The music world is so boring right now that it hurts. IT HURTS. There is nothing of note going on anywhere, unless you count a new album by the skankwhore that is Tweet, or Avril Lavigne going on tour, or now-old news of the drummer from Crowded House offing himself. (I love the song “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by the way, and “Something So Strong” was one of my favorite songs in third grade.)
But rather than skip this column or try to fill it with garbage news, I’ll address something else: ways that YOU, the reader, can help improve this column and all of the columns at Inside Pulse.
People send me emails. It’s a great thing, this “feedback,” this knowledge that someone out there is reading and that your hours upon hours upon hours (okay, not quite) of effort are bringing enjoyment to at least a handful of folks throughout this great beyond. While some only send emails to correct (believe me, I got the biggest laugh of all to myself when I realized I had written Ned Beatty instead of Warren Beatty last week. What a priceless error), there’s always a constant circle of folks who correspond at least once a month and remind me that they’re still reading. I might be slow to respond at times, what with my big responsibilities of being reviews editor and all (hah!), but I usually get around to it. I try not to take it for granted.
However, when one talks about a free site such as IP (free for the readers as well as free donations of time by the writers), it’s difficult to find motivation on both ends; for the readers to email, and for the writers to keep writing. One can flip through and read someone religiously for years without feeling the need to send a note. Meanwhile, lack of feedback can lead a writer to believe that nobody is reading their columns. And really, us writers have little else to fall back on. If we’re not talked about, what are we? What are our opinions worth? What is the point?
I’m not trying to blame the readers’ lack of communication as a reason why writers come and go. Hell, I’m sure the a rather large reason why some writers never hear a peep from anyone is because they don’t have much of an individual personality or that they simply don’t write anything fascinating enough to warrant a response. Such is the world of purely factual journalism, one where nobody looks at the byline because any schmuck with an interest and a bit of skill with the language could do the research and write the same thing. However, IP is primarily op/ed, and the fact that nobody out there might care about their opinions generally gets a bit discouraging, if not outright depressing.
So take a minute and email people whose articles you read. Tell them what you liked. Tell them what you didn’t like. Tell them why you continue to read them, and tell them what would drive you to stop reading. I would ask you to start a debate like this on our forums, but the threads would probably get deleted in 5.5 seconds by a certain moderator with no life other than policing the forums for anything which isn’t rated G. Sure, it might be good to get people talking about our columns — good OR bad — but apparently someone out there thinks we can’t handle that sort of civil discourse. So, instead, have a heart-to-heart with your writers of choice. If you treat a touchy matter with respect, chances are that you’ll get plenty of respect in return.
And don’t be afraid to email me just because I’m a girl.
Alice In Musicland
Right, this is supposed to be the section for music news. There is none.
NONE.
How sad is it that the only music-related stories currently making headlines are Michael Jackson’s molestation trial and Britney Spears’ potential pregnancy? Neither of these clowns are making music. They happen to be music-related celebrities, and that’s it.
I have already given my opinion on the creepiness that is MJ and the gold-diggingness of the accuser’s family. I haven’t said anything about Britney, but that’s mostly because I don’t really care. She’s put on a few pounds and she’s looking like a normal girl. Aside from her choices in clothing, anyway. I never thought there could be a way to wear all designer clothes and yet still look worse than any Wal-Mart shopping trailer trash. She eats Cheetos, she gets zits. If she didn’t, I would be wondering what sort of crazy genetic manipulations have been done in secret government offices.
Even perusing the world of metal, what’s going on? Bands are talking shit about each other, changing line-ups, planning tours, picking out cover art. Snore. Although aside from a former drummer for Trouble, at least no giant pile of musicians have been keeling over like many other celebrities in the past week. I suppose that should make us happy.
Happy, of course, unless you’re trying to write about music news.
Alright, that’s it. With no music news, I will just babble about other cool things:
Hey, she’s music-related. I named her after the vocalist for The Gathering.
Band vs. Band
This is the last of old writings of mine that I have to steal from, so hopefully next time around, I’m feeling all hyperactive and creative. Here’s Prince vs. Michael Jackson, with one catch. THIS IS 1980s ONLY. Otherwise, it would be pretty damned pathetic.
Yeah, you heard me. Prince and Michael Jackson both sucked once they left the wonderful decade of sparkle and smiles. Oh, sure, it wasn’t until maybe 1992 or so that they really went down the toilet, but it’s amusing considering how huge they once were. There was a time when insulting the King of Pop or the Purple one was a death wish, where one could expect the wrath of thousands.
They both came blazing from the ’70s. Prince was carrying on a funk tradition with even more of a sexual twist than his predecessors. Prince, in fact, was downright dirty. But that’s okay, people were ready for it. Well, maybe not Tipper Gore, who took a particular disliking to “Darling Nikki,” but then again, this was pretty new ground for a mainstream artist.
The hits. Where to begin? Prince doesn’t have a 2-disc Greatest Hits collection for nothing. “Little Red Corvette.” “1999.” “When Doves Cry.” “U Got The Look.” That’s SO the tip of the iceberg. And let’s also not forget that Prince wrote some of the other greatest hits of the decade: “Manic Monday” for The Bangles, “Nothing Compares 2 U” for Sinead O’Connor, and all those protoges. BA-BAM!
Prince was all about controversy — he even wrote a song about it. And he was all about sex — I still remember my mom suddenly deciding I wasn’t old enough to watch “Purple Rain” on HBO, and deciding we wouldn’t be allowed to watch MTV after seeing the video for “Kiss.” And I loved Prince the whole time. Not in the I-wanna-have-wild-monkey-sex kinda way, because I was pretty young, but in the way that inspired me to change the lyrics of “Raspberry Beret” to “Strawberry Shortcake” and singing about my kickass dolls.
But there was one who was much bigger than Prince in the ’80s, and I’m not making a height joke, either. He was The Gloved One. He was Not Billie Jean’s Lover. He was… Michael.
I’ll never forget first and second grade, where all the girls loved Michael Jackson. Everyone had those silly red zipper leather jackets, and the big styles were those BMX biker gloves that had the fingertips cut out and legwarmers. Michael Jackson OWNED my grade school. I think I was the only person who didn’t own Thriller. I remember staying overnight at this girl Kim’s house, and us jumping on her bed while listening to the album, Kim twisting her ankle, and us making makeshift crutches from folding chairs. What a blast.
And the music, oh it was pretty damned good, too. I shouldn’t overlook Off The Wall but I’m going to anyway. Thriller was where it was at. “Billie Jean,” “Beat It,” “Thriller”… there quite literally was nothing that could compete with it. And what did Michael come up with after that? Bad, which had some other brilliant songs like “The Way You Make Me Feel,” “Dirty Diana,” and… well, “Bad.” He STILL owned everything. And to top it all off, he had to go be Mr. Sensitive Guy and do “We Are The World,” the pinnacle of the ’80s. Damned Michael, he truly reigned as King of Pop.
What can I say, the ’80s just completely ruled for good pop music.
And then came… the 1990s. Heh heh heh.
Although this is an ’80s piece, my wicked side can’t help but delve into what the ’90s did to these two brilliant artists. Prince got all whiney about his record contract and changed his name to THIS:
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…pronounced BOY, THAT DID HIS CAREER A WORLD OF GOOD, HUH?
And Michael Jackson, ohhhhh man. He married Lisa Marie Presley, he turned white, he got wacky with some little boys, he erected a giant statue of himself for a commercial, he’s more plastic than Barbie. My god, there was just no limit to the stupidity.
It’s pretty amazing these two brilliant, diverse, and enterprising stars would just FLUSH THEIR ENTIRE CAREERS DOWN THE TOILET AND TARNISH THEIR NAMES FOR LIFE, but they both did it. Quite tragic, really. They could’ve taken some lessons from Madonna about how not to FUCK UP EVERYTHING THEY’VE EVER HAD.
Anyway, back the the ’80s. Michael Jackson, of course, was more popular, made more money, has more worldwide recognition, and most certainly can dance better. However, Prince writes all of his own songs and actually plays instruments. Michael saves the children and feeds the world while Prince makes innocent little girls into sex kittens and big stars. Michael had a pet chimp and had rumors circulating about him sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber. Prince was weird too, but at least he never had a smellyass monkey.
My personal opinion is tainted because I own Prince CDs yet do not own any MJ discs. Michael’s hits fit on one disc of his HISstory set, but Prince needed two. And I never thought Michael was cute, but at least I could appreciate Prince’s oozing sexuality.
To this day, I don’t understand what the whole Michael Jackson hysteria is all about. Yeah, Thriller was a good album with some great tunes. But everything since then cannot compare in the least. Prince kept a solid popularity throughout the ’80s and into the early ’90s, including penning megahits for other artists. MJ is a dancer, Prince is a musician. And even though the ’80s without Michael leaves a gap, the ’80s without Prince would be downright empty.
Prince takes the prize, baby.
File Under…
Since hair bands have a big topic of conversation lately (and apparently there is a hair band battle royale of sorts on the forums), I figured I would take this opportunity to break down the sub-sub-genres of hair bands.
Yes, you read that right.
See, during the time period of approximately 1985-1992, there were a host of bands whose careers heavily depended on their looks. However, one would never confuse Poison with Jackyl, as it were. As metal fans tend to heavily discriminate among themselves, even so-called hair bands were sub-classified; often this was done merely to avoid the tag “hair band,” but in the end, we all know what they were.
The first big distinction is glam metal as a true offshoot of hair metal. Glam came from bands like T-Rex and Sweet who valued a pretty-boy look as being fundamental to the music itself. Looking at a band like Motely Crue will give you the perfect, shining example of how glam became a part of the hard rock scene. This would further be taken to extremes by some of the fluffiest hair bands ever: Poison, Faster Pussycat, Enuff Z’Nuff, et al.
There was another element to hair bands, and those were the dirtier-looking guys who had the hair but were more concerned with the “metal” aspect of the moniker; most of these artists would prefer to be called simply “hard rock” because they don’t hold much of the glam aspect of hair metal, but it never really works out that way. Skid Row, Extreme, Ugly Kid Joe, Mr. Big, and Tesla tend to fall into this category. In fact, most of these bands really had more talent than a lot of their comrades, but just happened to fit the scene because they somewhat looked the part and somewhat matched the music style.
The majority of hair bands fall somewhere between extreme glam and hard rock, hence the “hair metal” moniker. Slaughter, Warrant, and Winger definitely weren’t glam and certainly weren’t pure hard-rock legit. Ratt, Great White, Firehouse, White Lion, Dokken, Europe, Steelheart… they’re the majority here.
But there’s another trough where many of these bands get tossed, and that’s the “cheese metal” category. Not a true genre by any stretch, this is often reserved for bands who were clearly cashing in solely on their looks with awful music and terrible musicianship; bands who only got a record deal because at the time, A&R reps were signing anyone and anything near the Sunset Strip. These are the truly laughable albums that don’t stand up whatsoever over time, and ones which typically embarrass anyone when they’re found in their record collection. Bands like Dirty Looks, Britny Fox, Bulletboys, Vinnie Vincent Invasion, Danger Danger, and Pretty Boy Floyd are typically only sought after nowadays for a laugh. I know when I’m looking for comedy, I pull out Danger Danger’s “Slipped Her The Big One” or “Horny S.O.B.”
Gloomchen Fact: I have eight scrapbooks of clippings from metal magazines through my junior high school years.
My Opinion Matters
As if I don’t regularly distribute my opinion often enough throughout this column, I would like to take some time to talk about Fiona Apple.
What a retarded, skinny bitch. I’ll be the first one to say I absolutely loved Tidal. Sometime after that, it seems she either developed one seriously mean coke habit or stopped eating altogether and her body turned to eating her brain matter for sustenance. She tiraded on an awards show about the world being bullshit. Thanks, little girl, for that astute and educated ascertation. She ran around half-naked, gaunt, and Ethiopean Poster Child-like in her video for “Criminal,” while carrying on about women being looked at as objects. And absolutely do not get me started on the 90-word title of her second album, henceforth known simply as “When The Pawn…” as if it were some sort of super-intellectual art statement. Hon, that’s called pretention, which is hilarious considering you have no reason to even think you’re remotely above any of the rest of us.
I love her voice. It’s deep and smoky and one of the few female voices out there who challenges the low end of my range. Her piano artistry is also absolutely luscious. Still, ability to sing and play does not a great songwriter make. Her lyrics were never top-shelf but certainly above-average; with fame, this greatly diminished to the point of being nothing but art for art’s sake. Apparently, her label agrees with me, since they have indefinitely shelved her third effort, Extraordinary Machine.
I just listened to the never-to-be-released album. (What, it’s the internet; can’t call it pirating if they’re not planning to sell it, right?) There’s one word that describes the entire mess: meandering. While it’s typical of her work to be rather non-distinct from itself, I can honestly say that the only things I remember from the album are her wailing randomly at inappropriate moments and a lot of random staccato. While I’m familiar with arty musicianship and appreciate its existence and purpose, I have no idea if this qualifies as such. She didn’t break new ground; she simply took what she’s been doing and removed any mainstream and marketable qualities. Does that mean she’s being challenging and growing as an artist, or does it simply mean that she’s completely lost the ability to understand coherent songwriting vs. avant-garde? Yet I wouldn’t call it avant-garde, because there’s enough coherence that it doesn’t seem abstract or daring enough to truly challenge popular music.
I’m sorry. I just re-read that last paragraph, and I think if anyone else had written it, it would nearly make my brain explode. If you want to know what type of in-depth subjects not to discuss with me at a friendly, laid-back gathering, surely music critique isn’t one of them. Total buzzkill.
The Rad Ones
I know who isn’t rad; people who can’t keep their internet fighting separate from real life. People, I have lost two jobs due to things I have written on the Internet that were deliberately given to my employers for the sole purpose of f*cking up my christmas. For what? To win an Internet grudge match, aka the Special Olympics? If you’re ever truly upset about someone online who said something nasty about you, trust me: fair retribution is not trying to destroy their livelihoods. It’s just the f*cking Internet; taking a blow to the ego does not compare to taking a blow to your home or paycheck. If I can survive my boobs being posted on a rather large website as a means of revenge, then I think anyone else out there can survive some negative words being spoken about them. And if you can’t? If you seriously need to go above and beyond? Just one little phrase for you: get a f*cking life, man. Ever leave the house, ever leave your computer? Try it sometime. Those people walking around outside aren’t talking shit about you… yet.
That felt good. LINKS!
Wanna come to my housewarming party?
FERNANDEZ: Cracked my ass UP this week. I gotta say, sometimes, it’s difficult thinking of interesting ways to pimp others. This guy has turned it into an art form of the highest level. I won’t even try to compete with that.
MATHAN: Rips off Totally True Tune Tales. But that’s awesome, because I love personal stories. I love getting to know the other writers above and beyond their op/ed opinions. We’re PEOPLE! LOVE US!
D’ERRICO: As reviews editor, I gotta hand it to Tom. He fills the gaps that us other slackers leave behind. Never mind that he reviewed some very decent metal this past week, discs that have made me smile.
POPE: Lots of people have died. The Pope was one of them. He had the same birthday as me! We were both Taureans! STUBBORN, LOYAL, and SENSUAL, INDEED! Uhhh, about that last one…
LUCARD: This article doesn’t really exist.
MICHAELANGELO: I would like to pretend I’m linking this because it’s about Metallica and thus relevant to my column, but nah. I’m shilling because I make a guest appearance. LOVE ME, DAMMIT!
ME AGAIN: I review The Shield! Did you know that? How could you miss it? It’s the only television show I watch, and I say that entirely without exaggeration.
Outro
I have been on a lyric-quoting rampage here in the ol’ Outro lately.
This one might make ya wonder. From the greatest riot grrls out of Minnesota…
Gretel said I know what’s in your head
I vacuumed out my head
I know you’re feeling bad you f*cking bitch you cunthole bitch
I thought she meant it yeah
She really jacked my head
She went and done it, yeah
Handsome Gretel
My name is Gretel, yeah
I’ve got a crotch that talks
And talks to all their cocks
It’s been 12 city blocks you f*cking bitch
Gretel said oh you feel so bad
I know you feel so bad
I thought she meant it, yeah
Handsome Gretel
Ahaha…
I vacuumed out my head
Jumping from bed to bed my name is Gretel
A soul of metal
My name is Gretel, yeah
I’ve got a sloppy slot
Handsome Gretel
Say violets hang around with toilets and look smack at us
And symbolize everything that is disgust and mistrust
Licorice eyes
Pin me down
Thighs
Asphixia
My thighs are vices yeah
He is a stupid man
I love him all I can you f*cking bitch
Addle girl
She pulls out all her curls
She is a stupid crotch
That’s been 12 city blocks
Until next week.
To much disdain, her brain remained to think thoughts all axe and maim,
–gloomchen
