Wherein I Point and Laugh At Idiots

And just because you failed doesn't mean you should try again.

In my role as a semi-literate, easily irritable music cricket over on ZME Music, I’m required to listen to a lot of stuff I probably wouldn’t throw on my iPod otherwise – nauseatingly rubbish bands like “Hot Gossip”, who you’ll likely never have the “pleasure” of enduring. The steady trickle of dross that lands in my inbox is often faintly amusing: it’s always fun to watch people fall flat on their face, or aim so far above their abilities that they end up inadvertently massacring migrating geese. But sometimes, people insist on taking it to a whole other level, and produce music so irredeemably horrible, you’d swear it was singularly designed to make your brain begin to digest itself, before  eventually collapsing into a gaping black hole, swallowing every last trace of sanity, happiness, and most importantly, mercy from your soul.

But since I don’t want my presence on ZME to be one of unspeakably evil reviews, less prone to using words than letter-shaped daggers aimed squarely at useless, boring singers’ carotids, I’ve decided to save the worst of my bile for here. (Y’know – where I can’t be edited or fired. Wheee!) So, my new semi-regular feature: pointing out the most braindead, unlistenable, face-smashingly worthless music to slap across my face, wet glove-like, recently. Then laughing in their face, and crushing them with THOUGHTS. Begin.

Theory of a Deadman: ‘Hate My Life’

This is the kind of song that makes me wonder if I didn’t age a couple of decades without realising it, and therefore can’t help getting all kinds of riled up about kids complaining about their hair and their drugs and things. Have I become a mirthless, grim old killjoy, stamping down on fun and frolics wherever they may be?

Or is it the most risible, thick, arrogant-in-its-own-dullness track since Nickelback’s Rockstar? Thudding, leaden rock songs sung by hateful, mealy-mouthed nothings that purport to have some sort of sense of humour about their pointless, resource-sapping lives – except the  supposed irony of the songs is lost on everyone but the bands themselves. I mean, really, does Tyler Connolly actually think he’s relating to the mythical “common man” by singing this?

I hate that I can’t tell when a girl’s underage,
You know, I tell her she’s a nice piece of ass,
Then her daddy punches me in the face

It’s not just an insultingly stupid song, it’s insulting to the people it’s trying to represent. And these singles are selling in massive quantities!!! It’s a terrifying insight into the general intelligence of humanity – it’s like discovering that Americans only voted for Barack Obama because they thought he was Denzel Washington.

The only way Theory of a Deadman could convince me they were worth their weight in melted doggie-doo would be if they titled their next record ‘We Know Our Fans Are Stupid’, and still managed to go platinum with it. Also, there’d be no CD inside the case.

C’mon, if they’re gonna exist, at least spare me the ordeal of hearing them.

Master Shortie: ‘Dance Like a White Boy’

Um. Hard to know what to say here: I talked about it on ZME a little bit, but good graces prevented me from really laying into it. It’s one of those times where you hope it’s a Spinal Tap-esque parody of the harrowing depths modern urban music is capable of plumbing… but then you discover that Mister Master is actually a “rising underground star”. And you can’t help but wish he’d have stayed underground, except in a literal rather than figurative sense. Possibly with six feet of soil in between him and the rest of us.

I mean, this – this – is what gets you noticed as a rising star these days? A sampled drum beat, some mild racism (I’d love to see the outrage if Will Young’s next single was called “Steal Like A Black Kid”) and a video that resembles the worst collective acid trip Goldie Lookin’ Chain ever had.  Even in today’s lacklustre musical pastures, Mister Master barely passes muster. It’s every awful cliché anyone could ever invent about British hip hop music carefully plucked, arranged, and proudly displayed as if making a soul-grating reality out of everyone’s worst fears was something to be congratulated on.

I mean, it’s very possible that I’m just ridiculously out of tune with what society is looking for these days, and this kind of tuneless, droning, mush-minded excrement is all the rage these days – in fact, more than just possible; it’s almost certain. Which just makes me despair all the more: I’d dearly love to think that I could focus my rage squarely on Shortie Spice, but maybe you’re all to blame. And I’d hate to have to kill what few readers I actually have.

Asher Roth: ‘I Love College’

Here’s the thing. I know people everywhere are going to fall in love with this song. I know this because I go to college, and I know that at a club or a party or wherever, it gives the easily-pleased proles something easy and happy and dumb to sing along to when they’re too drunk to remember if they’ve ever even been to college. Despite I Love College clearly being the very spawn of Satan, it is going to be huge. Sure, Asher Roth is like a new version of  much maligned half-wit, Uncle Kracker, without a modicum of Kracker’s already meagre supply of wit or talent, but people won’t care about that: he talkz ’bout drinkin’!

Really, people? Has our collective student intellect shrunk to such extremes that we need to be “represented” by this shrivelled, interminable vacuum of talent and personality? I know you all think drinking is fun, but do we really need this vacuous, worthless frat-boy telling us that? I make it a point never to think very highly of people in general, but if I ever hear anyone I know singing along to this song, I swear, I will cripple them with a tyre iron. I’ve made better music clanging a hammer off an old radiator for six hours.

And, Asher Roth: is this all you’ve really got? Is there a crushed, empty beer can where your brain should be? I mean, you’ve made a song about the fact that you got drunk one night at college. Congratulations: you’re as cool as everyone who’s ever gone to college. Except the rest of us weren’t asinine enough to think it merited celebration in the form of a crap song. And besides all that, you’re half-heartedly ripping off Eminem’s old schtick, but somehow managing to be even MORE juvenile. At least when Eminem sang about putting his bum in your face, it was knowingly dumb. I can’t help but feel that you’re under the impression that what you’re doing is cool and worthwhile. It’s not.

Stop it.


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