 by TOM HALLETT
QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “You say I look goofy? OK, great. You say it’s comedy? Great. Whatever anyone thought, I didn’t care. Could be goony, could be sexy, could be stupid, could be cool. I didn’t know, but as long as it was something, you know?” – Iggy Pop
SONG OF THE WEEK: “This Note’s for You” – Neil Young
Hey, gang! Your humble scribe checkin’ in from the wilds of Alaska. Hope all is well and you’ve been catchin’ as much great music as I have. I’ve been fightin’ my first official cold of the season recently, but I did get to spin some kick-ass new stuff in the ol’ disc player over the past few days—I promise, next week it’s gonna be nothin’ but CD Review-Land here. See below for details. In the meantime, here’s what’s goin’ down in ‘Dial-land ...
Havin’ laid around in bed for the better part of the past week with a
rotten chest cold and a couple bottles of patented Dr. Good’s Cough Remedy,
I ended up watching a lot more television than I normally would and finding
that I hadn’t missed the medium for a lot of very good reasons. Considering
that the programming is completely moronic, insulting and soul-deadening, there’s
simply no good reason (other than maybe The Daily Show and the Colbert Report)
to EVER watch TV. Even the cartoons suck now.
But the commercials—man, that’s where I got up on a stump (well,
as much as I could, layin’ in bed coughing) and started raging. I don’t
mean the products, though those are truly just as insulting as the medium itself,
for the most part. What I’m rantin’ on about here are the rock songs
that pepper almost every fucking commercial on the box. Not bein’ able
to do much more than stagger to the kitchen and the john once in a while, I
started taking notes and keeping a log of every tune I heard in an ad.
 I
know I’m howling vainly into an unholy maelstrom of greed, evil and apathy,
and that nothing I say or do will change it. Guess it’s just in my Irish/American
Indian genes to get pissed off and blab. There’s no stopping it at this
point; the artists, the ad execs, the TV drones and even the fans themselves
have allowed this insidious, greedy practice to go on too long and it’s
produced far too many financial rewards for anyone to ever curtail it now. And
it’s too bad—there used to be some real creative, talented ad/jingle
folks who wrote their own songs and provided a commercial soundtrack that was
at least interesting.
Fuck it. I give up. But not without listing some of the offenders first. I’m
keeping in mind here that some of these songs were shit in the first place,
and that some of the artists were sellouts long before they sold their songs
to commercials. I’m also considering that the artists who wrote some of
these songs may be deceased (in which case I blame the surviving family members,
the lawyers, the record companies, or any other greedy fuck who might have sold
the song), and that not all of the original performers of said tunes actually
wrote the lyrics.
Still, if they’re makin’ money off of it, if they’re profiting
from WHORING OUT THEIR MUSIC or SELLING OUT ROCK AND ROLL and helping to de-ball,
de-fang and de-mystify the one kind of music that’s been a universal soundtrack
for rebellion, positive change, and racial, social and personal healing over
the past half-century or so, THEY SUCK. I think there should be an awards show
just for the scumbags who are selling the music right out from under us. Call
it Celebrity Music Whore Sellout, call it the Rock Gong Show, or call it the
end of the world as we know it—anyway ya slice it, it stinks. So here
they are, for better or worse. If I’m wrong about any of these, I’ll
gladly print an apology to the offended party. Feel free to e-mail me if I need
correcting, eh? Otherwise, the following shit-heels are on notice here at the
‘Dial. Onward.
HALLETT’S AWARDS TO SELL-OUT
MUSIC WHORES FOR OCT. 2006:
1) “Just What I Needed” and “Good Times Roll” –
The Cars. This really makes me sad. I fucking loved the Cars’ debut
album, and even though these two tunes are pretty well-worn by FM schlock-sters,
I always had a warm fuzzy spot (still do, damn you Ric Ocasek!) for this band.
I’m sorry that the next generation will think these tunes were actually
written for chain electronics store advertisements. Blah! What’s even
worse is that it won’t take the actual stereo manufacturers long to figure
out that “Moving In Stereo” (“Life’s the same / You’re
moving in stereo ...”) would sound cool and ACTUALLY MAKE SENSE in an
ad about stereos. Coming soon to a boob tube near you.
2) “Blitzkrieg Bop” – The Ramones. Sigh. Tell me, Johnny,
is there any reason I never heard Ramones songs on television BEFORE Joey and
Dee Dee died? Hmmm. Well, they’re gone now and I can’t honestly
judge whether they’d have approved of one of their signature tunes being
used to shuck and jive for a soda pop ad, but I do know that it’s going
to be hard for me to explain to kids how powerful, socially-changing and just
plain old fucking AWESOME The Ramones’ music was back when you’d
never have dreamed a punk rock song would be used on TV for anything but a backdrop
on a news clip about how horrible and violent and evil punk rock was. This one,
more than any of the others, made me realize the rock ‘n’ roll revolution,
other than on a very personal and tight-knit level, is really, truly and honestly
dead and gone forever. Sucks, don’t it? Thanks for destroying the last
bit of sacred ground in music, dudes.
3) “Sweet Home Alabama” – Lynyrd Skynyrd. Yep. Most of
the guys who were in Skynyrd when this song was recorded have been dead since
1977. That means there’s no way in hell they approved of this song being
used in an ad. Why do I care? I’m not a rabid Skynyrd nut—they wrote
some good shit but I’d be happy to never hear some of it again as long
as I live. The song itself is so burnt-out from radio overplay it’s become
an advertisement and a mockery in and of itself. Still, I doubt Ronnie Van Zandt,
glancing up from a mirror full of blow and a loaded pistol, would think it very
fucking amusing that his tunes have been completely and utterly deflated and
brought down to the level of a cheap jingle. Then again, I doubt he’d
have been on the oldies circuit playing “Freebird,” either. I like
to think he’d have made a double duet album with guys like Neil Young,
Merle Haggard, the Drive-By Truckers and Son Volt, but that’s probably
just the codeine talking ...
4) “Feelin’ Alright” – Traffic/Dave Mason. Yeah,
Dave Mason probably needs the money, but so what? I’m sick to death of
this song, and I especially hate hearing it on TV because it reminds me of Steve
Winwood, who was also in Traffic, and who also sold his lame, over-produced,
shitty music to TV back in the Eighties. That makes it a perfect one to go on
a rabid rant about. Steve Winwood, ya slicked-up, soft-rock, ass-kissing turd,
you and Dave Mason should just open a Madison Avenue commercial jingle biz—you
can hire other washed-up hacks like Clapton and Mick Jagger and those two musical
harlots, Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey. Yeah, you got a new album comin’
out, don’t you boys? I hear it’s a bit more subdued than your classic
stuff. Could it be because all of the caviar and champagne and rich chocolate
you’ve consumed while soaking in a hot tub naked with money-hungry ad
execs—plotting which songs to sell next to another fucked-up rendition
of CSI, even though you once said you hoped you’d die before you got old
and that you wouldn’t get fooled again and that out here in the fields
you fought for your meals—has made you BLOATED AND LAZY?) and we can pretend
your shit still matters. Shame on you, you fucking greedy old sots.
It’s you and your ilk killing rock and roll, and as a fan I guess it just
hurts worse gettin’ speared in the back by one of the old guard cuz maybe
I think you should know fucking better or care more, but then I guess that shows
that you were right when you said ROCK IS DEAD, long live rock. I’d respect
you more if you were writing original jingles like you did on The Who Sell Out,
which turned out to be the biggest and truest fucking self-prophecy of all,
didn’t it boy-os? I hope some young band opens for you somewhere and wrecks
the stage and blows up their drums and lights the curtains on fire making it
impossible for you to play and that as they walk away they scream PETE TOWNSEND
IS A MUSIC WHORE! then throw the mic on the fire so Roger won’t be able
to pick it up, swing it around his buck-toothed horse head, and bonk one of
his 80-year-old fans on her steel-colored beehive. Ya fucks. Oh, yeah, this
one was supposed to be about Dave Mason. Shit, after all that, Dave don’t
sound so bad!
5) “You’re Gonna Miss Me” – Roky Erickson. This
one I really can understand—if Roky actually sold it himself and is getting
any of the profits. Roky is legally mentally ill, and was once a great, great
songwriter and rock ‘n’ roll musician. Kind of an American Syd Barrett.
Lots of drama in his personal story, you can look it up online and have a fun,
inspiring read. Bottom line is, he was on the front lines of psychedelic Texas
garage rock back in the late sixties/early seventies, got busted for a tiny
amount of pot, and rather than face 25 to life in a redneck prison, told the
courts he was nuts. Court believed him, sentenced him to a looney bin, and the
world sort of forgot about him. Meanwhile, he was tortured, shocked and drugged
into ACTUALLY going crazy while inside. Loads of modern rockers consider him
a key influence, as well as a decent, if eccentric kinda dude. I understand
why Roky might need some bucks. I hate that his song is being cheapened on television,
but then again, Roky keeps like 30 televisions all going at once on different
channels (or is it static, I forget) in his house to ward off what he believes
are demons flying around trying to talk shit to him.
You know, he might just be right, except now his music is a soundtrack for those
same wicked, greedy creatures to dance around to in wanton abandon on piles
of filthy lucre to, and other than this column, I haven’t seen one person
in the press recently try to explain to readers—and especially young readers—how
important Roky’s music was/is, and how our lame medical and legal systems
helped to destroy and curtail such a mighty talent. Oh well, maybe I should
buy 29 more televisions, tune ‘em all to static, and see if Roky’s
modern-day electronic hoodoo actually works. It’s gotta beat hearing old
faves like The Who, The Ramones, The Cars and Johnny Cash shill for rectal itch
cremes, soda pop, PMS meds and ice cream bars.
And our Putz Prize Award winner for unbridled greed, shameless pandering, and
needless cock-rock sellout of the year ... drum roll puh-leeeze … and
the winner/big rotten loser is … AC/DC for “Back In Black!!”
Thanks, guys, for selling a killer jam WHEN YOU DIDN’T EVEN NEED THE MONEY
to FASHION advertising that’s so bad, so foul, so un-fucking-redeeming
in any way, shape or form that I honestly hope the rotting corpse of Bon Scott
oozes out of his grave, slimes his way through the alleys and ghettos uptown
to Brian Johnson’s opulent mansion—where he’s probably quaffing
brandy-n’-broken-glass shots in the hopes his screechy, over-emotive,
razorblade of a voice holds out long enough to tour one more time to retarded
and useless parodies of AC/DC music like “Cover You In Oil”—and
props his mouth open with a sharp, fleshless bone snapped from his long-dead
shin so he can pour a gallon of gin down HIS fucking throat in a beyond-the-grave
payback to Johnson for so brazenly selling what was once a genuine, ball-bustin’
rock ‘n’ roll party band out to soul-dead, heroin-chic fucktards
like THE GAP. Ya know what a GAP is? It’s a useless space, an empty hole,
a fucking waste of air, that’s what it is. Ugh. Brian, you, sir, are a
genuine MUSIC WHORE. You AND the Young brothers. Hope you all fucking choke
on the goose pate for this one, blokes.
I’ll catch ya’ll next time out for less talk an’ more rock,
I promise. Tons of reviews, loads of new releases: The Black Keys—Are
They Really The New Kings Of Garage Grit? And what’s up with their day
jobs? Ween—What’s The Difference Between Remembering What It’s
Like To Be A 15-year-old Boy And Actually Acting Like One? Bad Brains’
H.R.—Can A Man Who Shares A First Name With A Sid And Marty Krofft Cartoon
Puppet Actually Be The Prince Of Punk Politics? And last but not least—Soul
Asylum—Has Anyone Who’s Reviewed It Actually Opened Their CD And
Listened To It? For the answers to these and many more pertinent rock ‘n’
roll questions, tune back here to the ‘Dial, same day, same space, next
week. Keep your ears to the ground an’ your heads in the clouds, and until
we meet again—make yer own damn news.
If you have local music news/gigs/CDs you’d like mentioned in this
space, send replies to: Tmygunn77764@yahoo.com.
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