KoRn = Radiohead
Out of morbid curiosity I decided to subject myself to the "KoRn Unplugged" special on MTV2 On Demand.
Seated on a dimly lit stage are a fat-faced Jonathan Davis and company (many wearing silly animal masks, like some kind of PG rated Slipknot) along with a small accompaniment of competent classical musicians, no doubt forced to wear Zoro masks to fit in with the rest of the contemptible crew.
First off, the already terrible, spine-shattering vocal stylings of Jonathan Davis are nothing if not intolerable. But without the fancy studio makeover on the audio his singing voice comes off like a man with smoker's cough being slowly run over from knees to neck by a mining truck.
Then, the forces of darkness decided that setting upon the world an acoustic rendition of KoRn's classic hits wasn't quite enough hell-on-earth for one half hour MTV special. The crust of the planet split asunder and from the fiery rift rose Amy Lee, the anemic harpy of Evanescence fame.
The two are equally awful, on opposing ends of some inaudible talent field that only bats and damaged, trailerpark goths can seem to hone in to.
They screech and gargle out a duet rendition of 'Got The Life'. By this point I, myself, feel I no longer have one.
Exit Amy, back to her underworld day-job sucking the resin off doorknobs in one of Satan's many lavish palaces. KoRn putters out another ear-numbing tune before moving on to a cover of sorts.
Mr. Davis mumbled out of his ham-face a few short words about his next song; how it goes out to all the kids, and adults, who blah blah blah. Then proceded to squawk out his rendition of Radiohead's "Creep". I could see a good portion of my soul seep out of my chest and float asunder, into the valley fog.
Radiohead, one of the most talented ensembles of men in music (before Yorke traded his band in for a bent circuit board) having their work passed through the anal filter that is Jonathan Davis' throat. Tragedy unfolding on the tv, yet paled in comparison to what would happen next.
Another guest was in store to tantalize the generic goblin crowd seated around the unfolding freak show. First we had the vampire bitch, who would emerge from the shadows next, club foot dragging along like so much Quasimodo?
Fred Durst perhaps, inconspicuous red cap hiding his shiny dome?
Chester Bennington maybe? Though their combined voices would more than likely ear-fuck anyone within 100 feet of the audible range.
Maybe KoRn will bring out five more drummers and eight more bass players by way of Slipknot's aid?
No, no, all too easy.
From the shadows an aged man stood, out of place and detached, once svelt and iconic to a damaged generation of 80's youths. Jonathan mutters about the man's band, how they wrote the soundtrack for his life growing up.
Could it be Winger? Whitesnake?
No, it would in fact be Robert Smith of The Cure. Standing amidst the husky nu-metalers, sticking out like a sore thumb with a ratty fright wig. After lending his talents to add filler to the Judge Dredd and Resident Evil soundtracks (right next to the aforementioned Slipknot) and sitting in with Blink-182 for a song, I didn't think Robert Smith could get any lower.
I was wrong.
Coming up would be the best rendition of 'Make Me Bad' (which isn't saying much considering it went from "Shit" to "Shit with glitter on it" by way of partial backup singing by Smith) and the worst rendition of In-between Days. Both songs mixed together in some hellish blender.
Lucky for me and anyone who respects music in any way, that was the end of it. No second tunes, no encores, only a very necessary end-transmission.
Good, night...
Seated on a dimly lit stage are a fat-faced Jonathan Davis and company (many wearing silly animal masks, like some kind of PG rated Slipknot) along with a small accompaniment of competent classical musicians, no doubt forced to wear Zoro masks to fit in with the rest of the contemptible crew.
First off, the already terrible, spine-shattering vocal stylings of Jonathan Davis are nothing if not intolerable. But without the fancy studio makeover on the audio his singing voice comes off like a man with smoker's cough being slowly run over from knees to neck by a mining truck.
Then, the forces of darkness decided that setting upon the world an acoustic rendition of KoRn's classic hits wasn't quite enough hell-on-earth for one half hour MTV special. The crust of the planet split asunder and from the fiery rift rose Amy Lee, the anemic harpy of Evanescence fame.
The two are equally awful, on opposing ends of some inaudible talent field that only bats and damaged, trailerpark goths can seem to hone in to.
They screech and gargle out a duet rendition of 'Got The Life'. By this point I, myself, feel I no longer have one.
Exit Amy, back to her underworld day-job sucking the resin off doorknobs in one of Satan's many lavish palaces. KoRn putters out another ear-numbing tune before moving on to a cover of sorts.
Mr. Davis mumbled out of his ham-face a few short words about his next song; how it goes out to all the kids, and adults, who blah blah blah. Then proceded to squawk out his rendition of Radiohead's "Creep". I could see a good portion of my soul seep out of my chest and float asunder, into the valley fog.
Radiohead, one of the most talented ensembles of men in music (before Yorke traded his band in for a bent circuit board) having their work passed through the anal filter that is Jonathan Davis' throat. Tragedy unfolding on the tv, yet paled in comparison to what would happen next.
Another guest was in store to tantalize the generic goblin crowd seated around the unfolding freak show. First we had the vampire bitch, who would emerge from the shadows next, club foot dragging along like so much Quasimodo?
Fred Durst perhaps, inconspicuous red cap hiding his shiny dome?
Chester Bennington maybe? Though their combined voices would more than likely ear-fuck anyone within 100 feet of the audible range.
Maybe KoRn will bring out five more drummers and eight more bass players by way of Slipknot's aid?
No, no, all too easy.
From the shadows an aged man stood, out of place and detached, once svelt and iconic to a damaged generation of 80's youths. Jonathan mutters about the man's band, how they wrote the soundtrack for his life growing up.
Could it be Winger? Whitesnake?
No, it would in fact be Robert Smith of The Cure. Standing amidst the husky nu-metalers, sticking out like a sore thumb with a ratty fright wig. After lending his talents to add filler to the Judge Dredd and Resident Evil soundtracks (right next to the aforementioned Slipknot) and sitting in with Blink-182 for a song, I didn't think Robert Smith could get any lower.
I was wrong.
Coming up would be the best rendition of 'Make Me Bad' (which isn't saying much considering it went from "Shit" to "Shit with glitter on it" by way of partial backup singing by Smith) and the worst rendition of In-between Days. Both songs mixed together in some hellish blender.
Lucky for me and anyone who respects music in any way, that was the end of it. No second tunes, no encores, only a very necessary end-transmission.
Good, night...