Fly On Thunderbird.

It was 1994. A somewhat cool if not humid evening on field for the Brandon Eagle's homecoming game. It was the one game during the year we were almost guaranteed to win, as we were playing the Bloomingdale Gucci-Crew. I don't remember the details of the game, but as halftime rolled around we were treated to the sounds of Chris Isaac, playing "Wicked Game" 3 or 4 times in a row, as he didn't remember any of his other songs. There was a brief pause as the field was cleared of middle-aged women who swooned themselves into a drunken stupor. Then, from out of the sky parachuted none other than legendary rock band Quiet Riot, instruments in tow and perfectly tuned upon landing so they could belt out their 1 facemelter "Cum On Feel Da Noize". Metal health drove the crowd mad.

Ok, this didn't actually happen. But it was talked about constantly as being the greatest possible high school half time show ever.

I bring up this memory because Kevin Dubrow, lead singer of Quiet Riot, passed away this weekend. I'd actually gotten to see the band once in Louisiana, playing in a mansion that was converted to a sort of underground rock club. It was entertaining, if not a little sad. But for all the jokes about Quiet Riot that myself and others have made, I really don't think a band has entertained our imagination more. So fly on, thunderbird. Hopefully you'll get to your destination in a slick black cadillac.

Nell!

Yes, that is a very dated reference to the animated mounty, Dudley Doright. Why do I make this reference? Because I have come to realize that I am a veritable Magneto. No, not for iron and metals, which would admittedly be awesome. Instead, my powers of polarization seem to attract the Damsels in Distress. The Queens of Quandries. The Mistresses of Mental. I am their masculine Statue of Liberty, holding the torch in the middle of a sea of instability.

Case in point: Today I'm sitting at my desk when this absolutely gorgeous girl walks in. Picture a young Joan Jett, sans 80's hairdo. The other technicians damn near fell off their seats watching her come in. She comes up to the desk and coos that she needs some help getting her amplifier out of her car. So, I stroll out to her mid 80s Volvo station wagon, grab her amp, and walk back in, the lady smiling at me the whole time. During the entering of the information, she's flirting with me like mad, leaning over the desk and laughing way too much at things I say that are slightly sarcastic. As I move her equipment to the back, she starts singing. Tuneless....tuneless singing. I come back to have her sign her paperwork and notice the wedding ring that she's been gamely trying to hide.

From this I gathered that a) she's in a crappy marriage and I seemed like just the morally corrupt fellow to help her out of it and b) she's stark raving mad.

I could write this off as a one time deal if I hadn't noticed that this has been a sort of pattern for me ever since I was at least 18.

I know all women are crazy. This is a scientific fact. The only reason the study hasn't been released is because all women ARE crazy and actually having the documentation to proove it would only drive them further over the edge. The thing is, the ones that always find me are the ones who already pulled a mental Thelma and Louise and the car hasn't landed yet.

Look for me to be making an appearance on Springer some time in the not too distant future.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 4 - Color Me Badd

So one day, Kenny G., George Michaels, Vanilla Ice, and Terence Trent D'Arby got together and decided to capitalize on the all male singing quartet fad that was sweeping the nation. After the huge success stories that were Boyz II Men and Jodeci, Color Me Badd burst onto the scene with "I Want to Sex You Up," which casually invites women to come inside, take off their clothes, with the promise of being made to feel at home. I, for one, don't know a single woman that feels at home when taking off their clothes, unless they spend an ample amount of time in their own home running around with the lights off yelling "don't look at me." Looking past the accidental financial success that this group became off their one hit (yet somehow managed to have a "Best Of" album) this is one terrible, terrible mistake.

Lacking the fun, sincerity, and even somewhat philosophical nature of Boyz II Men, and the testosterone to pull off the "dirty" songs like Jodeci, Color Me Badd estrogened their way to a hit single, relying mainly on pretty boy posturing and the stupidity of teenage girls (see: New Kids on the Block). Despite all this, the group enjoyed fairly large financial success of their first 2 albums.

Then, out of the clear blue skies, the success that Color Me Badd had enjoyed was pulled from underneath them on the release of their 3rd album. Some would say it smells like justice. Others would say it smells like inevitability. The record, however, will clearly show that it Smells Like Teen Spirit. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The smooth, corporate white-boy R&B sound that was Color Me Badd was shut down by the crunchy fuck-it-all white-boy sounds of Nirvana.

Having lost their contract after their 4th album went no-where fast, the band split. This is not the end of the story though. One would figure that this would be enough, but this group has been responsible for far greater travesties post mortem.

Sam "I Swear I'm Not Kenny G" Watters went on to become a music producer, responsible for polluting our air with Celine Dion, Anastacia, and 98 Degrees. Kevin "I Probably Am Terence Trent D'Arby" Thornton went on to the lucrative gold mine that is gospel based hip-hop. Mark "one of the other white guys" Calderon is now...god help me...an insurance salesman. Bryan "Ice Ice Latte" Abrams is star of VH1's "Manband" and is currently recording a single with the Insane Clown Posse.

It's eerie how some of these are tying together.

Dennis Kucinich has balls the size of watermelons.

I say this without ever having seen them. It would explain why that red headed amazon is married to him, though. The reason I bring up the testicular fortitude of our would-be Elrond the Elf King of America is this:

Dennis Kucinich has put forth a motion to impeach Vice President Cheney.

I can seriously see Kucinich hiking with Sean Astin as they move to through the mechanical heart of the Dark Lord Cheney into the fires of Mount Doom. I also know for a fact that Cheney has an army of orcs and the viscous Nazgul at his disposal deep inside Number One Observatory Circle.

I expect a massive smear campaign against Kucinich to hamper his presidential hopes to come directly from the White House. I also expect an oath to smear his face with the blood of the elf-kin to come from Cheney.

The reasons for the impeachment stem back to the infamous claims of chemical weapons that were supposedly being held in Iraq, with Kucinich boldly calling The Dark Lord a liar, and selectively picking apart intelligence for his own purposes. Having summoned all the courage of his friends Pippin and Merry, and with some help from the wise Gandalf, Kucinich presents his argument to the grand council of Man, the Judiciary Committee:

"The Vice President's deception upon the citizens and Congress of the United States that enabled the failed United States invasion of Iraq forcibly altered the rules of diplomacy such that the Vice President's recent belligerent actions towards Iran are destabilizing and counterproductive to the national security of the United States."

And merrilly did Tom Bombadil dance and play his flute as Kucinich continued:

"In all of this, Vice President Richard B. Cheney has acted in a manner contrary to his trust as Vice President, and subversive of constitutional government, to the prejudice of the cause of law and justice and the manifest injury of the people of the United States."

"His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft, Cheney has crossed Orcs with goblin men. He's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Cheney is coming for the Ring!" Screamed Ted Stevens as he donned an ashtray as a helmet and shot Wayne Allard (R -CO) with a bow and arrow he'd apparently been keeping under his desk.

In all seriousness, may this pass, and may God have mercy on Kucinich's soul.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 3 - Woodstock '99

The 30th anniversary of the beloved original Woodstock was an attempt to recreate the success and feelings of community from the 1969 outdoor festival, where there was a celebrated "sense of social harmony, the quality of music, and the overwhelming mass of people, many sporting bohemian dress, behavior, and attitudes."

Woodstock '99 was pretty much the polar opposite of that original spirit of peace, love, and understanding. To quote MTV News anchor (and collossal douche bag) Kurt Loder: "It was dangerous to be around. The whole scene was scary. There were just waves of hatred bouncing around the place, (...) It was clear we had to get out of there.... It was like a concentration camp. To get in, you get frisked to make sure you're not bringing in any water or food that would prevent you from buying from their outrageously priced booths. You wallow around in garbage and human waste. There was a palpable mood of anger." In short, a cluster-fuck.

There were plenty of acts playing at Woodstock '99 that sort of fit the mold of the artists that played the original, including The Roots, DMB, Alanis Morrissette, and Elvis Costello. However, the inclusion of Rage Against the Machine, Limp Bizkit, Metallica, Megadeth, Insane Clown Posse, and the ever present ne'er-do-well Moby ended up working an already frenzied crowd into even more of a frenzy. The fires, looting, and violence is pretty well blamed on Limp Bizkit, who's song "Break Stuff" apparently worked the crowd into a frenzy. (This is either because of the songs lyrics inviting people to "give me something to break," or because Limp Bizkit sucks so horribly bad that the crowd grew angry and restless.) Further adding to the fire, literally, was an on stage burning of the American flag by Rage Against the Machine, and an apparent attempt by the Red Hot Chili Peppers to encourage more bonfires by playing a cover of Jimi Hendrix's "Fire". (It should be noted that Kiedis stated the song was played as a request from Jimi's daughter who was in attendance.)

By the end of the night, there were 4 rape charges being made, at least one of which took place in the middle of the mosh pit, a small bus in flames along side a few of the towers and booths, ATM machines and concession stands robbed, and 7 arrests.

Surprisingly, noone died. This is the only thing that puts the '99 Woodstock ahead of the original, which saw 3 deaths (none due to violence.)

It's hard to say whether or not promoters will try to pull a 40th anniversary Woodstock out in '09. Given that greed is a strong motivator, I'd look for this next accident waiting to happen to be promoted by the middle of next year.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 2: Celine Dion

Some might say this is an easy target. It is. However, I'm not focusing on the expanse of Celine Dion's reign of musical terror that harkens back to the days of Disney soundtracks with Peebo Bryson, cluminating in her Hitler-esque domination of the music charts thanks to the Titanic soundtrack, and her current status as the new Las Vegas mainstay. No, Ms. Dion has committed a far more greater and savage act of audio-terrorism with her performance at the Divas Las Vegas show:




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FONt47Z0KZg

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. She covered AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." For those of you that live in the South American rain forests in grass huts, "You Shook Me All Night Long" is a song full of thinly veiled innuendo essentially referring to the lead singers sexual exploits with an American woman, which is only properly belted out in the gravelly yowl and male machismo that is Brian Johnson's voice. Now, it may come as a surprise that this song has been covered previously by other female artists, such as Kelly Clarkson, Tori Amos, and most understandably Melissa Ethridge. But none has made such a Hindenberg-like disaster of the song as Celine Dion, who tainted it with her vile Canadianess and Singier-than-thou attitude. This is including the Apologetix Christian version entitled "You Booked Me."

Somewhere, deep in his subterranian lair, Peebo Bryson has seen this. He has seen and he is pleased. For decades he has watched as the reanimated skeleton that is Celine rise to untold pop fame and pop fortune. And he bides his time, knowing that this musical nugget is the beginning of Celine's inevitable decline, and he will rise again...