Normally I hate being wrong, but just this once (for you know who) I'll make an exception . . .
Okay, so I'm gonna eat some crow here, but only a little. Earlier today, Cook played a concert for the Wal-Mart Shareholders. At said concert he performed a nice version of TWIK and told a delightful story about his college days and killing time in Wal Mart, which I totally did too in my long gone college days. 2 AM Wal-Mart trips. Awesome. The performance is available at various places on the 'net. If I had even the tiniest shred of skills with all that fancy linking and embedding and whatnot that people do, I'd link and or imbed, but I lack such skill. That's why the nice people at Google exist, though. Well anyway, my point, and here's where the whole me being wrong thing comes in, is that he also performed an acoustic version of Magic Rainbows and Other Mixed Metaphors (TM) after confessing that he just learned it on guitar yesterday. Now, to this date, I had not been a fan of the song. Point of fact, I liked to say that the Nick Cave and PJ Harvey songs on my ipod immediately beat the shit out of Magic Rainbows the moment it showed up on my ipod. That being said, having no shame, I downloaded it for me, and gifted it to three people. Four of those just under 400K downloads (and counting!) are mine! But that was just to support my guy. I could still incessantly mock the song, because, well, it's not really hard to mock: Magic Rainbows, and tasting moments and living out loud, and the edge of forever. Frankly, people are saying it's Disney; fuck that, kids - it's Jem and the Holograms - early era.
But do you know what? Today, that f'n evil genius managed to make that song sound like a legitimate piece of music, even with the reference to the Magic of Roy G. Biv. In today's performance, there was a yearning and a tinge of sadness in the song that I never noticed before, but the triumph that was originally written into it was still there; its overbearing exhuberance was just tempered. It was no longer a cheesy celebration with confetti flying everywhere; instead it sounded like the story of a man who had hit bottom and crawled his way back out, and, as a result, his triumph was that much more potent. Because of this, you forgave him for referencing a magic meteorlogical effect. I actually believed those goofy lyrics; I got it. Maybe that crazy kid actually does like that song. And maybe he has good reason for feeling that way. Lesson to me: never doubt David R. Cook. Just don't do it. It actually makes me not worried at all for his album. He gets music; he gets lyrics. He can dig deep and understand the emotion connected to both and, what's more, he can make the listener understand it too. Even if they make him do utter shit (read: not his own songs), he'll spin it into gold. Why? Because he'll have to put his name on it, and I really don't think the guy could live with himself if he didn't make it into something he could own and be proud of. It's one of the many reasons he is so very, very awesome. Jesus. I like Magic Rainbows, so much so that I will call it by its given name. Time of my Life. I get it now. Sky Bully help us all.
So far Cook, you've proven me wrong and stolen my dignity, offenses lesser men have received my boundless well of contempt for committing. You, however - you! - I just conclude are not a God of Fuck; rather you are the God of Fuck. You must have some flaw, as you possess a Y-Chromosome. As of now, I have seen no indication of said flaw, however. Cook, you need to reveal this failing of your character, whatever it may be, so I can become less obsessed with you and actually get some f'n sleep. Because this white hot blazing obsession thing is very hard to maintain, but I sure as hell ain't giving it up willingly.
For the record, at the shareholder meetings at my firm, they certainly don't have David Cook performing. If they did, you'd know, because I would totally crash the meeting and subsequently get fired (and possibly arrested - who knows how I would react at that point). Plus, how does that show up in the minutes of the meeting? "10:30 AM: sacrificed small mammal to Sam Walton. 10:45 AM: Super hot guy told an engaging story and performed two songs. Made the one that should be stupid into an opus of redemption. 11:00 AM: Voted to oppress unions, and screw over our female employees. 11:05 AM: had cake and punch." Wild.
Final note: it would be nice to have the luxury of judging him for allegedly compromising his artistic integrity by performing for a bunch of corporate shills (specifically Wal Mart - gasp!) as I'm noticing that some people on this glorious internet are. However, being that Wally World is one of my very many esteemed former employers, I am most assuredly not in a position to judge. Also I'm willing to bet that Cook got compensated a great deal more for his whoring to Wal-Mart than I got for mine. And Cook didn't even have to wear a hairnet. Just for the record, I did. And Wal Mart was kind enough to have lined the walls of the deli with mirrors so I was constantly confronted with my hairnet and latex glove wearing reflection, as I pondered the purpose of my newly obtained philosophy degree. Nor did Cook have to slice Deli meat - that was me as well. So since I live in a glass house on this issue, it would be pretty unwise of me to chuck stones at Mr. Cook.
But do you know what? Today, that f'n evil genius managed to make that song sound like a legitimate piece of music, even with the reference to the Magic of Roy G. Biv. In today's performance, there was a yearning and a tinge of sadness in the song that I never noticed before, but the triumph that was originally written into it was still there; its overbearing exhuberance was just tempered. It was no longer a cheesy celebration with confetti flying everywhere; instead it sounded like the story of a man who had hit bottom and crawled his way back out, and, as a result, his triumph was that much more potent. Because of this, you forgave him for referencing a magic meteorlogical effect. I actually believed those goofy lyrics; I got it. Maybe that crazy kid actually does like that song. And maybe he has good reason for feeling that way. Lesson to me: never doubt David R. Cook. Just don't do it. It actually makes me not worried at all for his album. He gets music; he gets lyrics. He can dig deep and understand the emotion connected to both and, what's more, he can make the listener understand it too. Even if they make him do utter shit (read: not his own songs), he'll spin it into gold. Why? Because he'll have to put his name on it, and I really don't think the guy could live with himself if he didn't make it into something he could own and be proud of. It's one of the many reasons he is so very, very awesome. Jesus. I like Magic Rainbows, so much so that I will call it by its given name. Time of my Life. I get it now. Sky Bully help us all.
So far Cook, you've proven me wrong and stolen my dignity, offenses lesser men have received my boundless well of contempt for committing. You, however - you! - I just conclude are not a God of Fuck; rather you are the God of Fuck. You must have some flaw, as you possess a Y-Chromosome. As of now, I have seen no indication of said flaw, however. Cook, you need to reveal this failing of your character, whatever it may be, so I can become less obsessed with you and actually get some f'n sleep. Because this white hot blazing obsession thing is very hard to maintain, but I sure as hell ain't giving it up willingly.
For the record, at the shareholder meetings at my firm, they certainly don't have David Cook performing. If they did, you'd know, because I would totally crash the meeting and subsequently get fired (and possibly arrested - who knows how I would react at that point). Plus, how does that show up in the minutes of the meeting? "10:30 AM: sacrificed small mammal to Sam Walton. 10:45 AM: Super hot guy told an engaging story and performed two songs. Made the one that should be stupid into an opus of redemption. 11:00 AM: Voted to oppress unions, and screw over our female employees. 11:05 AM: had cake and punch." Wild.
Final note: it would be nice to have the luxury of judging him for allegedly compromising his artistic integrity by performing for a bunch of corporate shills (specifically Wal Mart - gasp!) as I'm noticing that some people on this glorious internet are. However, being that Wally World is one of my very many esteemed former employers, I am most assuredly not in a position to judge. Also I'm willing to bet that Cook got compensated a great deal more for his whoring to Wal-Mart than I got for mine. And Cook didn't even have to wear a hairnet. Just for the record, I did. And Wal Mart was kind enough to have lined the walls of the deli with mirrors so I was constantly confronted with my hairnet and latex glove wearing reflection, as I pondered the purpose of my newly obtained philosophy degree. Nor did Cook have to slice Deli meat - that was me as well. So since I live in a glass house on this issue, it would be pretty unwise of me to chuck stones at Mr. Cook.