Entries Tagged 'Music' ↓

I just fell in love.

Hillary Clinton chose a Celine Dion ballad as her campaign theme song. That is all.

UPDATE: This also goes to show that the woman has a staff full of smart people, and she won’t listen to any of them. Surely someone had to tell her, "Look, just no. Bad idea." And if they didn’t, then she surrounds herself with sycophants, and that’s not any better. See also.

I was listening to NPR on the way to work, which is typical, when I heard a story about Kevin Federline’s newest commercial for an insurance company that has angered some in the restaurant industry. Steve Inskeep called him a "rap star," which I think is really generous of him. Anyway, once the K-Fed piece was over the NPR crew tagged out with a healthy portion of his song "America’s Most Hated."

I lost my shit laughing.

Sirius satellite radio station 35, the "Chill" station, is worth the full $13 a month by itself. No lie, so good.

This and this.

You would be horrified at what I do in the privacy of my own house. You would stand, mouth agape, at the magnitude of lameness before you. You thought I was a little lame, but nothing would prepare you for the embarassing display you’d encounter if you walked into my house unannounced.

I came out about my music defecit disorder disorder long ago. Simply put: I like shitty music. Unabashedly I like mainstream hip-hop with its borrowed beats and lyrics so sexist they could get me barred from the Feminist Grrl Club. If it’s dancable I can forgive just about anything else.

I’ve had Bubba Sparxxx’s latest single in my head all day long. All. Day. Long. "Do something with your hair did…" This is a song that is, best I can gather, about a guy who wants to pimp some girl out for an ass contest. I’m sure there are some other nuisances I’m overlooking, but that’s the gist of it. And I can’t get enough.

Because my brain was infected by Bubba all day I decided to flesh it out and play the song. I just happen to have it on mp3. Tootie loves it. She goes nuts when I sing, "I’ve found you, Ms. New Tootie." (And I think it’s cute, cause I got her at the shelter so I did sort of find her, and she’s still really new to me.) Anyway, just now, after singing the only two lines of the song I know in my head over and over and over all day long, I finally heard it blaring in real life. I sat air-rapping (mouthing the words), slinging my wrists around doing my best Dirty South. No shame.

I feel better and the song is no longer stuck in my head. Sometimes this white girl’s gotta get her flow on, you heard? And no doubt it’s the whitest, most hideous display imaginable. Tootie wouldn’t even look at me.

LAST MINUTE UPDATE: I was wrong about the time of the show. Somehow, I heard 4-7. It’s actually 6:30-10. MUH BAD! So maybe I’ll see you there.

One of my co-workers, Miss EHarper*, is a fantastic artist who has a show coming up this weekend at the Family Wash in East Nashville. The Family Wash is typically closed on Sunday evenings but once a month, starting this Sunday, March 6th, there will be an art opening. The concept behind the show is to feature live music from a band that directly influenced the work on display. This week it’s Miss E’s exhibition that was influenced by Nashville’s The Suns of Norway, who will be performing. The event goes from 4 p.m.-7 p.m., and if you live in the area you should totally come, because Miss E is as sweet as pie and really talented and she’s scared this thing is going to flop because it got no press, despite my efforts.

I’m going to be there, though later, because I have to close Sunday brunch. I’m going to be taking notes and stuff because I’d at least like to write a publishable review since the preview fell though. But you should say definitely say ‘hi’ if you come. Which, why not? What else do you have going on from 4 to 7 on a Sunday afternoon besides sitting around in pajama pants, scratching, and grunting at the interweb.

Admission is FREE, but the kitchen is closed. Art and music collaboratives are best experienced on an empty stomach. Plus, there’ll be alcohol for sale, so who needs to eat?

*I really don’t want my co-workers finding my weblog. That happened in the past and it was weird.

You know what?  Fuck encores.  I hate that shit.

I only hate them because everybody freaking does them.  EVERYBODY.  Even the shitty little jam band that cleared the place out does an encore.  People even write it out on the set list: ENCORE 1, ENCORE 2.

Look you presumputous fucks, I paid $15 to stand up and drink overpriced beer to hear you so give me all you got.  Don’t go holding out, knowing you are going to give in in the end.  You play all the songs then I will clap my ass off for you.  Deal?

I joined a gym. Yes, I did. Well, I re-joined after paying but never going. You know that drill. Anyway, I joined the Green Hills YMCA and man am I getting my money’s worth. I get a reduced rate since they charge on a sliding income scale, which rules, and for just over $20 a month I have access to hundreds of cardio machines anad Nautilus machines and free weights and two pools and a yoga room, which is seperate from the aerobics room. It is huge. It’s is big enough for a parking garage.

Anyway, I’ve just gotten back into working out and I am loving it, but I’m all out of songs for my workout CD mixes. And since you all were so good about suggesting things, I thought I’d let you keep it up. This post is basically an open call for high-energy, fast-beat, explosive-type songs. My dumbass just discovered how much help the right music can be for one’s endurance, and I’m hooked.

Nothing too long. I like to keep my workout songs short and varied. Otherwise, go nuts.

My name is Brittney, and I have music defecit disorder. I know this about myself, but I refuse to see a problem with it. Others, however, most certainly do. So, I thought I should take some time to address it.

For starters, I have a very tumultuous relationship with music. Sometime there can be music blaring and I never once hear a note or a single word. Sometimes there can be music on and people singing it, but I’m so in some zone that I don’t even know it exists. Conversly, there are times (which are a] when I am reading b] when I am writing) that I really can’t stand to hear music. Can’t do it. Sometimes I’ll be all, “I’m going to listen to some tunes and look about the interweb.” Then about 15 minutes into surfing I find something lengthy or weighty that I want to read and must shut the music off. When it stops I am often heard to sigh in relief. Sometimes music makes me really crazy and anxious and it has to go, right then. There were times when I lived alone in the studio apartment that I would go–literally–weeks or months without listening to a CD. I would spend days in that room in total silence. Occasionally I would shuffle the 200 or so mp3’s I have on my hard drive. But I rarely listen to whole albums.

I have a hard time naming ten bands that I absolutely love. Isn’t that weird? I’ve always had just an artist or two or four that move me and make me soar in the way that music is apt to do. But for me it is very seldom that I am blown away by something I hear. In high school it was Tori. In college it was Bjork. I own very few CDs and listen to even fewer. I’ve just never been that into listening to music.

I once thought it was because I couldn’t afford it. I wasn’t about to pay $17 for a CD. That will turn out to be GARBAGE. But then I got a CD burner. I just knew that I would be downloading and burning new and interesting, hard-to-find music. But nope. I flip the radio dial every morning on my way to work.

It’s because I have internet finger. I can’t keep it still. If I put a CD in I will impulsively punch it to the next song, or constantly change the volume or put in on shuffle. Most times I prefer scanning the FM radio while in the car, even if everything I hear is crap.

Which, it isn’t. Granted, 90% of shit on the radio is really shitty. I’m talking horrid. But what haters of the radio are missing out on is the huge laughter potential that comes with listening to radio. Forget those fucker DJs. I hate those assholes. I’m talking about the songs themselves. You haven’t heard funny until you’ve heard Jessica Simpson try to rhyme in her newest single. Or heard R. Kelly croon about “taking his key and sticking it in the ignition.” You can’t get that shit anywhere else. And the funniest genre of music on the radio right now is mainstream hip-hop. Which is HUGE in the South. Those songs are pure idiocy. I swear to God, almost every modern hip-hop song I here on the radio talks about nothing but women and how best to demean them. “Bend over, lemme see it.” “Hold her still, I’m gonna milk the cow.” “Can I play with your pantyline?” It’s so gross. It makes me so fucking sad. If only because it is so prevelant.

But! Hip-hop is the music on the radio that has the most interesting and innovative sounds. A lot of those Grab Your Ankles songs have some of the most infectious beats. I’ve wholely given up on new rock on the radio, and most of the straight pop is diarrhea, too. Justin Timberlake is good when he isn’t hooking up with that Nelly ass. And that new Britney Spears single was alright until I heard it four thousand fucking times.

Which is why I mostly listen to NPR. Which brings me back to my music defecit disorder. I just don’t feel the need to have it. And I don’t feel like I’m missing out. Which is why it surprises me when people just can’t get over the fact that I don’t love music, and crave it in the way that a lot of the rest of you freaks do. I just don’t. I guess it was how I was raised. My parents didn’t listen to much music. Ever. The only music I associate strongly with my childhood is cartoon themes and Chipmunk records and a bit of country. My dad used to sing me this Tom T. Hall song called “I Love” (”little baby ducks…”), which he bought me the CD for last year. But other than that no music to speak of growing up. In fact, I remember thumbing through old records in the basement, wondering what they might sound like. I remember names like Fleetwood Mac. Michael Jackson’s “Off the Wall.” Some record that had a doll propped up in front of a headstone, which always creeped me the fuck out. But I don’t remember hearing any of it.

And so in my adulthood music is sort of secondary to me as far as passions go. I tend to appreciate songs that make your heart break, things with danceable beats, or music that is melodic. I shy away from music that is atonal or abrasive or cold. I like very little punk. I love electropop.

I imagine people think I’m really missing out. Perhaps I am. Because if someone asked me what CD I’d want to take with me to a deserted island, I might ask them if I could bring something else all together.

Which makes me a soulless freakshow, I know.