- joiezabel in Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head it really is brilliant, scott. i hate you.
- hotshotrobot in Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head Goddammit, Borch, now how am i supposed to review this? I can’t top that!
- Borch in The Avett Brothers - House of Blues - May 14th Good Lord, that’s a beautiful song! The Avett Bros. were in Chicago? Why wasn’t I notified?!
You know how they (by which I mean “my fellow feminazis”) say that the personal is political? Well, we (by which I mean “the writers of Superstarcastic“) believe that the musical is personal. Even though there are objective things we know we like in the music we listen to, we also know that it can be hard to pin down why what we like musically makes us so darn happy. Or fired-up. Or sad.
We are putting our list of end-of-the-year favorites out into the ether with the caveat that it’s subjective. Don’t get me wrong–each of us is, in his or her own right, a model of musical taste. However, rather than trying to come up with some arbitrary number (you know, the kind that’s divisible by five) of albums we can all agree on (it would be impossible), each of us came up with a short list of records that we really loved–some of which we share, most of which we don’t. More importantly: between us, we came up with 88 darlings–a kinder, gentler, rounder number than, say, 25, 50, or 100, and a palindrome to boot!
If you’re curious as to what we chose (and you should be!) our individual lists and comments are behind the jump, and, naturally, we want to hear yours. So, on with the show!
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My vote goes to Trace Adkins’ epic “Hony Tonk Badonkadonk.” Anyone care to dispute me?
I caught wind of this video recently. As much as I love Morrissey, this shit is funny.
Also, please note the misspelling of Moz’s name on the video. Heh.
RIP James Brown… or not. Sure, every journalist is going to blow smoke up your deceased ass, but not this cat. Maybe because I’m not a journalist or some know-nothing-hipster trying to prove he’s got some roots. No way, you and me, we have a score to settle.
See, despite the fact that JB was a pistol toting, tax evading, convicted wife beating dust-head, I still gave the man some cred and as a result, some of my hard earned cabbage. I mean, fuck, without James Brown, where would music be today? And man, sometimes, there are those people who you feel privileged that they let you share the air that they breathe. You were that guy, Jimmy. A living legend. So, when the opportunity presented itself to see you perform, I didn’t hesitate. I was happy to pay $45 for a nosebleed seat.
Then the day of the show I made the regrettable decision to buy a James Brown shirt before he took stage. I was not only going to have proof that “I was there”, but that I was also a sex machine (according to the shirt). The shirt and my skin have never met.
Cabaret Diosa opened the show and they were great. They left stage, there was a break, and then the orchestra came out. Now, I’d seen Ray Charles a few years before and his orchestra did a 5 to 10 minute intro and it was amazing. There’s nothing like a full orchestra intro to imply “This is just the tip of the iceberg. You’re going to blown away in a few short moments.” James Brown’s orchestra provided the same sort of anticipation. Like they were shaking a soda and you just knew that when Brown took the stage it would be like pulling the tab on that soda, with excitement just exploding everywhere. Then the intro started running a little long - but fuck it, the end result was James Brown walking onto stage and spinning like a top, so we waited… and waited… and waited… soon it felt like ol’ JB may be standing us up. But we waited… and waited… and waited. My arm was getting sore from my checking my watch so often.
Finally, James Brown took the stage and rather than feeling like “Fuck, yeah!” I was feeling more like shouting “Finally!” What transpired from that point on was easily the worst show I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of shitty shows in my life. He sang a few covers and then had some guest from some part of his life come out and sing a few songs, then he had his wife come out and sing a couple of songs, then when “The Godfather” returned to the stage, he covered Otis Redding. I checked with the other people in my party to see if I was completely off base, but we all agreed, this was blowing like an Angel Dust sniffing back up singer. The only person who appeared to be enjoying herself was the drunk as fuck fat ass in front of us who was speaking (not yelling) “I luff you, Jaymes Brownnn.” There were a lot of other people around us who’d given up on the idea of dancing and were now sitting in their seats.
The show greatly improved when a white guy jumped on stage and started dancing like James Brown, next to James Brown. JB waved the security off and let the kid go for a few steps. It was obvious that after a minute Brown was trying to coax this guy off of the stage, but the audience was finally cheering and enjoying themselves. He was upstaging the man at his own game. A look that was trying to be disguised as curiosity and maybe a little bit of impress, was clearly, even from the nosebleeds where I was sitting, a look of contempt. Shortly after JB sang another cover or brought his wife out to sing again, we left. We’d heard 2 James Brown songs sung by James Brown at a James Brown concert in a 1/2 hour of him being on stage. This, from the self proclaimed “hardest working man in show business.” A few nights later in LA he was booed off stage before he even got to his first song.
So, where do we put the cut-off for James Brown? At what point do we pretend “Oh, that just didn’t happen?” Do we look at a laundry list of his misdeeds and compare them on a timeline against his recordings and try to figure out where to decide that the James Brown we love and respect actually died and the PCP addict who puts on shit performances was born? Do we decide that we wouldn’t mind our mother marrying him even though he was a philanderer who liked his women bruised, because, well, it’s James Brown?! and 40 years ago he changed the face of music? So did Phil Spector, but are we going to let him off so easy? Hell, Hockey games wouldn’t be the same without Gary Glitter, but should we praise him upon his death and forgive his child molesting because he brought something to the party in the past?
The fact is, outside of those who knew and loved him, to the rest of the world, he just wasn’t a very good person. Would you want the guy next door to you to be a drug-addicted, wife beater who really digs his guns? That James Brown that everyone is remembering with such affection, he dropped dead a few decades ago and the only resemblance to him and they guy who died on Christmas was that they could move their feet with the same style. The hardest working man in show business, Mr. Please please himself, got lazy and bitter and let his demons get the better of him.
Now that he’s gone, is it appropriate to not hold his legacy accountable for the man he was? I guess I was even willing to let his indiscretions go because he was James Brown, had he not served up such a half assed display of showmanship. That was the day I realized that the person I looked forward to seeing, who changed the face of music and truly contributed something to the world, had died long before. This guy was just a bat-shit crazy old man with a drug and anger problem.
Merry Christmas from everyone at Superstarcastic to every one out there! I hope this year finds everyone as well as a indie music geek can really be (Birds are dying birds are dying!). As a little early Christmas gift, check out the Tiny Tim mp3 I’ve uploaded.
Seeing as Tiny Tim recordings are nearly impossible to find (I know because I looked) I think we’re safe with this one.
