Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Music Month Ends With a Splash

It’s not terribly Gheorghey to dwell in the negative like this, but if we are indeed dedicated to the premise that life should be taken less seriously, then it fits that we will continue to tear down the arrogant icons of the world (not to mention friends of ours) for their acts of self-important jackassery. It’s what we do.

And so, with Music Month drawing to a close, we feel we must present

Gheorghe: The Blog’s list of

The 20 Biggest Douches in Rock and Roll

[Editor’s Note: For reasons of brevity, we’re excluding record company owners, execs, promoters, critics, and even producers. It’s common knowledge that nearly every one of these roles is filled by humans of staggeringly over-inflated self-worth. From the murderous Phil Spector to the worse Suge Knight to . . . really, almost all of them, there are too many to mention, and it’d be worthy of a post here if we could actually find a few good seeds.

We’re also sticking to people who are still alive. You know, on the off-chance they Google themselves. Which means Ike Turner gets off really easy.]

Here we go…

Honorable Mention: Bono, John Lydon, Henry Rollins

Pretentious; arse-style over kick-arse substance; and a fight-picker. But I actually enjoy each of these guys despite the feathers they ruffle. They aren't on the list.

20. Lou Reed
Almost an “honorable mention” because I listen to his music and I laugh at what he says, but Lou Reed is something of an all-time douche in rock history. He speaks his mind, and most of what’s on his mind is how much better he is than you. Which is often true. It’s a tricky thing, being a rock genius (trust me), so where to draw the line when Jagger, Lennon, Townshend, and the aforementioned Paul Hewson all had egos understandably swell to moon-bounce status is difficult. The guy dubbed “Lee Rude” makes the list, but at #20.

19. Sting
Sting and his tantric antics were out of the relevant spotlight for a while, then popped back up a couple of years ago on the Police Reunion Tour to remind folks what an irascible pain in the ass he is. It’d be called “justifiable homicide” if Stewart Copeland beat him to death. Note to Gordo: a man’s sexual escapades should not last longer than his entire set at the Verizon Center. He's more of a "prick," but he'll do just fine here in the Douche Capades.

18. Yngwie Malmsteen
True Confession: I’ve never heard an entire composition by this cat. I do like saying his name, though. But according to G:TB’s crack team of beat reporters, aka three guys with internet access, the Swede is a superlative douchecock in the arena of neo-classical metal guitar (stifle the laughter, boys), even insulting “real” guitar legends with a high frequency. Internet Search Result: "Yngwie Malmsteen is the biggest fucking asshole ever." Yngwie!

17. Courtney Love
What does it say when Courtney’s on this list and Yoko’s not? (It might say that Yoko’s not rock and roll.) In truth, I’ve liked some of Love’s music, she has gone through some shit, and I don’t mind her antics all that much. But she has made a continual public nuisance of herself over the years (although she has called out several people on this list, which we like), and her shtick tends to reek of talentless social climber. "Abrasive" is a term perpetually associated with this she-douche. "Bitch" is another, less gentle one. Is the new BNL song “Be My Courtney Love” that far off?

16. Prince
See the Lou Reed entry, and multiply by 10. “Genius” is a strong word best left to tongue-in-cheek usage by non-douches like the late Warren Zevon, but if it applies to any rock musicians, Prince is in the conversation. Genius, sadly, almost always goes hand in hand with eccentricity and peculiarity, and the Purple One is no exception. But when bizarre becomes big-headed, where reclusive oddity begets sheer greed, “that’s just how he is” no longer suffices. The name change, the suit of Sony, the deviant sex appetites, the thing where you only ever listen to your own music . . . fine. The uber-douchy lawsuit against the artists who got together and did a tribute album for your 50th birthday, and the ensuing demand that all copies of the music be destroyed . . . douche. And Kevin Smith’s long story (read it) about weirdness, warpedness, arrogance, and zero gratitude says it all.

15. R. Kelly
This douchenozzle is an accused child molester, and we’re not talking about just one count. Plus, he allegedly urinated on a 14-year-old girl while he was having sex with her. He was never convicted, so it’s not entirely fair that this pederast's name appears here. Gheorghe: The Vigilante Justice. Yeah!

14. Diana Ross
It’s fairly common knowledge (or accepted rumor, whichever) that Berry Gordy made Diana the queen Supreme because she was the hottest and he was nailing her, not because she had the best voice of the trio. The story goes that “Miss Ross” (as she makes folks call her) achieved fame and wealth not merely through her singing talent, but through conniving, manipulation, quite a bit of sexual ladder-climbing, and generally extreme douchery. The Ghost of Florence Ballard now haunting her, she’s left to self-medicate, get arrested and have Teejay point us to her appearances on The Smoking Gun.

13. Don Henley
Yep, he was the most successful songwriter and musician in the Eagles – and beyond the Eagles. But that band was a collective of talent through and through, and to be a me-first guy in that outfit is extreme arrogance. As Denis Leary said, “I got two words for Don Henley: Joe Fucking Walsh, okay!?” Granted, Glenn Frey and Don Felder have exhibited much the same level of doucheitude, but Henley’s reputation tops theirs: that of a humorless, insufferable crankpot who sues first and asks questions later. He was also a part of the Artists’ Coalition that supported prosecuting individuals who pirated music. How to win friends and influence people. Mojo Nixon once sang “Don Henley Must Die”; we’re less extreme here at Gheorghe, we'll just call you a douche.

12. Lars Ulrich
Ah, speaking of the piracy battle and how not to fight it . . . Metallica’s Napster snafu crushed them in the court of public opinion, and the guy most associated with the debacle was drummer Lars. His wormy quip “You want to fucking see in three months how we can fucking blow your measly little company apart? No problem!” was the epitome of misguided rock self-importance. And these things always seem to coincide with the band’s dearth of good material. The Metallica documentary only seemed to confirm what most folks thought: Lars is the weasely, smug douchelick of the band. Even TJ’s buddy Jim Breuer has a problem with him!

11. Roger Waters
Okay, so we’re back to the dilemma of virtuoso versus villainy. Roger’s Floyd work is indisputably amazing, no question. But when it comes to getting along, Roger Waters cannot. He alienated band members while vaulting himself to the self-proclaimed status of resident creative genius. He unsuccessfully sued the remaining Pink Floyders after he left to try to prevent them from continuing their work in the Floyd name. He even threatened to sue a radio station for playing the stuff he did for the Live Earth benefit. (Someone explain charity to Roger.) Oh, and he spat at fans. ("Mother, should I run for president?" "No, you're a huge douche and people fucking hate you.") Someday, he’ll get what he wants and get to be alone forever. And out of that, the sequel to The Wall can happen!

10. Billy Corgan
Same sort of story, right? He was the driving force behind The Smashing Pumpkins and got a big head. Okay, that’s an understatement; he wrote every song and played most of the instruments, too. But in every interaction he seems to have with famous folks, fans, and strangers, he comes off as a total asshole. Ask Rob – he can’t stand this douchebuckle. (He’ll tell you why.) The prima donna without much to justify it, Corgan even recently pulled a dude on stage from the audience to exchange barbs. Billy Corgan puts on airs Roger Daltrey wouldn’t dare, and we’re just not sure why he thinks he has a right to.

9. Eddie Van Halen
Ah, how the mighty have fallen. Circa 1984, another fine VH album (we’ll let you guess which one) was re-affirming Eddie’s guitar legend status . . . okay, “Jump” and a few others made us fear for the future, wisely. Another great VH video (“Hot for Teacher”) made us kids think these loons were all buddies ‘til the end. Eddie was genius, and let’s face it: there was a legion of folks who thought “E.C. Is God” should’ve been replaced with “E.V.H. is God.” And then . . . oh, crap. Dave leaves the band, Hagar comes in, and Eddie later cleans up. Ugh. Eddie starts believing his own press. And losing his marbles. And generally being a complete douche. He wrested control of the band unto his own, which I guess he had a right to – except that Van Halen has sucked so very badly for 15+ years. In this Howard Stern interview (wow), Eddie manages to piss on each of his old bandmates multiple times, talk about his son whacking off, and claim -- seriously -- that he’s curing cancer (his words) . . . while he keeps smoking cigarettes. Awesome, Ed. It’s just that you used to be so damn good.

8. Ryan Adams
Deranged cock-a-douche. I’ve heard it from folks who witnessed his onstage meltdown here in Norfolk. (He arrived 45 mins late to the start of the show to find his bandmates playing speed metal in his stead; he gave everyone the finger and left. He later harassed the local DJ who reported it. He’s a mess.) I’ve read it in self-aggrandizing interviews. I’ve heard Rhett Miller say that Adams manufactured a feud between his band Whiskeytown and the Old 97’s just for the press. And I have heard the world of shit that will go down if you ever . . . EVER . . . in seriousness or in jest, call him “Bryan” Adams! You do not want that! (As his reputation goes, Bryan’s no walk in the park, either, but he's Canadian, so how douchy could he be?)

7. Fred Durst
We're pushing the limits of whether the level of talent merits inclusion here, but Fred Durst’s purported dickish douchetry is of first-ballot purity. Really, just Google fred durst asshole and read the stories if you’re interested. He didn’t just boink and tell about Britney Spears on Stern. (I kind of enjoyed that part.) He is a pseudo-rude boy who’s quickly moved to tabloid celebrity status after a decent Limp Bizkit album and utter rubbish thereafter. He’s now taken to leaking his own sex tapes. His karma is in worse shape than his musical legacy. Bad times, douchedurst.

6. Kanye West
Soaring up the charts (these charts) is young Kanye. Saying “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” on TV wasn’t the coolest thing ever, but it made us chuckle. Making his Bonnaroo left-wing fans wait an additional 90 minutes for him to go on last year made him an equal-opportunity douchebag. (Bitching about those fans on his blog was very Robert Henson of him as well.) And finally, and inexplicably, the Taylor Swift VMA crap was just asinine. Nathaniel Hornblower he ain’t. Way to be a dick, doucheroo.

5. Noel & Liam Gallagher
The Oasis boys will always have a place in Rob’s heart; our little buddy swoons when “Don’t Look Back in Anger” comes on the hi-fi. I guess Rob likes dicks, because these guys are Grade A, FDA-approved douchebuckles. They insult: each other, their other band members, especially other musicians, and the collective intelligence of the world when they compare themselves to the Fab Four (through statement or knock-off). They scrap like bad boys, but somehow come off like pouty brats employing tough-guy bravado. The Gallaghers aren't getting any cheerier with their more recent material stuck at the foothills of the critical and commercial heights of their 1995 work. Less douchey, unibrowed, singing English brothers aren't walking through that door, as they say. And they will not appreciate that everyone at Gheorghe (save one) would rather watch this Gallagher than either of them.

4. Ted Nugent
Ah, the Nuge. What a buffoon. The Lyndon LaDouche of this list. The loincloth-donning, misogyny-spouting guitar wiz turned crossbow-wielding, NRA-loving, right-wing crusader. We just liked him better when he was a hard rockin’ manchild singing about female body parts (best: “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang”), albeit not quite as deftly or cleverly as AC/DC. (Uh, a fellow named Derek St. Holmes was his singer/guitarist; does that tell you anything?) Once ol' Ted unplugged the Gibson and started killing and eating animals, he became like reality TV, except even douchier. He’s a loudmouth, a bit of a bigot, and worst of all, he’s smarmy. Guitar gods don’t do smarmy, dumb ass. He loves his guns – more than he loved the 17-year-old whose guardian he became allegedly so he could legally sleep with her. He loves the Motor City. But as much as we loved “I made the pussy purr with the stroke of my hand,” we’ve got no love for the Nuge. [It’s only because we had a fraternity brother whose birth name is also Ted Nugent that he’s not higher on this list. Oh, and “Motor City Madman” . . . our Ted Nugent is crazier than you.]

3. Gene Simmons
The KISS Army loves Gene Simmons, but otherwise, Gene has very few friends in the world. Gene Simmons was the bassist, the baddest-looking and the most popular member of KISS. He is a film actor, reality TV star, and an unmarried playboy despite taking silver to Ron Jeremy’s gold in the Swarthy Olympics. He’s also a huge douche. Born Chaim Witz in Israel (do not call him "Baba Ga-douche," that's Arabic and he will freak out on you), he formed a cool-named band (Wicked Lester) with (Paul) Stanley Eisen and some other nerds, then went on to form the greatest stage show in rock: KISS. His tongue stole the spotlight in many cases, and he’s detailed unpleasantly how much action that tongue has gotten over the years. (Some say by now the many sores are the only thing keeping it attached.) These days . . . ugh. He’s a major money-grubber, whoring himself out in ways even he shouldn’t. He’s slimy, and fan encounters usually involve ignoring or insulting the dudes while groping or putting his tongue on the chicks. In an NPR interview a few years ago, he apparently hit new lows – even to the point of threatening NPR if they aired it. He’s an unapologetic bastard, playing the pompous asshole so as to remain relevant. And it'll work. (This is a recurring theme in this list, of course.) His latest solo album’s title? "Asshole." Come on, Gene. The Army looked up to you for so long. Stop letting them down when it would take a single of iota of energy to be less of a complete and utter douchebag.

2. W. Axl Rose
Oh, man, it took somethin’ special to keep Axl out of the number 1 spot. There are so many reasons to be down on the erstwhile Bill Bailey. There’s the Eddie Van Halen/Roger Waters/Sting thing, where his huge ego helped break up a great band, thereby denying us more great music. There’s the ridiculous bravado, playing tough guy with a pencil-necked physique. (Telling Guccione Jr. to “get in the ring” was especially preposterous.) There’s the part where of course I’m jealous, as he has a lifetime’s worth of riches based on one great album, he married Stephanie Seymour, and he got to hang with rock elite. But it really just comes down to that white-trashy sneer, the false sense of entitlement, and the criminal abuse of the fans who want good rock ‘n’ roll without the douchiness. The Montreal show where Hetfield burned his face off and pouty Axl cancelled mid-set because his throat hurt, ensuring a riot? Pussy prima donna at its peak. But even just a few years back at a “Guns N’ Roses” (and Roger Waters sued??) show, he stopped during “Sweet Child o’ Mine” to bitch a fan out and have him removed. To the detriment of the show, to the chagrin of the fans, but to the enrichment of his somehow still-swollen ego. He’s still the same cocksucker, not humbled a bit from his own mediocrity and the public’s indifference. That he has fallen into punchline status for over a decade is karma coming around the bend. Bad plastic surgery stories, a rotating lineup of has-beens & nobodies in GN’R, a wide divide with “fans” getting wider, his legacy withering, . . . and oh my, Chinese Democracy. All hail Appetite for Destruction, long live Slash & Izzy, R.I.P. Axl Rose. Ya douche.

1. Mike Love
. . .and here’s that somethin’ special that makes Axl Rose look like John Denver. Wow. My goodness, is there a whole lotta reason to label Mike Love the all-time biggest douchebag in rock and roll. Enough that I have to do a great deal of editing to cull out the best (worst) parts, leaving much on the table. Mike Love takes so many of the negative attributes mentioned in the entries above and compiles them into one seamless body of work, one-upping them on nearly every count. This will be the tip of the iceberg, but again, do a search on his name and you’ll see.

We’re gonna borrow from others (and there are hordes of Mike Love loathers out there). Man vs. Clown’s Peter Lynn compiles it the best in his fascinating missive “Why I Hate Mike Love.” It’s bad form to lift some much from one source, but please, go visit the site for the full spiel. (And I cut a number of chunks out; there simply is too much stuff to dislike Mike Love for.) He writes:
“My favorite Beach Boy is obviously Brian because he’s the genius. Next comes Dennis because he was the coolest by far, emerged as a late-blooming significant talent in his own right, and once beat the living shit out of Charles Manson and reduced him to a blubbering mess in front of the Family. And then comes Al, because he’s basically the Ringo or the Michael Anthony — the friendly, funny-looking goof who just can’t believe his good fortune at being allowed to be in the band. Mike comes way down at the bottom after John Stamos.

There should be a Wikipedia page on Reasons People Hate Mike Love. My two primary ones are these: First, he hassled Brian so much that he had a breakdown and abandoned his masterpiece, Smile, thus leaving Mike free to take control of the Beach Boys and turn them into their own cover band, a corny travelling jukebox endlessly belching out their beach and car songs for the next 40 years. And second, when Brian finally got it together enough to release Smile as a solo album, Mike had the gall to sue him for promoting it in a way that, to quote, “shamelessly misappropriated Mike Love’s songs, likeness and the Beach Boys trademark, as well as the Smile album itself.”

Other reasons to hate Mike Love:
  • He apparently beat his wife.
  • He rewrote the Leiber/Stoller song “Riot in Cell Block 9” into the song “Student Demonstration Time,” which sucks ass, yet somehow made it onto the Surf’s Up album while excellent songs by Dennis such as “4th of July” and “Fallin’ in Love” stayed in the can. (Of course, Dennis got the ultimate revenge against his longtime foe by marrying Mike’s illegitimate daughter and giving him a grandson just to piss him off.)
  • He really got into transcendental meditation, and just wouldn’t stop writing shitty songs about it.
  • He pushed a very obviously mentally ill and terrified Brian onstage as part of the “Brian’s Back!” campaign, and even wrote a song called “Brian’s Back” in which he pretended to like him.
  • He’s an alleged racist.
  • He’s a right-wing Republican, but he did give $5000 in start-up capital to Tipper Gore to start up the PMRC to censor pop music.
  • He thinks no one will notice he’s bald if he just keeps wearing a hat.
  • He created a TV miniseries full of revisionist history to glorify his own contributions to the band and take credit for a lot of things he never actually did. He also used it to give the impression that John Lennon wanted to jam with him, although Lennon is quoted as calling him a “jerk.”
  • He sued Brian over songwriting credits he claimed he never received, which might have been due to his not actually having done the songwriting he claims to have done.
  • He did do a little songwriting, which used all kinds of hip slang that didn’t age well at all and sounds retarded years later. And his onstage patter was lame and unfunny.
  • He keeps suing poor Al every time he tries to tour.
  • He introduced himself to Sean O’Hagan of the High Llamas, a huge Beach Boys fan who Bruce Johnston brought in to produce an album for them, by saying, as soon as he met him at the airport, “You’re English, right? Aren’t all you English guys fags?”
  • His solo albums suck, even for Beach Boys solo albums, which mostly kind of suck to start with.
  • He is responsible for “Kokomo.” And he’s proud of it.
  • He just plain has one of those thin-lipped humourless-asshole-looking faces you want to punch.
  • He’s still alive, while Dennis and Carl are dead.
And that's not even all of the worst stuff he posted . . .
Other sources add more:
“His own daughter, Shawn Love Wilson (also the third wife of Dennis Wilson), needed $500,000 for a liver transplant because of cancer. She tried to contact him several times, and everyone in and around the band knew of her plight. He never even acknowledged her problem. She died in September 2003, just after her son Gage turned 21. What an asshole.”

“The fact that Mike thinks he has every right to tour under the 'Beach Boys' moniker, but Al Jardine and Brian Wilson(!) don't baffles me. At least Al sued him and finally, after two years, won. By the way, Mike, in case you needed a reminder, The Beach Boys are and always will be Brian Wilson, Dennis Wilson, Carl Wilson, Mike Love, and Al Jardine (sometimes featuring Bruce Johnston, Blondie Chaplin, Ricky Fataar, or David Marks). Not these guys.

Oh, and one more thing - you can take that hat off, Mike, because you're fooling nobody. It was obvious you were losing your hair in 1963.”

“Mike Love takes credit for naming the Pet Sounds record, when in fact Carl always said that it was Brian’s idea, and Brian always said that it was Carl’s idea. One thing that the brothers could 'agree' upon was that the name was hatched at the Pet Sounds photo session for the cover, when the group was playing with the animals at the petting zoo and laughing and joking around. The naming of the album and its genesis was always a joke between the two brothers… that is, until Mike Love came along and cleared up the controversy by declaring that he and he alone came up with the title. This is especially nauseating when you consider that Mike Love hated Pet Sounds from the very beginning…simply loathed it.”

“Mike Love was a regular Eddie Haskell when it came to [Wilson brothers' dad] Murry Wilson. He would be the consummate suck-up to Murry when he was around, but would be the instigator of all sorts of trouble when Murry had his back turned. Unforgivably, Mike Love frequently joined in on Murry’s tirades against his sons, egging him on, especially Brian. Mike Love also reportedly was a tattletale in the years when Murry was their manager, sparing no details about groupie activity and such.”
To me, it's all incredibly damning, but the classic "in a nutshell" example of Mike Love as the #1 Douche of All Time is his acceptance speech from The Beach Boys' induction into the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame in 1988:

“And I think it's wonderful to be here tonight, but I also think it's sad that there are other people who aren't here tonight. And, uh, those are the people who have passed away, those are the obvious ones. But the other not-so-obvious ones are people like Paul McCartney, who couldn't be here tonight because he's in a lawsuit with Ringo and Yoko. That's what he sent a telegram to some, uh, high priced attorney in this room, you know. And that's a bummer, because we're talking about harmony, right, and the world. If we can't get it together in America and in England, and harmony within our groups, I mean, believe it, you can believe it the Beach Boys have their own interstescene(?) or whatever you call it, squabbles. But that's a bummer when Ms. Ross can't make it, you know? The Beach Boys have continued to do, about, we did about 180 performances last year. I'd like to see the Mop-Tops match that! I'd like to see Mick Jagger get out on this stage and do 'I Get Around' versus 'Jumpin' Jack Flash,' any day now. And I'd like to see some people kick out the jams, and I challenge the Boss to get up on stage and jam. I wanna see Billy Joel, see if he can still tickle ivories, lemme see. I know Mick Jagger won't be here tonight, he's gonna have to stay in England. But I'd like to see us in the Coliseum and he at Wembley Stadium because he's always been chickenshit to get on stage with the Beach Boys.”

“Note: that year, The Beatles and Bob Dylan were also inducted in to the Hall Of Fame. Later in the show, as Bob Dylan was accepting his induction, he said, 'I just want to thank Mike Love for not mentioning me in his speech.' Oh, and unbeknownst to Mike, Mick Jagger was there that night, in the second or third row.”

Enough about Mike Love, and enough about these 20 douchewhistles. Soon G:TB will return to heralding what's right with the world, and not who's wrong with it. In the meantime . . . douchebags: stop being douchebags. Stop being so impressed with yourself. Stop fighting good people. Stop ruining good things. Stop suing people because you can't make money with music any more. Stop insulting others for fear that the lens may focus too closely on you and your shortcomings. Stop being an asshole simply because there's a microphone handy. Stop insulting people you don't know because there's a chance they might be better at what you do than you are. Stop doing anything that might prevent great music from reaching our ears. Just knock it off. It's not too late to rebound from low-level douchitudes and actually turn out pretty cool.

That is all. Happy Music Month.

Music Month: Live and In Person

The organized church and I had a parting of the ways a decade ago or so over something stupid. Me, probably. I can count on one hand the number of times I've set foot in a house of worship over that span.

In a great many ways then, a U2 concert is as close as I get to church. There's the charismatic preacher man, with Bono metaphorically (and often, as last night at FedEx Field in Landover, MD, literally) sermonizing. And the choir, both onstage and in the seats. Finally, there's the fellowship - 90,000+ who left the building with smiles on their faces, at least until they got into their cars to try to go home. Knowing what I know of U2, the spiritual echoes in their performances are not coincidental.

As for last night's show, I'll forgo a lot of details because at least one of us plans to be in attendance at the band's next tour stop. Suffice it to say that U2 are the world's biggest band for a reason - they're a professional rock and roll outfit, right down to an impeccable sound system that made FedEx Field feel like a very loud recording studio and a massive spaceship/crab-inspired stage complex (so over-the-top that its' rumored price tag runs to $40 million). After an indifferent start that featured a pair of songs from their new album, No Line on the Horizon, the remainder of the set careened across their full catalog (and I do mean full - U2 went into deep cut Miss Sarajevo territory more than once) and mixed full-on stadium-rocking anthems with the best of the band's down-tempo offerings.

Bono kept his politics bipartisan, if not quiet, riffing on Iran, Africa, Aung San Suu Kyi, AIDS, and climate change while praising everyone from Nancy Pelosi to Bill Frist to President George W. Bush to Pat Leahy. And in keeping with the tent revival feel of the evening, he even tossed off a raspy, quiet version of Amazing Grace.

Me and the church aren't likely to get back together anytime soon, but while U2 keeps touring, I'll have a place to commune with my fellow travelers. As long as they don't come back to FedEx Field - as usual, Shlara was right. It took us 90 minutes to travel the 300 yards between our parking space and the exit and a total of nearly two and a half hours to get home to our country estate. Add one more thing to the lengthy list of Dan Snyder's failures. But even Little Danny Starfucker wasn't enough to make the evening disappointing. Such is the immense power of U2.

(Almost Belatedly) Celebrating Music Month

So Whit got all excited about this music month thing. He wanted others to chip in, and we said okay, partially to help him out, but mostly to keep him quiet, so we can go back to picking our noses and wiping our boogers under our cubicle desktops. He then went and wrtoe all these fancy 18,000 word opuses that involve hard work, creativity, intelligence and image embedding. Frankly, it intimidates the hell out of lazy sacks like TJ and me. Mostly TJ, actually, but me to some extent as well. I'm too apathetic to be intimidated.

But since Whit has logged about a million words on his eclectic musical tastes, I felt it appropriate to throw 200 o so of my own into the mix. I haven't been able to fish my balls out of my wife's large purse much recently, so it's been hard to go out and see live music. But I was able to sneak out the other night and discover a band that is well suited for the musical, cultural and sartorial tastes of our vast, fashion forward readership.

The band is Truth and Salvage Co. They look like a cross between the Eagles and the Band, circa 1978. And they sound exactly like a cross between those two bands. Cocaine-laced country rock with a nod to traditional folk. I have no idea what that last sentence means, but it's true. I think. The web-site gives the band's story, so I'll spare the regurgitation, but Chris Robinson produced their EP, they are opening for a new-and-improved Black Crowes on tour this summer, and they're likely to come your way again sometime in the next few months. The web version of their tunes is good, but won't do their live show justice.

The biggest challenge this band will have is how to grow when four different membes of the band write songs, and how to stay out of rehab. Check them out if they come your way.

And while you're at it, go buy the new Black Crowes album. The band has a new sound, thanks to the addition of slide guitar maestro (and North Mississippi Allstars frontman) Luther Dickinson on lead guitar. He and Rich Robinson have some good chemistry, and the new album is much more varied than what you've come to expect from the Crowes. Their tracks alternate between folk, bluegrass, country and the 1970's-era blues rock sound that sounds like the best stuff the Rolling Stones have.

Music Month goes out with a...hearty chuckle.

As I'm sure is the case with most of you, my significant other watches a ton of terrible shit on TV that I end up watching bits and pieces of as well. Because of the multiple TV setup in our living room (and because I want to watch sports without too much bitching on the weekends) I often end up out in the living room with a game on TV #2, perusing the interwebs whilst my girlfriend is watching some mind numbingly awful show. Its usually about weddings, or cooking or makeovers. I really don't pay much attention. However, every now and then something she is watching is so awful, so blindingly bad that I can't help but stop what I'm doing and briefly pay attention. I call it the car crash syndrome.

The most recent, and best, example of this would be The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Have you seen this show? I sincerely hope not. Its awful on so may different levels that I can't accurately describe it to you if you are lucky enough to have not seen it. Anyway, a couple of these women (one is a music is definitely not) got together and recorded a song recently. What followed was one of the worst, yet most memorable songs in the history of...well, I guess you'd call it music.

There, now you have this crap stuck in your head too. Seriously, don't be tardy for the party.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

More Music Month Muppets

I originally intented to just put up the MF Doom "Kookies" video with the "Funky Chimes" sample to bridge the gap between the Bert and Ernie video, Music Month, and the recurring children's video bit. But then I found this. Not quite as good as Bert and Ernie, but lots better than Starship.

It's still Music Month, right?

If so, here's Mike Brady's favorite tune (no, it's not a Village People song)...

Seriously, "Marconi plays the Mamba, Listen to the radio"? What the hell does that even mean?

Monday, September 28, 2009

What the Kids Are Watching

From the creators of Better Know Your Minor League Franchise and Ceai Complet, a brand new Recurring Feature Destined to Stop Recurring.

As we age, some less gracefully than others (the entire G:TB editorial staff is in our thirties - for at least 6 more months), we find ourselves increasingly interested in how younger generations roll. A recognition of our mortality, perhaps, raging against a graying, balding, aching reality. Specifically, though, as it relates to our newest filler feature, we're focusing on a much younger generation.

According to my daughter, this is What the Kids Are Watching (I warn you in advance that this clip is NSFYS (Not Safe For Your Sanity) - if you press play, it will be in your head for the rest of the day, if not longer. Please proceed with caution.):

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Week 4 NCAA Picks: Quantity, Not Quality

In which we make up for our obvious lack of prognosticating skills by giving you more picks.

Miami (FL) @ Virginia Tech (+2)
I don't buy the Miami resurgence. I think Oklahoma's gonna go all Boomer Sooner on them in a few weeks, with or without Sam Bradford. Jacory Harris seems almost as likely to do something moronic as he is to do something dazzling (noteworthy evidence in favor of this position: his threat/promise to wear a pink suit to the Heisman ceremony should he be invited). And against Bud Foster's turnover-happy Hokies, Harris will be given all sorts of opportunities to wear the metaphorical pink suit of ignominy.

On the other hand, I don't buy Virginia Tech's offense. At all. Tyrod Taylor simply isn't very good at quarterbacking the football. He's Jacory Harris without the style. Eh, that's not fair to Harris. More accurately, he's Brian Randall without the skill.

What we have here is a dilemma, boys and girls. ACC Football, it's flawwwwtastic. After much consultation and several coin flips, we like Miami to go to Lane and pull out a win. We also like ESPN to go all in on the 'Canes over the next several weeks, with feature stories on Bernie Kosar's hair straightening, Lamar Thomas' post-Teague redemption and fall from grace, Randy Shannon's quiet confidence and gambling addiction, and Warren Sapp's Japanese commercial acting career.

Bonus Worst Game in America

Middle Tennessee State @ North Texas (+7.5)

The Raiders take on the Mean Green in this battle of schools that may or may not be fictional and almost certainly served as the inspiration for the Scott Bakula/Kathy Ireland vehicle, 'Necessary Roughness'. MTSU beat Maryland, 32-31, last week, stretching their winning streak against the Terps to 2. North Texas got predictably stomped, 53-7, by Alabama. It may be a measure of the program's history that USA Today calls their 1-2 start 'a pleasant surprise'.

MTSU has a win over Memphis in addition to Maryland, which North Texas features a freshman quarterback with the terrific name of Riley Dodge. As much as we'd like to go with the kid, the results on the field are pretty compelling. Raiders coast in Denton.

Illinois @ Ohio State (-15.5): Tough game to pick here. I'm morally opposed to picking in favor of Ron Zook, unless its a barefoot waterskiing competition. That guy is an animal on the open water. Off topic: Anyone remember when he nearly lost a foot during a waterskiing accident while the Head Coach at Florida? Yeah, well, he did and I think that anecdote is the perfect summation of his ill-fated tenure in Gainesville. Good times, gone terribly (nearly tragically) wrong. Anywho, I don't want to bet on Towlie here but I also don't believe in Ohio State. They lost a ton of defense last year and their one offensive palymake is Terelle Pryor. And, he is terribly overrated. He doesn't throw very well and he seems to shy way from contact which limits his effectiveness as a running threat despite his size and speed. Personally, I think he'd be better off saying fuck it, moving to WR and maximizing his significant physical gifts. But, what the hell do I know? I'll tell you what I know...15.5 is waaay too many points to give up in what looks to be the football equivalent of two down syndrome kids mud wrestling. I'll take Illinoize and the points. Remember folks: Ron Zook sees improvement and they are going to get things corrected.

Arkansas @ Alabama (-14): Anyone see the Arkansas-Georgia game last week? That was fun wasn't it? Its nice to see shootouts in the SEC from time to time. It balances out the AFC North style slugfests that we so often see when two top tier SEC teams square off (think LSU-Auburn of the mid 2000s). Well, I have some bad news. This isn't going to be one of those games. While the Razorbacks' offense is definitely legit, its defense is definitely shit. They couldn't stop Joe Cox last week and, believe me, Greg McElroy is much better than the Ginger Ninja. On the other hand, the Tide's defense is light years ahead of the shit that Willie Martinez is throwing out on the field in Athens these days (Seriously Willie, it might be time to start revising that resume. And umm, it might also be time to stop going by Willie. You are not British, black or under 10) and they'll prove to be a far stiffer test than the Dogs were. Bama has early round NFL draft picks in all three areas of their defense (Cody, Arenas, McClain, Hightower, etc.) and an evil little man caning them and feeding them raw hyena intestines Monday through Friday. Did I also mention that Bama has 4, yes 4, talented tailbacks that all play? Yeah, well, there's that too. Fuck all that bullshit talk about Miami. As of today, Alabama's the best team in the country, and as much as Nick Saban respects Bobby Petrino's ability to lie to and shit all over people who have trusted him and paid him exorbitant amounts of cash, thats not going to help Hogs one bit tomorrow. Alabama by at least 17.

Okay, boys and girls. That's all you're getting for now, unless TJ, TR, Zoltan or any other member of ever growing yet still unbelievably lazy staff decide to get off their ample posteriors and, you know, actually do their job. Be safe out there. Which, of course, is my way of saying. Get drunk and fight somebody...though not necessarily in that order.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Wait Until Belding Hears About This

And here I was believing that the kids from Saved By the Bell were all natural, at least until Bob Golic joined the cast (and Elizabeth Berkley "starred" in Showgirls). Dustin Diamond's new book, Behind the Bell, includes the bombshell allegations that Mark-Paul Gosselaar used steroids, the cast smoked pot, and teenaged kids were horny.

I thought the allegations of Papi's PED use were depressing; Zack as a roid-monkey is a world-shaking revelation. Bet they're pouring out milkshakes at The Max this morning.

Screech, how could you? The Bonaduce fight was one thing, but turning your back on Slater, Jessie, Lisa, Kelly and Zack? That's family, man. Family. I sure hope Mark doesn't get any ideas.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Music month: I know you got soul

It's supposed to be music month here at G:TB. But I haven't seen much about music. And the music-related stuff is pretty, well, soulless. So I'm dropping four relatively new vintage-style soul albums for you to go cop via whatever means it is you cop your music.

This blog appears to consist primarily of youtube clips and jokes about Geoff's sexual orientation. So I pasted four youtubes below. There was a fifth youtube, in which Geoff admits that he wishes he was either Richard Gere's pet gerbil or Butch Coolidge's gold watch, but I didn't include it because I don't want to out Geoff on the internet.

1. Mayer Hawthorne, "A Strange Arrangement"

I told you to go get this before it came out, and now it's out so you should go get it. Some upbeat, happy, soulful joy. The coolest breakup song ever. Ambivalent love songs. Ballads weighing the pros and cons of dating greedy bitches. Who doesn't want to see some of this?

2. Lee Fields and The Expressions, "My World"

Lee Fields has been around forever. I don't know when he picked up The Expressions, but it works. This album has sad songs, a funky instrumental, and music to make love to your old lady by.

3. Raphael Saadiq, "The Way I See It"

Remember Tony! Toni! Tone!? Well one of those Tony/i/e muhfuggas is really named Raphael Saadiq. He uses an old-school sound with new-school lyrics and swagger. It works, as long as you can block the whole Tony! Toni! Tone! thing out of your head.

4. Daptone 7 Inch Singles Collection Vol. 2

Geoff will be excited to see that there's a "volume 2" to "7 Inch Singles," because he loved the first volume on DVD. But in this case, it's a reference to records that are 7 inches in diameter, not a movie about single guys with 7 inch members. Sorry Geoff .

Daptone Records is a label you should get to know. It's how I discovered Lee Fields. This album has songs of heartbreak, Meters-inspired instrumentals, and something called "Che Che Cole" by Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra that I can't categorize. It's all good.

Be Careful Out There, People

Here's a twist on Teejay's usual weird news reporting. This happened in my town, a matter of blocks from where I live. On Tuesday night, two separate idiots in locations just a handful of blocks from each other, within hours of each other, drove their vehicles into buildings. I don't mean they pulled into a garage. And I don't even mean they merely hit the buildings. Their cars went through walls.

A 7-11 over on Granby Street and my neighborhood hardware store had gaping holes in them yesterday. A rush job construction repair means that you now can no longer see the hedge clippers and masonry nails on the shelves of the store while you sat at the stoplight at the adjacent intersection.

What are they putting in the water (or fire-water) down here?

Cars plow into Norfolk stores

By 13News,

An employee cleans up after the crash.

NORFOLK – Police say a man lost control of his car and careened into a convenience store early Wednesday. It happened around 1:00 a.m. at the 7-Eleven on Granby Street, close to the Virginia Zoo.

Officers say the driver got out through the front window and ran off, but he was caught a short time later. He’s charged with leaving the scene of an accident. No one in the store was injured, but the building was damaged.

Crews assess the damage to the Taylor's Do-It Center building.

Hours later, a vehicle ran into Taylor’s Do-It Center on 35th and Colley Avenue, knocking out large pieces of concrete at the building's corner. Crews were cleaning up the debris and working to repair the damage.

How high did you get last night?

Because I guarantee it wasn't as high as me.

I mean, I was so high I broke out my old legos and some classic hip-hop. I think things worked out pretty well.

Have a great Thursday...bitches.

The Small Hall East Of The Round Hill

Question: Without reading ahead, what 2 distinguishing characteristics do these men posses?

Answer: They both forced a G:TB staff writer to clean bathrooms against his will and, this Friday night, become inaugural members of the Loudoun Valley High School Hall of Fame.

The two inductees will take breaks from their extremely hectic schedule to be honored at halftime of this Friday's LVHS home game: Coach Laycock from preparation for the Tribe's weekend tilt with Delaware and Coach Douglas from picking spread winners on his screened-in porch. TJ will be live blogging from the event just as he did from Canton a couple months ago; so stay tuned to G:TB for updates.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Houston. Hello.

Spanning the globe to bring you...whatever it is we bring you:

Item: Greg Paulus is 1-2 as Syracuse's starting QB

It's fashionable in the snarkosphere to mock the former Duke point guard for his uberhonkiness and earnest floor-slapping rah rah mien. But who among you wouldn't trade a testicle, or at least a few toenails for a chance to play both Division I football and basketball? Paulus threw for 346 yards and 2 scores in leading the Orange over Northwestern last weekend, and while he won't ever be my favorite player, I can't help but admire his talent.

Item: Chipotle Burrito

The manifold causes of American's obesity are well documented. But for the love of God, Chipotle, how do you sleep at night? I just ordered a burrito that's almost literally the size of my head. If I ate the whole thing I'd gain at least 11 pounds, law of conservation of matter be damned. At long last, have you no decency?

Item: My New Favorite NFL Team

We're taking applications. The rules are: a) the team must not have made the playoffs in 2008 (to limit the bandwagoning options); b) the owner must not be an insufferable, fan-hating jerk (which unfortunately rules out the Saints, who look like a lot of fun); and, c) the team must not be the New England Patriots (see explanation for a) above).

Item: Women, Though Inattentive and Dangerous Behind the Wheel, Can Serve a Purpose in Society

Hi, honey! Happy almost Anniversary.

Item: Futile Superfan Update

Your William & Mary Tribe enters the weekend 3-0 and ranked #5 in Division IAA. Jimmye Laycock's boys open their conference schedule this week, hosting Delaware's Fighting Blue Hens under the lights in Williamsburg. W&M, who ripped the Hens, 27-3, in Newark last year, comes into the game with the country's 15th-ranked defense. That was not a typo. Should the Tribe prevail, their 4-0 start would the the school's best since 1994, aka Whitney's 7th year of college. With 4 CAA teams in the IAA Top 10 (none of them named Delaware), this is a crucial game for the Wrens.

Item: Russian Oligarch Wants to Buy the Nets, Move Them to Brooklyn

Because what we need is yet another easy angle for our sports media: Russia has mobsters with ties to sports gambling. So does New York. Presto, headline!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


Author Taylor Branch's new book, The Clinton Tapes: Wrestling History with the President, is based on 79 interviews conducted with President Clinton while the latter served in the White House. Team G:TB is generally more interested in fake sports wagering, Bert and Ernie's nascent rap career, and filler, but we couldn't help notice the following passage:

He also relayed how Boris Yeltsin's late-night drinking during a visit to Washington in 1995 nearly created an international incident. The Russian president was staying at Blair House, the government guest quarters. Late at night, Clinton told Branch, Secret Service agents found Yeltsin clad only in his underwear, standing alone on Pennsylvania Avenue and trying to hail a cab. He wanted a pizza, he told them, his words slurring.

The next night, Yeltsin eluded security forces again when he climbed down back stairs to the Blair House basement. A building guard took Yeltsin for a drunken intruder until Russian and U.S. agents arrived on the scene and rescued him.
Here's to you, Boris Yeltsin, real man of genius. If more world leaders had your panache, we'd spend a lot less time blowing each other up, and the world's munchie economy would bring prosperity to all.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Five things you should NOT have learned from cable television

We are all familiar with the arguments about the detriments of cable television.

Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death, posits a future where we sacrifice the rational argument of print for the soma like bliss offered to us by limitless channels—and he argues, convincingly, that television as a format can only muster a certain level of intelligence. He draws, of course, on the ideas of Marshall McCluhan in his seminal work Understanding Media. And in a deeper sense, Daniel Boorstin’s The Image ponders whether what we see on television is authentic at all, and that it should be termed a “pseudo-event.”

But these are highly abstract arguments (and possibly refuted in Steven Johnson’s recent book Everything Bad is Good For You) while we at G:TB are concerned with more practical matters. Here is a more utilitarian guide for the children of cable; a list of five specific behaviors presented on the screen that in NO WAY should be emulated-- and if it is too late, they should never be repeated, and never mentioned again.

1. Christian Slater’s signature greeting in Heathers.

Any constantly repeated signature greeting is annoying (whether it is verbal-- like this example-- or physical, such as a particularly cool head-nod or the two fingers pointed pistol style augmented by a "heeeyyyy") and J.D.'s “greetings and salutations” is particularly smarmy. Avoid it and its ilk.

2. Tom Cruise’s dance in Risky Business.

God forbid you ever got into your tighty-whiteys and did this, although, oddly, the scene would work fine if it were Heather Graham in the exact same pair of underwear, dancing to the same stupid song.

3. Reciting the first two rules of Fight Club, replacing the words “Fight Club” with something from your own life.

Example: The first rule of play group is you do not talk about play group . . .

4. Saying “Hey, bud, let’s party” in the style of Spicoli.

Great movie, great character, great line . . . but you are not Spicoli.

5. Using Mork from Ork’s signature greeting “Na Noo Na Noo.”

Actually, this is one is okay. And so is this psychedelic cartoon trailer featuring Mork, Mindy, references to Happy Days, and a pig in uniform.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Week 3 College Picks

Texas Tech @ (2) Texas (-17)
Mack Brown is, by at least one account, a very nice man. But G:TB’s sources tell us that he holds a special enmity for Mike Leach’s swashbuckling Red Raider program. And ol’ Mack’s been seething for nearly 11 months after Texas Tech ruined Bevo’s unbeaten 2008 season on Michael Crabtree’s last-second touchdown catch. Get a load of this: "Some people use it but it's not my personality. Revenge is fine if that helps. We tell the players to figure out what turns you on, what excites you. We don't care," said Brown. Seething, I tell you.

Michael Crabtree’s not walking through that door. Graham Harrell’s not walking through that door, mostly because he can’t get out of Canada. But Colt McCoy is. And it says here that the Longhorns take a big ol' chunk out of Tech, something on the order of 56-35.

Bonus Worst Game in America Pick

Southern Methodist (-4.5) @ Washington State

Ponies travel to the Paloose in a heated intersectional rivalry. Not since the days of James and Dickerson has this one meant so much. SMU brings its 2-0 record to the Pacific Northwest, where Wazzu is living up to its reputation as one of Division I’s most dreadful ballclubs, carrying big losses to Hawaii and Stanford into Week 3. SMU signal caller Bo Levi Mitchell (seriously? Bo Levi? Straight up gangster.) is nursing banged up ribs, but it really shouldn’t matter against a Cougar defense that allows 550 yards and 38.5 points per game. At some point, Washington State will be respectable again, but it ain’t happening this week. Ponies and the points.

The young man in the above video said it best. I hate Tennessee. I hate everything about them. More importantly, the young man is telling the truth. Tennessee is a bunch of snitches (Fulmer, must be in the water in Knoxville) and they have the worst primary color in collegiate sports. The mere sight of that disgusting creamsicle orange so enrages me that I would smack a creamsicle right out of a small child's hand on principle alone. There is nothing to like about Tennesee. Even their women are among the worst in the SEC (second only to Vanderbilt). Now, a Tennessee fan may hear this and start talking about Layla Kiffin. Well, guess what? She went to Florida. Even your coach wouldn't go after any of your fat, inbred, toothless whores.

Am I worried about this game? Yes. It's Tennessee. I'm always worried when we play Tennessee. When you hate something the way I hate Tennessee the mere thought of them makes your stomach turn and your pulse race. Luckily for me, Florida's defense should have Jonathon Crompton throwing multiple picks by halftime and Nu'Keese Richardson begging for mercy by mid 3rd quarter. I'm not going to talk strategy here. Tennessee's defense is talented and well coached. Their offense is not. Florida is loaded on both sides of the ball (save for WR which is...shaky), playing at home and currently being fed gun powder by Urban Meyer and Charlie Strong as you read this. The line is 29.5. I doubt I'm alone when I say that I'll be disappointed if the Gators don't win by at least 35. Not disappointed in the Gators. Disappointed that Lane and "the greatest coaching staff ever assembled" (UT fans' words, not mine) weren't embarrassed as the fucking sackless shitheads they are in front of a nation full of observers.

West Virginia @ Auburn (-6.5)
What do I know about this game? To be honest, not much. I know Auburn's offense is much improved thanks to the addition of OC Gus Malzahn in his second run through the SEC. I know WVU QB Jarrett Brown is a much better passer than Pat White (so's my 14 year old cousin) and the Mountaineer offense is more unpredictable and diversified because of it though not necessarily better. I know Noel Devine is still one of the nation's better kept secrets, despite his penchant for ankle breaking moves, breathtaking runs and the siring of bastards all over the south. I also know that I'm likely to encounter more rednecks over the next two days than I've ever been exposed to in my life (As someone who's lived most of his life in the South, this is really saying something.) and I know I'm not likely to blend in well, what with the bald head, the beard and the tattoos.

Though I haven't watched a single down of Auburn football yet this year (No matter, things don't change much on the Plains: Play good D, run the football, limit turnovers and make a few big plays in the passing game. Same as it ever was.) I'm going to take Auburn here. Nobody on West Virginia has ever played in an environment anything close to Jordan-Hare Stadium on a Saturday night and, in a matchup of seemingly even teams, that's enough to swing this game in the Tigers favor. Auburn wins, I get drunk. Everybody wins.

The Nats, the Ghoogles...and Please Get Jim Breuer Off My TV

Well, it looks like the hometown nine are going to cost me a case of beer. With last night's 4-2 loss to the Phillies, the Nationals now stand at 50-96 with only 16 games left on their schedule. The Pirates, despite apparently giving up months ago, still hold a 7 game "lead" over the Natty's in the loss column, and the Royals are even farther out of reach (59-87). In fact, the Royals seem to be hellbent on keeping the Tigers out of the playoffs, having taken 6 of their last 7 from the AL Central leaders...letting the Twins climb to just 4 games back with a huge weekend series looming between the Twins and Tigers.

And since I'm here, some of the most recent searches that brought folks to G:TB. Mark, you might want to think about dialing up Todd Bouman again...there seems to be an odd level of interest in the journeyman QB:
  • true story don marcari
  • todd bouman (five times)
  • Hey Bartender! Whose leg do I have to hump to get a dry martini around here?
  • we got some canes over here (twice)
  • good websites to hear latest music
  • john rosatti murderer
  • "ben olson" ucla
  • kiki daire January 2003
  • john popper dating cheerleader
  • TB affected by old peoples
  • gheorghe in chinese
  • Gabriella Sabatini
  • what does click clack game mean
  • john lovitz fucking gay weeble
  • I am not mad. Just very, very dissapointed.
  • dewon brazelton girlfriend
  • "known to do the impossible like broadway joe" shirt
  • old pbs shows theme songs piano classical
  • Bodhi RIP
  • steve mcnair cinnabon
  • Better One
  • game on garth!
  • click clack balls
  • porn stars superbad
  • make fuc berzerker
  • pandemic vs epidemic
  • real tomato ketchup
  • Rob member of lonesome losers
  • tourfilter alternative
  • bodhi jed dalton
  • fresh prince pics
  • good music websites what are
  • Dave Parker all star game throw video youtube
  • Laces Out
  • Bodhi vs. dalton
Finally, I can't take this Jim Breuer Pizza Hut ad anymore. It's fucking everywhere. It's honestly on every commercial break during every sporting event I'm watching. Jim Breuer hasn't been relevant in years. He is not funny. I am not sure he ever was funny. Jim Breuer is making me hate Pizza Hut. I love Pizza Hut. This is not a good thing (unless you're my arteries). "Jackpot!" my ass you no-talent pitchman.

College football picks coming later today...I think...

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Dear Ozzy (Thanks for Nothing)

In June of 1969, John Lennon and Yoko Ono invited friends and supporters to join them in Montreal for another of their infamous Bed-Ins. During the politically-focused, media-filled session, John and Yoko led the group -- The Plastic Ono Band -- in the recording of "Give Peace a Chance." The anthem would fill the airwaves at a tumultuous time in the 20th century. The message of world peace as a viable option would last forever.

16 years later, in January of 1985, Lionel Richie, Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones, and others invited friends and musicians to join them in Los Angeles for a philanthropic outpouring of
musical creativity. During the late-night, collaborative affair, Lionel and Michael led the group -- USA for Africa -- in the recording of "We Are the World." The anthem would bring worldwide attention to African hunger victims when they needed it most. The message of charity and humanity around the globe would last forever.

24 years later, in August of 2009, Dave and Whitney invited friends and drinking comrades to join them in Highland Park, NJ for a night of pizza, pale ale, and music-making. During the evening of revelry, bad jokes, and worse darts, Dave and Whitney led the group -- Random Idiots -- in the recording of "Dear Ozzy (Thanks for Nothing)." The anthem would fill Dave and Whitney's iPods (almost completely) with the story of the poor sap who listened to rock & roll lyrics throughout the years, diligently heeding the advice to their own hideous detriment. The message of . . . whatever it was . . . would last on for hours, nay, days.

Greasetruck Productions proudly presents:

"Dear Ozzy (Thanks for Nothing)"

by Random Idiots

[Technical Note: Embedded here is a low-resolution version of the single. Alternately available for your listening pleasure is the full sonic experience, the version in which the cowbell rings like you remember it on the farm, the violin like in your days in the conservatory, and Whitney's vocals like he were sitting just down the bar from you after several hours of imbibing. If you'd like a copy of this superior edition, please comment below or e-mail us and we can set you up.]

I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.
I drove my Maserati 185.
I fought the law, and the law it cold won,
so I shot the sheriff, man, I was born to run.

I served my girl black coffee in her bed
and poured the sugar on her, just like you said.
And then I hit her with my best shot.
I like her big old butt, and so does Sir Mix-a-Lot.
I listened to what you told me,
and I know that you meant well,
but I think you sent me on a highway straight to Hell.

I came on Eileen, and Angie, well, we tried.
I had a fling with Lola, 'til I learned she was a guy.
I partied all the time, I got drunk and screwed

in an elevator with a lady that was a dude.
I loved who I was with, loved the son of a preacher.
I got the hots for my calculus teacher.
But if love is all that one needs
then why did I do so many dirty deeds?
I was the walrus, you were my Dixie chicken
I shocked the monkey, but it's still alive and kickin'.

I let the dogs out, I'm too sexy for my cat.
Got hungry like the wolf, so bit the head off a bat.
Played Mexican radio while I turned Japanese,
lit the Norwegian wood behind the Tastee-Freez.
Then I ate American pie with my American girl.
We're an American band, and we are the world.
I'm like a rock, I'm like a stone.
Yes, I have rambled, and I have roamed.
Now here I go again on my own,

life is a highway and I'm bad to the bone.
It was the countdown, and it was final.
This song doesn't sound any better on vinyl.
I was burning for you, I was on fire,
I blistered in the sun, and the straits were dire.
I listened to what you told me,
and I know that you meant well,
but I think you sent me on a highway straight to Hell.
Well, I wanted candy, but I had a heart of glass.
Me & Bobby McGee got it on after class;
he's so vain, but I don't want anybody else.

I was touched for the first time, except when I touch myself.
I beat it, I whipped it, I took it the limit.
Shook it up, pumped it up, too legit to quit it.
Oh, big hands, I know you were the one
when the girls weren't having any fun.
I screamed for vengeance, I killed them all,

I rode the lightning with my big balls.
Ran with the devil, shook all night long,
came back in black and tried to bang a gong.
I know that every rose must have its thorn,
and if you're wild, you must have been born.

Sometimes loves stinks, it cuts like a knife--
unless you make an ugly girl your wife.
Fat bottomed girls, they make the world go 'round.
Smoke on the water and we burned it to the ground.
Worked for the weekend, rode the crazy train.
I wanted to get down, down on the ground, cocaine.
I shook my groove thing, drank a funky cold medina.
Made it hurt so good, just like Ike did to Tina.
I did the hustle and the electric slide,
couldn't do the Macarena but God knows I tried.
I ran away, I ran so far.
Forgot all about that macho stuff and learned how to play guitar.

I took it easy, I tried to rule the world,
and ZZ Top told me about a necklace made of pearls.
I took a free ride, a slow ride, of course;
rode through the desert on a nameless horse.
There were birds and plants and rocks and things --
can you relax when you do the wild thing?
I listened to what you told me,
and I know that you meant well,
but I think you sent me on a highway straight to Hell.
In a purple haze the people are strange,
and this free bird Lord knows you cannot change.
One of these days, we can work it out.

Stairway to Heaven . . . oh my God, we left it out.
I wore cheap sunglasses every single night --
even wore them in the day, the future looked so bright.
I didn't stop believing, and I never looked back.
I saw a red door, and I painted it black.
I walked the line, walked like an Egyptian.
Walked on the wild side with my heroin addiction.
Walked on the moon, and if you want to jump,
intergalactic planetary, you gotta shake your rump.
You told me only the good die young
and at night everybody should wang chung.

I drank alone-- drank bourbon, scotch and beer.
I learned the reaper was nothing much to fear.
Listened to the music, joined together with the band.
Held on loosely to castles made of sand.
I rocked the casbah, let the good times roll;
so what's the answer-- should I stay or should I go?
Maybe we're all just bricks in the wall,
but how can a blind kid play a mean pinball?
And if we are all dust in the wind
then does it matter where your centerfold is pinned?
Love is a battlefield, I cried like a dove,

but all I've got is a photograph, a picture of.
Felt like a loser, dumb, and like a creep,
so don't close your eyes when you go to sleep.
Well, I turned to you for some advice--
old man, I let you take a look at my life.
You said, "De do do do, de da da da,
In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, ob-la-di, ob-la-da."

Better to burn out than it is to rust,
I was another one that bit the dust.
I flew like an eagle, but a shot in the dark

hit me and ruined my Saturday in the park.
You said fight the power, who’ll stop the rain?
Tried to stop a speeding train in vain;
now they call me Locomotive Breath.

Birth, School, Work, Death.
I drove my Coupe de Ville, but I couldn't drive
Brought you dead flowers, but I was stayin’ alive.
I took my little green bag in my little red Corvette;
now I’m pushin' little daisies, but I ain’t seen nothing yet.
I told my girl I was movin' up and movin' out
but she heard the grapevine first, and it made her twist and shout.
I'm a jukebox hero, but the song remains the same.

So open up your mind, come on and play the game.
I listened to what you told me,
it's still ringing like a bell,
but I think you sent me on a highway straight to Hell.
I listened to what you told me,
and I know that you meant well,
but I think you sent me on a highway straight to Hell.
I'm at the end of this long and winding road,
and I'm wondering what a sprocket has to do with a toad.

Greasetruck Productions and Random Idiots would like to thank the following 133 artists:

Johnny Cash Joe Walsh The Bobby Fuller Four Beastie Boys Bob Marley Bruce Springsteen Squeeze Def Leppard Pat Benatar Sir Mix-a-Lot AC/DC The Clash Drivin' 'n' Cryin' Dexy's Midnight Runners The Rolling Stones The Kinks Eddie Murphy Jimmy Buffett Aerosmith Stephen Stills Dusty Springfield Van Halen The Beatles Little Feat Peter Gabriel Simple Minds The Baha Men Right Said Fred Duran Duran Ozzy Osbourne Wall of Voodoo The Vapors Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers Grand Funk Railroad USA for Africa Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band Bob Dylan The Allman Brothers Band The B-52's Whitesnake Tom Cochrane George Thorogood & The Delaware Destroyers Europe Blue Öyster Cult Violent Femmes Dire Straits Bow Wow Wow Blondie Janis Joplin Carly Simon Madonna The Divinyls Michael Jackson Devo The Cars Elvis Costello MC Hammer Cyndi Lauper Judas Priest Metallica T. Rex Poison Steppenwolf J. Geils Band Bryan Adams Jimmy Soul Queen Deep Purple Loverboy Eric Clapton Peaches and Herb Tone Lōc John Cougar Ike & Tina Turner Van McCoy Ric Silver Los del Río A Flock of Seagulls Eagles Tears for Fears ZZ Top Edgar Winter Foghat America Frankie Goes to Hollywood The Troggs Jimi Hendrix The Doors Lynyrd Skynyrd Pink Floyd Led Zeppelin Corey Hart Timbuk 3 Journey Boston The Bangles Lou Reed The Police Billy Joel Wang Chung The Doobie Brothers The Who .38 Special Kansas Prince Beck Nirvana Radiohead Stone Temple Pilots Kix The Romantics Neil Young Iron Butterfly The Steve Miller Band Chicago Public Enemy Creedence Clearwater Revival Jethro Tull The Godfathers Chuck Berry Sammy Hagar The Bee Gees George Baker Selection Ween Bachman-Turner Overdrive The Jeffersons Marvin Gaye The Isley Brothers Foreigner Queen Toad the Wet Sprocket Peter, Paul & Mary