Entries Tagged 'Music' ↓

I just turned the channel to find my friend Matthew’s award-winning documentary, Jimmy Scott: If You Only Knew airing on PBS. Right now! On T.V.!

He told many months ago about the PBS deal, but swore me to secrecy so I nearly forgot about it. It will run all month, so there are still a few days left. To see a wonderful, thorough and touching documentary about Jimmy Scott I recommend you find out what time it’s playing and watch.

It’s so beautiful.

What is this piece of shit Beyonce “I Love You” song? It’s sounds like some bad disjointed Alanis Morrisette song, but all R&Bed out. Girl! Pick a note and stay there. Say something else! Oh my God, this is seriously the most painful piece of shit I have ever heard, maybe. It sounds like Chirstopher Guest wrote it for some mockumentary about R&B. Most oversinging ever. Ever ever.

That Hillary Duff reminds me a lot of a packet of Sweet and Low. Pink and rancidly sweet and oh, so bad for you.

Norah Jones sure is pretty.

Evanescence: That Rap-Rock (Now with Girl!)
[I thought that Evanesence chick said something about being on a Tori Amos album and almost shit the drawers.]

I don’t so much loathe Sting as don’t care whether he takes another breath or not.

Saturn’s got a great ad campaign. That Cars Buying People commercial was really clever. And funny. (”The Marshall.” Heh.)

Justin Timberlake is phenomenally talented. His band is way good. But JT ought to lose the beard. Makes him look even whiter. Also, needs to lose that rank-ass “Where’s the Love” song. (Though I do like the line, “living like they ain’t got no mommas.”)

Earth, Wind and Fire. Big Boi. Twankies. Exceptional. George Clinton sounds tired. Real tired. Or maybe he’s all winded from hitting the rock backstage. [Where THE FUCK is Andre?!] What the hell is that white girl doing with that fiddle?

Seems Snoop Dogg kinda can’t be bothered to read. Or can’t. Four ounces a day for a decade will do that to a brother. I would like one of those shiny goblets with his name engraved on it, though, to carry around with me.

The Foo Fighters never suck outright. But they still aren’t very good. It’s boring. They got nothing to say, it seems.

Xtinas tits musta slid off her chest and under her arms. She has to wear suspenders to get any cleavage. How can you be that rich and not get a better boob job than that shit?

Mary J. looks like Big Bird in drag.

I wish Sarah MacLachlan would make music that sounded a little different from everything else she’s made. I love her voice. But, uh, I’ve heard this song before.

The VCB: “Just because Warren Zevon died, that doesn’t make him good.”

Richard Marx just won a fucking Grammy. Now he’ll wear his sunglasses AND face the wall when he comes to eat where I work.

No, he didn’t just bring out a marching band! Yay Andre!!! And spirit fingers! (Ice Cold!)

After Justin ‘unintentionally’ exposed us to the spectacle that was a single, free-flying Janet Jackson starburst-covered teat, Britney Spears will next be seen at the Olympic’s Opening Cermony ‘accidentally’ getting fingered by R. Kelly. She will be quoted as saying, “What fingering? What do you mean? That’s just dancing. Part of the choreography. I just drink 23 Red Bulls and get out there and perform my, pardon my French, ass off.”

Right now Liz Phair is warbling her way through “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” on Conan O’Brien.
It’s painful. It’s so goddamn horrible.

If I could interview Liz Phair I think I would start with this question: “What happened to you that you forgot you can’t sing?”

Air Supply’s “Making Love Out of Nothing At All”?

Kicks so much ass.

The mix CD, I am thrilled to announce, is all finished up. I’ve obsessed long enough. I’ve got a cover designed, a track listing typed up; I just need to burn and print the artwork for 30 CDs. (Thanks again to Sir Mildred Pierce for the materials to make the entire batch. SMP, your envelope will recieve a bonus CD, as you requested. I’ve hand-selected you the finest 74 minutes of happy hardcore I could locate.*)

So, e-mail me those mailing addresses if you’ve been promised a shiny, happy (and a little bit sad) disc thingie. And if you haven’t, well, I’m feeling generous, so if anybody else thinks they can dig Phil Collins covers (okay, just one, but it so rules) then say so below. I’m gonna mail out five more. First five folks to speak up, I guess. I want to spread the gift of my favorite songs to all and sundry.

Because, dammit, I worked hard on it. I consider it a little letter to your brain from me to you. It isn’t perfect. Not even close. There are some beautiful songs on there though, songs that make me hurt every fucking time. Songs that make me giggle. Songs that make me wince and sigh and laugh. And I have to say there is just enough cheese to suit my needs, which I assure you is extra cheesy, so here’s hoping your tolerance runs pretty high.

However, I did spare you the all-male a capella choir version of the “Growing Pains” theme song. At least there is that.

*Just kidding. I like SMP and don’t wish him permanent brain damage.

The VCB (which, for those of you half-heartedly playing along at home, is my relatively new, excrutiatingly cute boyfriend who rocks in more ways than I know how to say) is good with his hands. He is a problem and puzzle solver. He loves grammar and likes to point out split infinitives and dangling participles and run-ons. He is a dissector of all he encounters. Not only does he want to know how things work, sometimes he just does. He can look at just about anything and make some sense of its elements. (As much as we are alike, the VCB and I differ exponentially in this arena. Simple, silly objects like yo-yos and lighters and staplers remain a mystery to me. I need not know how they work, just that they do.)

So, it was no surprise to me that he was able to fix the problem I’ve had with my CD burner for over TWO YEARS, which was that I couldn’t burn CDs. Which, ya know…fairly big problem.

But not now. No sir, not anymore. I know I said it before, that I had it all fixed, but I lied! Not really, I just jumped the gun, but this time, I swear it, I mean what I say. I can finally burn CDs! Hooray for everything!

I got all excited and already promised, no shit, 23 people mixes, which I totally can’t afford. But I can’t stand to leave you all out, so I figure I can make at least seven more. It’s not like I’m mailing all 23, so it’s not so bad, but really. Seriously. I need to calm the fuck down.

So, here’s the deal, yo. If you think you want a CD, this is all you gotta do. Below, in the comments, tell me why you should be one of the seven people to recieve My First Mix CD. The best seven answers/reasons/compliments/promises/threats will get a headful of Hall and Oates.

And 23 other kick-butt ditties to rock your titties.

You have until 5 p.m. CST on Monday. No late entries. Because, I can’t go for that. No can do.