Hey guess what, I am a moody thing.
Hey guess what, I am a moody thing.
The Van Morrison hit “Brown Eyed Girl” is just one of those songs you hear innumerable times over the course of your life.
One of the undeniable facts of life is that everyone wants to be a rock star. Maybe not technically a “rock and roll” star– maybe you really want to be a famous rapper, or a country star, or the next Wierd Al Yankovic or something– but deep down everyone wants to be a rock star, even for just a moment. Don’t believe me? Then how do you explain the popularity of the Guitar Hero games (or Rock Star really) or even the Dance Dance Revolution games? Those games give everyone a slight taste of playing in a cohesive band, without all that hassle of learning to play an instrument or having any sense of tone and pitch. It’s also why every other episode of MTV’s MADE is about some high schooler who wants to be in a band, or win a freestyle rap contest.
It makes sense to me at least, I’ve always wanted to play music, and since I was 14 I have been in a series of unsuccessful bands. This means that for more than half the time I’ve been alive, I’ve been playing music, which as I read that back to myself makes me feel more than a little bit old. I’ve gone through a series of styles, from Pop-Punk to Ska to Speed Metal to whatever it is that I’m doing at the current moment, and I’ve realized that no matter what sort of music you play, or who you play it with, there’s really one overarching truth to the whole music industry: It pretty much sucks.
I’ll expand on this, because if not it would be the shortest article on OMGJeremy since my “Guide on Lovemaking” article was turned down.
If we can use his songs as a true basis for the kind of man he was, Conway Twitty fucked around a lot. In his various works (gospel excluded) he was either running around on what seemed to be a steady girlfriend/wife, or he was caught and crawling on back to her. Conway Twitty was a man always moving. He was a man never afraid to take chances. He did what he wanted with no regard for anyone else… except for when he got caught and he dragged his sad ass back on his knees bawling for forgiveness.
Many would wonder what motivations Conway had to be a man like this. What insatiable lust for for women, power, and sex caused him to work his way through more than likely ALL of Tennessee’s ladies? It wasn’t lust, nor power, or a sense of great arrogance that pushed him to do these things. As we find out, Conway was a man who did what he did because he was driven by fear.
How do I know this? Because I’ve damned listened to “The Rose.”
With a little Johnny Cash.
As we have already seen with many of the holidays lately, Johnny Cash has at some point paid the proper kind of tribute as only he can: by bringing the mood down and perhaps inspiring a few open tears among some of us. Tears of sorrow or of pride, I cannot predict, but SOMETHING’S gonna set at least one of us off, and it will be because Johnny Cash is that kinda guy.
There are many ways to hear about music that is new to you. You can be the sort of person who actively seeks it, or you can let it come to you. You can explore and master specific genres, or you can just listen to whatever floats on by. You can be introduced to music by a friend, or you can just happen upon it by happy accident. Listen, I am mostly saying that you can take Musical Destiny by the horns with your own two hands, or you can stand on a hill, smelling a flower and looking up at the clouds and be taken by surprise as Musical Destiny charges you from behind and gores you in the kidney region of the back. I usually am the sort of person who is gored, every time.
Most weeks, if I write a Netflix Friday offering it’s some old horror / sci-fi movie, which makes sense since that’s 99% of what I will watch on Netflix. However, every once and a while I’ll get a weird impulse to watch something out of the ordinary, and my Netflix recommendations queue loses its mind and I get some recommendations that I can’t help but check out. Well, a few weeks ago I felt like watching some documentary on the New York Dolls, and afterwards I got a whole bunch of other music recommendations. Most of them were rock / punk concerts and documentaries, but towards the end I saw something that I couldn’t possibly not choose — there was a Village People movie.
If you’re even able to read this, I’m impressed. After stuffing your fat fucking face, shooting off a bunch of ghetto-assed fireworks, and drinking so much that even your many alcoholic friends start saying such deep things as, “Not cool, man”, you surely are considering this a very happy Memorial Day indeed. You are on top of the world.
Why the hell are you happy?