forget Me,” it seems fair to say that Brinks had indeed forgotten Glass Tiger, as she confessed when the answer was revealed.
“Who?” she asked.
In other results:
42-year-old Jake Rima thought the tune was sung by White Lion, which delivered winning tunes such as “Wait” and “When the Children Cry” during the late 1980s. “At least I was in the same realm of the animal kingdom,” Rima said.
Jenny Timcook, 34, said that as a young girl, she and the neighborhood kids would give “air band” performances of this song and others such as the Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” and Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?” When pressed for the band who sang the song, Timcook replied, “As far as I’m concerned, that song will always belong to ‘Jenny and the Leg Warmers.’”
Stephen Kimm, 33, punched the interviewer in the face and was charged with simple assault.
Members of Glass Tiger were to be contacted for comment, but Music or Space Shuttle? reporters forgot to call them.
And in a related story, Brit-rockers The Outfield have lost your love. This does appear to be an accidental occurrence; in the past, the band repeatedly stated they did not want to lose your love (tonight, to be more specific). Insiders believe the loss may have coincided with the return of Josie, who had been vacationing far away.
While Todd is busy listening to a new song by the Wusses, er, the Shins, yours truly was rockin’ out with his cock out (well, not really, fortunately for my work colleagues) to “Tattoo,” the new ditty from VAN FUCKING HALEN. If you dare, click the video below…
Um…well, I never said it was great.
“Tattoo” (which makes the bold move of including the word “dragon” within its chorus) is a bit benign. The video is sorta odd and boring at once. Odd because at times the vocals don’t sync with Diamond Dave’s mouth movements. Odd because Wolfgang is holding Michael Anthony’s place as the stocky guy on bass, but without the solid backing vocals. Odd because DLR dances around like he’s trapped in an old Jamiroquai video. And boring because the song just doesn’t blister like VH did during the heyday.
All the same, if Van Halen is going to try some new tunes with three classic members, it might as well be Dave, Eddie, and Alex (and the latter’s thousands of cymbals). Dave might not be able to bring the vocals like he used to, but his singing was never the main asset; being a frontman is in his DNA, and he still has charisma. And if nothing else, this new song brought back some fond memories that involve the Halen.
In no particular order, my favorite Van Halen moments from my life:
Finding a casette of 1984 and keeping it. Someone at St. Patrick’s Grade School must have dropped it on the playground. I spotted the white plastic rectangle, approached it hoping it was something like “People Are People” by Depeche Mode, saw it was that album with “Panama” (the greatest American rock song EVER), surveyed the area for any nosy nuns, and stuck the tape in my Super Denim pocket. (And I never said anything about it at confession. Ha!) And it was on. Phrases such as “I don’t feel tardy” and “Got an on-ramp going through my bedroom” entered that vast wasteland in my brain reserved for AWESOME SONG LYRICS. I played air guitar (behind my head, no less!) in my bedroom while “House of Pain” flew out of my JCPenney stereo speakers. I flaunted the air drums during the “Hot for Teacher” intro and the “Girl Gone Bad” outro. But even then I was a bit of a hipster snob: I never thought “Jump” was that great of a song.
A Microsoft Paint rendering of what The Cool Guys' Club sign looked like in 1986.
Painting the VH logo on our neighborhood clubhouse sign. A few “toughs” residing in northeast Waukon banded together to form a neighborhood gang called, fittingly, “The Cool Guys’ Club.” This was done without irony—it was 1986 and the gang’s members ranged in age of 8 to 12. We had a “clubhouse,” which was actually random planks of wood nailed haphazardly across some low-hanging tree branches. And we nailed a sign to the tree. The sign announced our group’s moniker. The word “The” started in the upper-left corner, and each word descended gradually toward the lower-right, where “Club” landed. I thought the sign was cool, but not cool enough. So I painted the legendary “VH” logo in the upper-right corner. Within days the sign was vandalized and The Cool Guys’ Club’s mojo never really returned. But for those 96 hours or whatever, it was the coolest thing going in the 200 block of Sixth Avenue NE.
Playing air guitar to the intro of “Panama” while driving, annoying the Brothers Schneden. On the way home from visiting Platteville, Wis., to see the Chicago Bears work out at training camp, my friends Travis and Corey Schneden and I listened to one of my infamous “This CD-R Sucks!” mixes. “Panama” was one of the standout tracks on Volume Three. The best part about air guitaring this song? The part where Eddie slides his fingers across the fretboard after the initial few notes, because you can extend that slide right out the driver’s side window if you’re REALLY into it. Which I was, although the Schnedens were not, based on their eye rolls and utterances of “God, you’re dumb.” They were not in The Cool Guys’ Club.
Joining BMG and getting the eponymous debut album as one of my introductory cassettes. Arriving along with stuff like Vixen’s self-titled debut and Bon Jovi’s New Jersey was this awesome collections of tunes, highlighted by “Atomic Punk,” “Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love,” and “I’m the One,” songs I like quite a bit today, truth be told. (The same can’t be said about Vixen or Bon Jovi.) And the aforementioned Brothers Schneden and I would endless annoy their sister Jami by singing the song “Jamie’s Cryin'” to the point where she wanted to settle things with fisticuffs. The tale of the tape showed that I had all the advantages (age, height, weight, reach) but I knew I was deficient in the intangibles (the blind rage of someone teased mercilessly by her older brothers and their even older friend) so I gave it a rest and probably went back to playing Travis (a.k.a. “The Beast”) in some Nintendo game.
Blaring the opening of “Good Enough” (HELLO, BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABY! [guitar screech]) on my boom box. Always a crowd pleaser when you and your friends are 12.
Realizing the acronym of For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. Huh-huh! Huh-huh! (And feeling good about the decision made at OU812 not to buy any more new material by the band.)
And most recently, seeing Episode 9 of the show Yacht Rock. The story of how Doobies producer Ted Templeman decided to produce Van Halen albums. What they did with the doo-wop breakdown of “I’m the One” and the incorporation of Kenny Loggins’ keys are priceless comedy ingredients. (Big ups to Timothy Davis for bringing this to my attention.) Watch the episode below (you could skip to the 0:38 mark and not miss anything).
I’ve lived a good life, no? Thanks for random moments of joy, Dave, Eddie, Alex, and that other guy…and even Sammy.
Every now and again, my family would leave Waukon (the county seat of Allamakee County) and visit my mom’s sister’s family. My cousin Josh was the coolest kid I knew. Being two years my senior, he had infinite wisdom when it came to cool music, and he lived in Burlington, which seemed truly metropolitan compared with the ‘Kon, which meant actual record stores or at least a better selection of department stores.
Anyway, one trip in 1987 had a tremendous impact. He busted out some old Memorex tapes, and gave me the following albums:
Beastie Boys, Licensed to Ill
Metallica, Ride the Lightning
Metallica, Garage Days Re-revisited
Descendents, Liveage!
Slayer, Reign in Blood
The Cure, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me
And from that moment, the era preceding this gift became known as BMCJMMC (Before My Cousin Josh Made Me Cooler). During that era, most of my music purchases fell into three categories:
Respected (Prince and the Revolution, Madonna)
Unfairly maligned (Duran Duran—I will fight this fight until the day I die)
Um, well, I was in grade school (Paul Young! Billy Ocean! “We Are the World”! Big Bam Boom-era Hall & Oates! “Sussudio”! And pretty much everything else I bought…)
So I thought it might be fun to look back at the stuff I liked before Josh high-speed dubbed me into a reasonable realm of coolness, to see if there was anything redeemable about the stuff I listened to. And why not start with Wham!? My friends from St. Patrick’s Grade School might remember them from the folder I had for social studies class.
Yeah, so my favorite song by Wham! was “Everything She Wants,” perhaps because vocalist George Michael uses the word “hell” in the first verse. Or perhaps because it wasn’t as bubblegum as “Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)” or as saxy as “Careless Whisper.”
Or maybe it was the video?
Or maybe not. Let’s break down this cinematic masterpiece.
0:33 mark: the frozen extreme close-ups of our two heroes. George looks constipated; Andrew looks dumb.
0:55: George is glowing.
[there’s a lot going on in the next few seconds]
1:33: Andrew Ridgeley extreme close-up. Awkward! But it did showcase his most important contributions to the band, other than spinning around with a guitar that obviously wasn’t plugged in to the sound system (he wasn’t getting tangled up in a cord as he twirled around): “ah ha ah, ah ha ah, oh oh oh, oh oh oh, ah hah ah, ah hah ah, do-do-do da da da da-da!”
1:36: someone on stage does the Crane Kick move (a la Ralph Macchio). Did Mr. Miyagi give these guys the tutelage, much less permission, to execute such a maneuver? Bad form, Wham!
1:38: Andrew is giving an awful lot of hip action to his guitar playing. And with George a little too close for comfort, I might add.
2:03: George and Andrew’s synchronized spinning routine. Who choreographed that move? And I’m embarrassed for the audience, which is acting like the fucking Beatles are on stage or something at that moment. They’re screaming like schoolgirls because a couple of mulleted Brits are spinning?
2:22: Andrew extreme close-up totally breaks the mood that George has worked to create. It’s going to take some serious sass from George to get back the vibe.
3:02: see commentary at 1:33.
3:17: a woman’s hand emerges from behind the blanketed George. Oh, the irony. His disinterest, however, is foreshadowing at its finest.
4:05: see commentary at 1:33.
4:19: the launch of Andrew Ridgeley (or some other brunette-mullet dude) into the air as the background singers gaze upward in awe; a flip is executed, with a delayed copycat flip soon to follow; and then the guy sticks the landing, doing a pose reminiscent of Daniel-san’s aforementioned Crane Kick move. The 1980s asked us to just love goofy shit without asking questions, but this sequence cannot go unchecked.
4:47: a running-in-place routine. I guess the spinning was too much for the lads.
5:25: I stand corrected—more spinning!
5:35: see commentary at 1:33.
5:50: another flip! I get it, this is obviously the extended remix of the song, but didn’t they have any other b-roll footage to intersperse, rather than going back to the well on the gymnastics?
5:52: one of those “3 Men and a Baby” ghost deals. Look at the lower right corner as the flipping guy starts his descent. There’s a face! Who is he? Why is he ogling the flipping guy? Is he alive or an apparition? This is intriguing…and/or evidence of poor production values.
At first listen, this may seem like just good background music. After subsequent listens, songs like “Before” and “You and I” start to stand out and become the soundtrack to your day.
Chris: The Weeknd, House of Balloons
This album redefines cool and groovy (different from how Ken defines it in Toy Story 3, to be sure). Sampling Siouxsie and Beach House, creating a hazy vibe, and inspiring sexy videos such as the one for “What You Need.”
I was a bit put off by the first single from the album, “Vomit.” Grudgingly, I listened to the rest of the album and found a great rock record. I guess you can still make a good record with guitars, drums, and distortion. The song “Die” is a great example.
Chris: Cut Copy, Zonoscope
This album was the early pacesetter for 2011. I eventually favored other releases, but I still enjoy going back to songs like “Take Me Over” for the 458th time.
My most anticipated release this year. Tracks began filtering out in June. “Keep You” was my “Song of the Summer” and kept me appeased until the October release.
Chris: Neon Indian, Era Extraña
If only the experience of this sophisticated album would have translated during his recent Iowa City show (it was at the Union Bar, and Kreayshawn [!] opened).
Music or Space Shuttle? 