Bowling With No Panties

Everybody's a critic. I am actually right.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

I've Bitten My Tongue About This Long Enough

Fergie says, "Are you ready for this?"

The answer is, "NO! And I NEVER will be."

The Black Eyed Peas used to be a relatively respectable underground hip hop group of the "backpacker" variety. You know, good beats, good flow, thoughtful lyrics.

I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to drag this incontinent transexual plastic surgery victim into the group and Pop it up. Perhaps they wanted more money -- her singing voice isn't all bad.

Fergie is a Monet. From far away she's pretty attractive but get close up and she's a hot mess. As a friend of mine would say, she's good from afar, but far from good. Musically, she sings on key and sometimes actually sounds pretty good, depending on the song. She added a different element to the Black Eyed Peas and I guess the pop consumer spoke and found it good because that record sold like hotcakes. She was on that Kids, Incorporated show, pimped out by her parents. I don't know where they found her or how they dug her up and frankly I don't care enough to check Wikipedia to find out.

SO fine, the Black Eyed Peas in their new formation crossed over and has become a popular mainstream act. Fergie must have added to the appeal.


Yet...who the hell told this girl she needed a solo record? She can't rap. I hope to God that she didn't actually write the lyrics for the lyrical abomination that is "London Bridge". I will admit I kind of enjoy the beat, and the video is amusing to watch for it's incongruency.

Here's "The Dutchess" (cute album title considering the whole "Fergie" thing, yeah, Fergie, I get it! You're like that chick, Fergie, who was the Dutchess of York for five minutes before shilling for Weight Watchers! HA HA you're WITTY!) cavorting with two Chollas in -- London. Wouldn't it have been more authentic to dig up some Chavs?

She dry humps a Buckingham Palace guard who ignores her, then she struts around some Country Club in a very short dress after pretending to get gangsta with the paparazzi (which of course she must pretend to do considering how she'd DIE without their attention) then flirts with some butler with a vaguely Jamaican-affected rap before rolling around on a pool table, chin-implant front and center while attempting to "la la la" girlishly before getting back to her badass rap.

"How come every time you come around
my London London Bridge wanna go down like
London London LONDON wanna go down like
London London we wanna go down"

I must be really uncool and un-hep wit the new lingo. What is the London Bridge? Is it her zipper? Is it her panties? Is it the actual act of oral sex? Is it a new dance move? I just don't know. This must be one of those codes that I won't be able to figure out because I'm out of the demographic chronologically.

Nor am I sure I want to.

Which is why I hate the fact that I can't get this catchy-ass idiotic song out of my head. DAMN YOU TO HELL, STACY FERGUSON!!

Friday, August 11, 2006

Mi mi mi mi mi mi miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii......

Oh, Mick.

What's next? Keef taking guitar lessons?

I was blasting "Exile On Main Street" in my car the other day and it struck me that I think my abject love for them means I'm kind of old.

Let me explain, I have this uncle. Don't get me wrong, all THREE of my Uncles are wicked cool in their own right. I love them all equally. But they're cool in different ways.

Uncle S (married to my mother's sister) is a badass who is wicked smart and super kind and is one of the best husbands I've ever seen close up. He's gruff but soft inside and I love making fun of him. I blow his mind with my East Coast viciousness and irreverence. I know he digs it. I love him to DEATH.

Uncle P (my Dad's brother) is just a wild character. Uncle P dropped out of mortuary school and became a lifeguard. He is my godfather and my earliest memory of him is this hairy loud guy who swung me up on his shoulders when I was about 2 or 3. He wouldn't put me down even though I beat on his head for about an hour. He scared the crap out of me. He is brutually honest, hysterically funny, and I love the hell out of him.

Uncle W (married to my Dad's sister) is a rock star in my eyes. This guy had a huge blonde fro' in the 70's, wore a top hat to his wedding, and is the sunniest good natured guy you'd ever meet. He was "cool" when all the other adults in my life were squares or bossing me around. Uncle W had the most amazing album collection. He liked the Dead. He loves singer/songwriters, (Harry Chapin is such a favorite he named his CAT Harry Chapin) and he is the one who tried to tell me how awesome the Stones were when I turned my nose up at them in favor of Duran Duran or Van Halen.

The year "Emotional Rescue" came out, I was visiting the family and Uncle W was playing that album nonstop. He told me then, "This is ok, but it's nowhere near as good at Sticky Fingers." I rolled my eyes and that adorable adolescent way and thought, "WHATEVER!" or whatever it was we said back in the 80's to denote dismissal and condescension.

Back to the now = I was singing along with "Loving Cup" (track 9 on Exile on Main Street) at the top of my lungs and it hit me that these guys really knew what the hell they were talking about. They know the pain of love, the pain of yearning to get naked with someone and not feeling like they were quite in the object of their desire's league but being ballsy enough to try it anyway, using their lowliness as a selling point.

I wouldn't understand any of this back at the age of 14 or however old I was when Uncle W was about my age NOW. I hadn't lived. I hadn't burned for someone. I hadn't felt my lowliness in the presence of someone I had put on a pedestal. I hadn't lost someone I knew out in the bars after near misses and acute connection (Let It Loose), I hadn't missed someone and thought of them on a long road trip (Moonlight Mile). I hadn't had a near death experience yet (Sister Morphine), I hadn't lifted my subjective head to see the chaos in the world around me (Gimme Shelter). I don't think I could have appreciated what I appreciate now without maturity. Therefore, I am old. Don't get me wrong, I can still sing "Hungry Like The Wolf" with glee, including the sexy girly noises in all the right places, but it doesn't MOVE ME like a Stones song.

Mick's voice -- for all it's technical shortcomings -- had one thing back then that couldn't be taught. He had the rawness of the real. He had passion and pain comingled with cockiness. He was sadder but wiser and didn't take it all that seriously. All of this conveyed just in the way he sang "Ohhhhh" or how he sang "Yeahhhhh".

I would love the shoot the beans with him til' dawn. (If I had a time machine, that is.)

(M. Jagger/K. Richards)

I'm the man on the mountain, come on up.
I'm the plowman in the valley with a face full of mud.
Yes, I'm fumbling and I know my car don't start.
Yes, I'm stumbling and I know I play a bad guitar.

Give me little drink from your loving cup.
Just one drink and I'll fall down drunk.

I'm the man who walks the hillside in the sweet summer sun.
I'm the man that brings you roses when you ain't got none.
Well I can run and jump and fish, but I won't fight
You if you want to push and pull with me all night.

Give me little drink from you loving cup.
Just one drink and I'll fall down drunk.

I feel so humble with you tonight,
Just sitting in front of the fire.
See your face dancing in the flame,
Feel your mouth kissing me again,
What a beautiful buzz, what a beautiful buzz,
What a beautiful buzz, what a beautiful buzz.
Oh, what a beautiful buzz, what a beautiful buzz.

Yes, I am nitty gritty and my shirt's all torn,
But I would love to spill the beans with you till dawn.

Give me little drink from your loving cup.
Just one drink and I'll fall down drunk.