HOLY SHIT, TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY!!! WORLD IS ENDING NAO!!
I guess I've had some sort of productivity fit lately, likely the result of me having only had 2 and 1/4 beers in the last 5 days, that's resulted in some more creative writing.
First of all, I just spent the last hour or so revising and re-editing (in a non-hungover state, resulting in less ADD all-over-the-placeness, and more lulz) my first Fails From The DJ Booth article. You can re-read it here, if you're into that sort of thing. I promise it makes much more sense, and is indeed funnier the second time you read it. If not, I'll summon Billy Mays from the netherworld to give you your money back. Of which you spent none, so you'll basically just have zombie Billy Mays gnawing on your exposed cerebellum while simultaneously trying to sell you some goddamned Kaboom and value pack of Zorbeez.
Read it. Again. Re-experience the magic.
http://smut-it-bore.livejournal.com/14509.html
Now for some new content, here's the next installment of Fails From The DJ Booth entitled:
6 More Songs That Should NEVER Be Played Or Requested In A Strip Club and 6 New Songs to Combat Their Ineptitude That People Might Actually Enjoy.
As far as I've come to understand, most DJ's are illiterate scumbags who can only be considered to have a tenuous grasp on both the reality outside a club setting and the auto-dial button that summons their coke dealer. Now that I've immediately ostracized my peers, let me deconstruct your playlist faster than a 747 approaching terminal velocity and a famous skyline.
It's no secret that your DJ conspires against you. He uses your knowledge of familiar songs and makes you respond in physically awkward ways to tunes you've heard five squintillion times before, yet somehow are powerless to refuse. In fact, if your DJ were your best friend, he'd be that best friend that constantly spouts hackneyed in-jokes and makes fun of the fact that your last girlfriend was fat and looked like a post-mortem Anne Ramsey, while at the same time trying to hook you up with a chick with no chin that he met at a Red Robin on the outskirts of town.
DJ's worldwide pander to the lowest common denominator and if you've ever heard anything other than an I - IV - I - IV chord progression then you've probably wanted to shoot yourself in the dick anytime you've walked into a strip club (females, fear not - I know you only enter strip clubs because your boyfriend is convinced it's a great way to initiate a three-some, so you're exempt from my wrath).
My associates may ridicule me for deflating their mediocrity, but this shit needs to stop.
Evanescence - Bring Me To Life
Holy fucking shit. No, honestly. Fucking holy shit.
For purely research oriented purposes I paused the awesome music I was playing (Annie from Norway, give it a spin if you like pop music) and googled the video for this song. With absolutely no hyperbole, I stopped it at one minute and eleven seconds and sincerely contemplated whether or not I valued my existence as an incarnate being in this universe.
Where the fuck do I even begin? Is it the fact that the song takes over a full minute to even get started, thus thwarting DJ's everywhere from playing the song in it's entirety while simultaneously producing results akin to cough medicine label warnings? Is It the douchey faggot that cries “Wake me up!” when the song finally reaches it's jump off point? Or is it perhaps the incessant whinging of the incompetent, studio assisted bitch who represents the frustrated sexual focal point of this horrible “band”?
If you have a brain stem, and you've seen the terrible “Dark City” ripoff video for this song, like me, you cheered when the chick fell to her death.
Apocalyptica - I Don't Care
Let me get this straight - Your band started out as a stringed instrument Metallica cover band, and now you've got Maynard James Keenan's son playing cello for your derivative, morose, psuedo-metal bellyaching?
Titty fucking Christ, where do I sign up!?
Wait, what's that... you want to sweeten the deal? With who? Adam Gontier?
OH NO YOU DIDN'T!
Lead singer of Three Days Grace?
Talented artist influenced by “his mother and father, as well as Sunny Day Real Estate, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Disturbed and Nirvana”?
My left hand just attempted to punch the shit out of my own face, but my right hand prevented it from doing so by mercilessly clubbing my skull with a Mudvayne branded asp-baton.
M.I.A. - Paper Planes
When the album you've conceived is magically less annoying, yet somehow more derivative than your debut album, your next most overrated loose stool “Kala” only has one recourse: borrow heavily from songs that suck significantly less than the other songs you've written for that album. Wait... did I just imply that “Where Is My Mind?” sucks? Yes. Yes I did. In fact, I would go so far as to call the Pixies one of the most overrated bands in indie history, thereby making my contempt for this song completely transparent. You know what's worse for a DJ than a shitty song that samples another song you hate that everyone with cerebral palsy migrates from the nearest five counties to request? Fifteen more remixes or “songs” that sample that same fucking song that people now want to hear over and over again.
“No one on the corner has swagga like us.”
Yeah, enjoy your millions, bitch.
Viva Revolucion!
Mickey Avalon - My Dick
Okay. I know dude's grandparents were holocaust survivors. And I also know he used to shoot smack with his parents. But seriously, when you were “booed off the stage while opening for the Red Hot Chili Peppers” in 2007, it sincerely might be time to take whatever cash you've earned at that point and hire a fucking life coach. When you fail to impress people who willingly paid to see RHCP on the “Stadium Arcadium” tour, you've officially hit lows that marine biologists can only dream of researching. By the way Holland, your lax attitude regarding prostitution, drugs and heckling awful rap music en masse has prompted me to google “Dutch immigration laws” several times. Now if I could only afford a passport.
Nickleback - Rock Star
Speaking of bands who were booed off stage, at least Mickey Avalon didn't get a rock thrown in his face. Then again, he sucked several dicks to get where he is, so I guess fame really just boils down to what kind of matter you're willing to let smack against the front part of your head. I'm not even shitting you, when I googled “most popular Nickleback songs” (because I had forgotten which one sucked the hardest), this was the first result:
“NICKELBACK IS THE MOST AWESOME BAND IN CANADA NEXT TO RUSH,LOVERBOY, BTO,APRILWINE AND OTHERS”
Hold up. NEXT to BTO? Let's not get greedy. You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet is a veritable masterpiece considering what I'm about to discuss.
Some people have a right to complain. Rock stars are not among those people. You know the guy at work who's always complaining s/he is tired? Give them a million dollars, a kilo of coke and endless opportunities for anal sex with teenagers and they'll probably quit their insomniac bitching. Regardless, Chad Kroeger feels slighted somehow.
If I were the generous sort, I'd assume that this song is likely supposed to be some manner of a pathetic attempt at a commentary on the empty merits of the entertainment industry. Well, I'm not really that generous, and what you actually get is a litany of self pity from a petulant imbecile with no talent. It's like going to the grocery store to buy some nachos only to discover “someone” has bought the grocery store and turned it into the Chad K. Home For Disenfranchised Rock Stars Incapable Of Perceiving The Irony Of Their Own Pitiful Blubbering. And man, you really wanted those nachos.
Chevelle - The Red
I've spent precious few characters describing why these songs should never be played in strip clubs. Let me interject here and defend my choices as some of the most glaringly monotonous representations of why terrestrial radio is a pastiche of the bottom layer of a sewage pipe. A calendar of inadequacy, if you will.
I have a sneaking suspicion that, hidden deep inside some hilariously over-guarded RIAA vault, there is a secret formula, perhaps akin to the Dr. Pepper recipe (you know contemporary media thinks it contains prune juice?), that dictates EXACTLY how to compose the most boring song in the galaxy, which immediately translates into the most requested song by strippers world-wide.
The Red, by Chevelle follows this formula to a “T”.
Indecipherable lyrics vaguely referencing alienation and despair? Check.
Boring riffs that go nowhere and fail to excite even the drunkest of customers on a Sunday night? Check.
Number one song on every stripper with a “tribal” tattoo's list? Check.
Perhaps When I've sobered up, I'll write the other half of this article.
M.
Part 2 is presently in the works.
On a non-Fails From The DJ Booth related note, there's been an explosion of music writing going on the LVMMØX universe. Most of this material is awaiting a competent drummer to help us realize these projects so they can be recorded and brought to the stage. The latter of those happenings is the one that excites me the most. Speaking of which, in the works is a black metal tribute to the Cure. The entire album "Pornography" reworked for second-wave style black metal. The live show will (hopefully) consist of us dressed in period appropriate clothing and corpse paint. I, myself, will have my hair teased out, with corpse-paint and red lipstick, burbling in my best Robert Smith impersonation in between throat rending, growled renditions of Mr. Smith's lyrics.
Big fun.
A somewhat full length LVMMØX album is still being written as well. Entitled "Silver Or Lead", it is a spaghetti western/doom/metal/shoegaze faux-soundtrack with an alchemical plot.
Good shit.
Cheers kids. I'm actually feeling magnanimous these days, though I'm sure that'll wear off once I fall off the sobriety wagon and smash my face on the horse dung of alcohol withdrawal.
M.
First of all, I just spent the last hour or so revising and re-editing (in a non-hungover state, resulting in less ADD all-over-the-placeness, and more lulz) my first Fails From The DJ Booth article. You can re-read it here, if you're into that sort of thing. I promise it makes much more sense, and is indeed funnier the second time you read it. If not, I'll summon Billy Mays from the netherworld to give you your money back. Of which you spent none, so you'll basically just have zombie Billy Mays gnawing on your exposed cerebellum while simultaneously trying to sell you some goddamned Kaboom and value pack of Zorbeez.
Read it. Again. Re-experience the magic.
http://smut-it-bore.livejournal.com/14509.html
Now for some new content, here's the next installment of Fails From The DJ Booth entitled:
6 More Songs That Should NEVER Be Played Or Requested In A Strip Club and 6 New Songs to Combat Their Ineptitude That People Might Actually Enjoy.
As far as I've come to understand, most DJ's are illiterate scumbags who can only be considered to have a tenuous grasp on both the reality outside a club setting and the auto-dial button that summons their coke dealer. Now that I've immediately ostracized my peers, let me deconstruct your playlist faster than a 747 approaching terminal velocity and a famous skyline.
It's no secret that your DJ conspires against you. He uses your knowledge of familiar songs and makes you respond in physically awkward ways to tunes you've heard five squintillion times before, yet somehow are powerless to refuse. In fact, if your DJ were your best friend, he'd be that best friend that constantly spouts hackneyed in-jokes and makes fun of the fact that your last girlfriend was fat and looked like a post-mortem Anne Ramsey, while at the same time trying to hook you up with a chick with no chin that he met at a Red Robin on the outskirts of town.
DJ's worldwide pander to the lowest common denominator and if you've ever heard anything other than an I - IV - I - IV chord progression then you've probably wanted to shoot yourself in the dick anytime you've walked into a strip club (females, fear not - I know you only enter strip clubs because your boyfriend is convinced it's a great way to initiate a three-some, so you're exempt from my wrath).
My associates may ridicule me for deflating their mediocrity, but this shit needs to stop.
Evanescence - Bring Me To Life
Holy fucking shit. No, honestly. Fucking holy shit.
For purely research oriented purposes I paused the awesome music I was playing (Annie from Norway, give it a spin if you like pop music) and googled the video for this song. With absolutely no hyperbole, I stopped it at one minute and eleven seconds and sincerely contemplated whether or not I valued my existence as an incarnate being in this universe.
Where the fuck do I even begin? Is it the fact that the song takes over a full minute to even get started, thus thwarting DJ's everywhere from playing the song in it's entirety while simultaneously producing results akin to cough medicine label warnings? Is It the douchey faggot that cries “Wake me up!” when the song finally reaches it's jump off point? Or is it perhaps the incessant whinging of the incompetent, studio assisted bitch who represents the frustrated sexual focal point of this horrible “band”?
If you have a brain stem, and you've seen the terrible “Dark City” ripoff video for this song, like me, you cheered when the chick fell to her death.
Apocalyptica - I Don't Care
Let me get this straight - Your band started out as a stringed instrument Metallica cover band, and now you've got Maynard James Keenan's son playing cello for your derivative, morose, psuedo-metal bellyaching?
Titty fucking Christ, where do I sign up!?
Wait, what's that... you want to sweeten the deal? With who? Adam Gontier?
OH NO YOU DIDN'T!
Lead singer of Three Days Grace?
Talented artist influenced by “his mother and father, as well as Sunny Day Real Estate, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Disturbed and Nirvana”?
My left hand just attempted to punch the shit out of my own face, but my right hand prevented it from doing so by mercilessly clubbing my skull with a Mudvayne branded asp-baton.
M.I.A. - Paper Planes
When the album you've conceived is magically less annoying, yet somehow more derivative than your debut album, your next most overrated loose stool “Kala” only has one recourse: borrow heavily from songs that suck significantly less than the other songs you've written for that album. Wait... did I just imply that “Where Is My Mind?” sucks? Yes. Yes I did. In fact, I would go so far as to call the Pixies one of the most overrated bands in indie history, thereby making my contempt for this song completely transparent. You know what's worse for a DJ than a shitty song that samples another song you hate that everyone with cerebral palsy migrates from the nearest five counties to request? Fifteen more remixes or “songs” that sample that same fucking song that people now want to hear over and over again.
“No one on the corner has swagga like us.”
Yeah, enjoy your millions, bitch.
Viva Revolucion!
Mickey Avalon - My Dick
Okay. I know dude's grandparents were holocaust survivors. And I also know he used to shoot smack with his parents. But seriously, when you were “booed off the stage while opening for the Red Hot Chili Peppers” in 2007, it sincerely might be time to take whatever cash you've earned at that point and hire a fucking life coach. When you fail to impress people who willingly paid to see RHCP on the “Stadium Arcadium” tour, you've officially hit lows that marine biologists can only dream of researching. By the way Holland, your lax attitude regarding prostitution, drugs and heckling awful rap music en masse has prompted me to google “Dutch immigration laws” several times. Now if I could only afford a passport.
Nickleback - Rock Star
Speaking of bands who were booed off stage, at least Mickey Avalon didn't get a rock thrown in his face. Then again, he sucked several dicks to get where he is, so I guess fame really just boils down to what kind of matter you're willing to let smack against the front part of your head. I'm not even shitting you, when I googled “most popular Nickleback songs” (because I had forgotten which one sucked the hardest), this was the first result:
“NICKELBACK IS THE MOST AWESOME BAND IN CANADA NEXT TO RUSH,LOVERBOY, BTO,APRILWINE AND OTHERS”
Hold up. NEXT to BTO? Let's not get greedy. You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet is a veritable masterpiece considering what I'm about to discuss.
Some people have a right to complain. Rock stars are not among those people. You know the guy at work who's always complaining s/he is tired? Give them a million dollars, a kilo of coke and endless opportunities for anal sex with teenagers and they'll probably quit their insomniac bitching. Regardless, Chad Kroeger feels slighted somehow.
If I were the generous sort, I'd assume that this song is likely supposed to be some manner of a pathetic attempt at a commentary on the empty merits of the entertainment industry. Well, I'm not really that generous, and what you actually get is a litany of self pity from a petulant imbecile with no talent. It's like going to the grocery store to buy some nachos only to discover “someone” has bought the grocery store and turned it into the Chad K. Home For Disenfranchised Rock Stars Incapable Of Perceiving The Irony Of Their Own Pitiful Blubbering. And man, you really wanted those nachos.
Chevelle - The Red
I've spent precious few characters describing why these songs should never be played in strip clubs. Let me interject here and defend my choices as some of the most glaringly monotonous representations of why terrestrial radio is a pastiche of the bottom layer of a sewage pipe. A calendar of inadequacy, if you will.
I have a sneaking suspicion that, hidden deep inside some hilariously over-guarded RIAA vault, there is a secret formula, perhaps akin to the Dr. Pepper recipe (you know contemporary media thinks it contains prune juice?), that dictates EXACTLY how to compose the most boring song in the galaxy, which immediately translates into the most requested song by strippers world-wide.
The Red, by Chevelle follows this formula to a “T”.
Indecipherable lyrics vaguely referencing alienation and despair? Check.
Boring riffs that go nowhere and fail to excite even the drunkest of customers on a Sunday night? Check.
Number one song on every stripper with a “tribal” tattoo's list? Check.
Perhaps When I've sobered up, I'll write the other half of this article.
M.
Part 2 is presently in the works.
On a non-Fails From The DJ Booth related note, there's been an explosion of music writing going on the LVMMØX universe. Most of this material is awaiting a competent drummer to help us realize these projects so they can be recorded and brought to the stage. The latter of those happenings is the one that excites me the most. Speaking of which, in the works is a black metal tribute to the Cure. The entire album "Pornography" reworked for second-wave style black metal. The live show will (hopefully) consist of us dressed in period appropriate clothing and corpse paint. I, myself, will have my hair teased out, with corpse-paint and red lipstick, burbling in my best Robert Smith impersonation in between throat rending, growled renditions of Mr. Smith's lyrics.
Big fun.
A somewhat full length LVMMØX album is still being written as well. Entitled "Silver Or Lead", it is a spaghetti western/doom/metal/shoegaze faux-soundtrack with an alchemical plot.
Good shit.
Cheers kids. I'm actually feeling magnanimous these days, though I'm sure that'll wear off once I fall off the sobriety wagon and smash my face on the horse dung of alcohol withdrawal.
M.