Posted in FGH because music threads always turn into fights.

Hating the very concept of Classic Rock for reasons that should be obvious, I've just tuned in to Baltimore's classic rock station. I'm tempted to reject the songs out of hand because they're cheesy, sentimental, and just not my style.

But being a doubter, even of myself, I listen. The first song is "Doctor My Eyes." I wouldn't be caught dead playing this at a party. And yet... this is a very nice record. Soulful even. Subtle guitar work, dynamic bassline, right in the pocket. Some very musical people worked very hard on this. And now the lyrics all of a sudden speak to me: "Is this the price for having learned how not to cry?" Not a bad line at all. Wouldn't have minded writing it myself, if I could let my guard down for a moment.

Now Steve Miller, cheesebag supreme. But there's something unexpected in "Keep on Rockin' Me, Baby." Through the glitzy 70s production smoothness comes a certain oomph, a syncopated fingerstyle blues lick atop a galloping bass riff. And Miller, it seems, was a talented vocalist back then, sliding seamlessly from his natural range to falsetto and back again. Try that sometime if you don't think it's hard.

And now the Eagles. The hated Eagles. "Hotel California," live. Some opening filigrees on classical guitar, and I think, hey, that's pretty good. There's Joe Walsh.

Now I'm thinking all this music has survived for some reason other than audience stupidity. I'm listening to this stuff and actually learning something. Believe me, I used to hate it. Weird.

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What others say about boorite!

I generally find that there are songs that I shouldn't like, but I do. It seems you've been able to determine exactly what it is for you that draws you to a song. I have yet to pinpoint my attraction to certain songs.

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The giant three-phallused phallus of Uzbekistan will one day squirt the cosmic jizz of revenge all over Canada.

Smarmy, hypocritical cynicism so pointed any attack is instantly rendered impotent. It's like the snotty, brainy clique from high school (the one that sneered and picked apart the actions and ideals of every other student in lieu of actually doing or believing in anything) got together to publish a free weekly. But it is hellaciously funny. The journalistic equivalent of MikeyG. This one music issue was particularly assholey-but-with-charm.

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Ham-fisted ham fisting.

I was enjoying the music issue Artemis linked to until they savaged one of the greatest albums ever recorded... Television's "Marquee Moon." Now if you want to pick a record every hipster (including myself) owns but never listens to... Captain Beefheart's "Trout Mask Replica." Even if I do randomly shout "Tits! Tits! The blimp! The blimp!" at my wife occasionally...

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I has a flavor!

That was written by Adam Gnade, whom I happen to know. He was the editor of a failed magazine here in San Diego that was published by an acquaintance of mine and two of my best friends worked on. He hired his girlfriend to be assistant editor, and together, they published the most self-indulgent crap this town has ever seen. Adam and Jessie would write at great length about themselves and their tedious lives every week--it was awful. It was supposed to be an arts and music magazine, but Adam would only allow stories on music he liked. Unfortunately, nobody else shared his obscure musical tastes, so nobody read the mag, which meant no advertisers would spend money on it. This was clear to everyone involved with the magazine but Adam and Jessie. They told me one night that the real problem with San Diego Fahrenheit was that Adam and Jessie didn't get paid enough.

I wanted to tell them if they put out a magazine people would actually read that advertisers would then advertize in it, and then they could negotioate more money based on their proven track record, but I was being gracious that night because we were at the media preview for Kill Bill, Vol 1, on their passes and I didn't really belong there.

I kind of like Meat Loaf's Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are, but I only listen to it with headphones on so no one knows. So in hindsight it was probably pretty stupid of me to admit to it on the internet.

There is nothing remotely attractive about Meat Loaf. Or his music.

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The giant three-phallused phallus of Uzbekistan will one day squirt the cosmic jizz of revenge all over Canada.

when i was in my teens, if i saw me now and how i comb my hair and what i listen to and what movies i now don't shy from admitting that i enjoy, i probably would've kicked my present-day Self's ass. i just call it growing old. aging is kind of relaxing that way. i start to enjoy before that part of my brain kicks in saying, "there are deep, quasi-philosophical reasons why you shouldn't enjoy this." now when that part of my brain kicks in, there's always an ironic twinge in its voice. i stand up straight, put my hands on my hips, and imagine a cape flowing across my back while i stare into the wind. "Thou shalt not like Creedence!"

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i want to piss on you

You wouldn't happen to be in Portland, would you?

Anyone ever see "The History of Rock n Roll: The '70s Have a Nice Decade"?

I got it from the library and plan to watch it this weekend. Lots of good interviews from what I hear.

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"Jelly-belly gigglin, dancin and a-wigglin, honey that's the way I am!" Janice the Muppet

It seems to happen every day.

Every morning I wake up, look out my window, light a cigarette, remember I'm not allowed to smoke inside, run through the corridors trying to contain the fumes of my lit cig in my cupped right hand, step out into the misty morning air, breathe deep, and then gag on the smell of urine and vomit drifting over from the homeless man across the street.

Peddlers, man. 20 million dollar a day industry. Or so they say.

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Ham-fisted ham fisting.

I think Art lives next door to me.

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The giant three-phallused phallus of Uzbekistan will one day squirt the cosmic jizz of revenge all over Canada.

That article looks suspiciously like a colection of this guy's articles...

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There was once a man who said:"nothing is true!". Although later it was found out that he was lying.

I agree completely, I went from being a complete music snob and hating anything considered "pop music" to having Justin Timberlake's "Rock Your Body" as my ringtone.

I watched "Armageddon" last year because I was bored, and although the first time I enjoyed it only for Steve Buscemi's character, this time I was nearly moved to tears when Ben Affleck rode over the hill in his little moon buggy to save the rest of the crew. I am still disgusted with myself.

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Dad was flammable

I'm moved to tears when Bela Lugosi dies in "Ed Wood".

Oh, and when Sam picks up Frodo.

And yes, when Nemo says "I love you, dad".

Okay, okay, and in that Warner Bros. cartoon where the big dog (Marc Anthony) befriends the tiny black & white kitty and then he thinks it's dead and he pets the kitty-shaped cookie and places it on his back right where the cat would lay down.

Fine, the last episode of Quantum Leap choked me up.

When Joel left MST3k I got a little knot in my throat.

Man, and those damned manipulative Jimmy Fund commercials get me every time.

And... And... The "save post" button...

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Ham-fisted ham fisting.

"Thou shalt not like Creedence!"

My teenaged self would have kicked your teenaged self's ass for spouting such obscene, blasphemous nonsense.

I used to be anti-pop as well, but now I can peacefully enjoy the ballads of John Meyer without digging round-ended corkscrews into the flesh of my scalp. He makes disgusting faces while he is performing, and that is distracting; but if I listen to his music without looking at him I notice that it has some merit.

And fuck you, Steve Miller Band defines my youth!

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"It's a second World War II!"

quote:

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Okay, okay, and in that Warner Bros. cartoon where the big dog (Marc Anthony) befriends the tiny black & white kitty and then he thinks it's dead and he pets the kitty-shaped cookie and places it on his back right where the cat would lay down.

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