This malicious Tweet has been brought to my attention by an old friend, and I've found myself inspired to puke out a page again.
I spoke to Gamboa and he has assured me that he specifically stopped short of the word HATE when stating his opinion of said remix, but merely offered that it was not one of Mr. Kelly's better songs and he did not enjoy it, and also that Mr. Peacock is a noted troll who is unnecessarily obsessed with "bulk" when it comes to his physique and also has been photographed sipping a Mangorita and inexplicably proffers that there is a letter T at the end of the common expression "oof" but mostly that it was not a great song, is what Gamboa stayed focused on.
As a renowned music critic, I feel compelled to defend my handsome friend GC, here. As always, the caveat here is that arguing over music should never be considered anything more than an exercise in silly fun, provided that the combatants are being honest to themselves and their own ears rather than trying to like something because they're "supposed to". Music is sensory; it's really no different than food. "My ears do not find that sound pleasurable" should really be the only criteria.
But hey, it's fun to elaborate! So let's try! As you all surely remember, it's been noted here previously that I tend to respond negatively to "catchy"/"gimmicky" songs, and this one fits within my parameters of that subjective genre. What is it, other than that? The beat is "meh", the lyrics are atrocious, the vocals are forgettable to damn near nonexistent. It is a "party jam", I suppose. But why is it THE party jam? Mr. Peacock referred to it, and I quote, as "one of the best songs of the 2000s, easily." When mh stopped s ing, I thought of some reasonable categorical compares. Off the top of my head, I'll take Next's "Too Close" (not 2000s, I know, not important), Jagged Edge's "Where The Party At", and even Mr. Kelly himself's "Fiesta (remix)" over "Ignition", and it's not even close. Better beats, better vocals, less reliance on the catchy/gimmicky crutch. My ears like them better, and for that I will not apologize.
Also important to this discussion is the concept of oversaturation, which is arguably the number one enemy of a smash hit. I may have liked this song at one time, I honestly cannot remember. But if I did, I couldn't possibly anymore. It has been played in my presence approximately 59, 612 times, +/- 3,498. It belongs on the impossibly long list with tunes like "Regulate", "Hypnotize", "Gangster's Paradise", "Waterfalls", "Ms. Jackson", etc etc that I simply don't need to hear again. Ever. That's the fate of so many tunes, in an era where FM radio was still relevant, music television stations were playing music, and I had a misguided foray into social interaction. Only the extreme upper-echelon of tunes can avoid this death by omnipresence, and "Africa"s don't grow on trees, people.
"Your Body's Callin", "You Remind Me...", "Can't Sleep...", "Down Low", that's my R. Kelly. "Ignition", to me, is closer to "Trapped in the Closet" R. Kelly, and "Trapped in the Closet" is an inarguable crime against humanity. In summary, GC was (predictably) spot-on in denouncing this song's "greatness". I should also note, however that he did not particularly contest the allegation of being born without a soul. Not sure what to make of that, tbh.
Thanks for the kind words, gent, but it goes without saying that I haven't done anything in months that is worthy of mention with the effort that those cats have been putting in. Ain't easy, indeed...
AMagicianNamedGodI know others, more prestigious and prolific than I, have said it before and better, but I'd like to show my thanks to all the guys at HFTE, Skeevy and his Balog, and, especially, Shitehawk for curating the nonsense that happens here every day. Seriously, it makes the whole experience richer and weirder and more fun, and I know that shit ain't easy. So, cheers.
However, here's a look back at some balogging from better days. We laughed, we cried, we cried because we were laughing... -The buffoonery really began here. And oh, would it continue...-Pageviews galore? Pageviews galore.-Boomroasted!-Boomroasted again! And, of course, Nickly!-History!-More history! (remember: doomed to repeat itself)-Controversy! Oh, the times we had before I came along and killed the place! We'll reflect more in due time. Until then, still, it's open.
Sometime in the days to comeweeks to comemonths to come future there will be a retrospective or two, highlighting some of the better days of this abomination that has gone on for way too long. But that's a lot of work for a Guy Who Is Increasingly Tired These Days, especially when nooneisreadingthissoimprettymuchjusttypingtomyselfandmytoysandfigurineswhichmakesmefeellikeabitofaweirdobutmaybeitsyouallwhoaretheweirdosbecausemytoysandfigurinesarewayawesomerthananythingyoucouldevergiveme. EVER!!!
But yeah, that'll happen. Feel free to chat until. I don't have any A-list monotone sportscasters to offer, but I will answer any questions you may have about myself and my budding career. No topic is off limits as long as this thing is still breathing (with assistance). It's open.
What a night! I'll always remember where I was on the otherwise forgettable evening when Ball State pulled off the upset on the road, and I learned what yuzu was! A milestone evening, indeed.
In other news, the people have spoken, by not speaking, and I'm prepared to declare the balog all but over. I say "all but," because there is one guy back in my control center who keeps insisting that there are still countless readers out there who have yet to be heard from. I think he was just trying to be nice. That guy has a history of unfounded optimism, but I haven't had the heart to let him go after all that time he spent waiting in line to get me my copy of Chinese Democracy on its release date.
Closing up shop is a process. Until completion, it's open.
Today, we talk about the importance of voting. As a media celebrity, I am obligated to use my influence on regular people by lecturing you on this. It's in the handbook.
It's no secret that we're at a crossroads as a people. We can talk all day and night about complex issues, but that's more suited for guys like that guy from Two And A Half Men, or that grimy rock guy who always wears tank tops and plowed Pamela Anderson (the second one, or third, or whatever...), or that wildly-gesticulating man-waif with the horrible voice and the pork pie hat. I'd rather boil it down to more simplistic premises.
We can stay with the status quo, and accept more of the same. That's fine for those of you who are happy with the current state of things. I've done some research, and I know such people exist. Or you can vote for change, or at least the promise of it. With the booming tenor of money constantly drowning out the inner voice to do good, change is always at risk of being a promise unfulfilled. So it's easy to stick with what we know. Yet we suffer so much now...
Look, I'm not going to tell you who to vote for. I'm just urging you to do it. Be a good citizen. Your voice is needed.
Head to the polling station. It's just about 6 inches Northwest of here, and it's open.
I'm posting a little late today because I gave you all an extra hour over the weekend, which you predictably used to frantically balog. You're welcome.
Looks like order is finally being restored in the world. I knew the Mayans were wrong about the apocalypse being caused by Bob Vila.
Discuss your weekend with the whole class below. It's open.
You guys know there's no 3:00 curfew, right? Sheesh.
So I am often in a position to overhear interesting and/or hilarious conversations, and tonight was my favorite in a long time. I thought I'd share.
Guy Who Is About 50 Wearing A Harley Jacket But Rode In A Sidecar Once At Best- "Yeah, we (motions towards ladyfriend) went and saw Styx. I'm not a huge fan, but it was great. She (motions towards ladyfriend) got to strum on Tommy Shaw's guitar."
Guy Who Looks Exactly Like The Head Racist Corrupt Cop From Every Movie Ever- "Yeah, Tommy Shaw can play the heck out of that thing. No wonder Ted Nugent wanted him."
(moments later)
GWIA50WAHJBRIASOAB- "We went to one of those Tony Roma's restaurants in Green Bay. Yeah, I guess the quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys owns it or whatever."
*note- Yes, this REALLY happened. I waited it out with my jaw on the floor. He was NOT joking.
GWLELTHRCCFEME- [corrects him without losing his shit]
There you have it, the highlight of my night. I don't know, maybe you had to be there. But you're here, and it's open.
I totally forgot how to do this. I think I'm supposed to jump start conversation with an anecdote about long-distance running or something, but I have none. Little help?
Look, the 50 Days was just an experiment of sorts. An exercise in actual structure, meant to help combat writer's block. Clearly, it didn't work. But it really doesn't matter. My favorite content always has been, and still remains, what lies below. That is, when you fools choose to partake. And I've come to realize that I have very little control over when that will be. I can give you specific topical guidance or one sentence of utter gibberish, and the bottom line is that you'll play when you feel like playing. And lately, that's been infrequently, Maybe substantive blogs are the new thing. If that's what blows your skirt up, so be it. But that's not really what we do here. Guys Who know the balog know this, and hopefully they will remember the value of a place where they are the stars, and substance only gets the occasional bit part.
If anyone's coming here for the first time, I...I...I just don't know how to explain. If you're looking for substantive content, might as well venture towards the doors. Or something like that.
Well, this is it. Grief counselors are standing by in the comment section. Feel free to use them. It's funny that Seinfeld was mentioned yesterday, because we are going back to the old format- a balog about nothing. However, if you have any suggestions or any interest in possibly doing a guest piece, feel free to drop me an e-mail. I check it at least monthly. Remember, the 50 days may be up, but the HATE will live on.
On that note, I believe I recently voiced my opinion on non-additive covers. And I probably don't need to explain my position on this band. I really could have chosen their other song any of their other songs, but this one is probably the most indefensible. Seriously, what did this add to the original? Exponentially inferior vocals and an obnoxious organ? SIGN ME UP!!! Naturally, it was a hit, but if we've learned nothing else from this exercise, we should take a good hard look at this list and realize that the American public has a long way to go when it comes to HATE. I'm here to do my part.
The good music returns tomorrow. Regardless of what lies above it, the space below is what matters. It was yours for the last 50 days, and it remains as such. I can't make you use it, but don't say I didn't remind you. It's open.
I guess the technical diffrugalgies of that other nightly craproom weren't reason enough to partake in a rousing MKMUAN sesh. I just don't know what you people want anymore. Regardless, balog analytics tell me that we have 6 readers who reside along the Eastern Seaboard, and I hope each and every one of you are hunkered down safely. With internet access. I know I won't be letting some storm that sounds like a mischievous Brady Bunch guest character stop me from carrying out my important duties. And so, on we go.
If this song didn't serve as the annoying Pavlovian signal to scramble for my remote control, it would still be a rightful target for HATE. For it stands firmly on its own (pile of shit). But, as a great man who had the misfortune of a loose association with it once famously said, "It doesn't help." According to my unquestionable sources, this turd was actually co-written by the producers of the terrible show it represented, which makes them responsible for TWO unspeakable crimes against humanity. Yet they roam free. I don't really have to go over the lyrics, do I? (Coincidentally- that was the exact response of the primary songwriter when revisions were suggested prior to recording.) This vapid atrocity somehow reached number one on the U.S. Top 40 Mainstream and Hot Adult Contemporary Tracks charts. Could it be a better musical reflection of the show's audience??? Amiwhite???
Remember, the 50 days actually ends on Halloween. So the HATE is over after tomorrow. Well, this particular HATE anyway. Please try to contain your disappointment. I'll find something new for you all to not read.
The balog may be stuck in second gear, but at least it's open.
Man, am I ever drained. DRAINED! Not from balogging, but from all the other obligations of my daily life. As a brilliant and clever man once said, "Life is a highway," and mine has been like an Autobahn lately.
So, as expected, this post is coming out late (LIKE ANDERSON COOPER!1!1!!!), especially for you East Coasters. I sincerely apologize for what is obviously the biggest disruption in all of your lives on this otherwise worry-free day.
Will this be the first comment-free post in balog history? A study of recent trends would seem to suggest the possibility. Oh, the excitement! Here's a horrible song to commemorate this potentially epic day. It's open.
A little housekeeping note- for reasons I don't care to get into, Monday's post may either be quite incoherent or quite late, or quite late and incoherent. I apologize in advance for the monumental disruption this will cause for my fan.
Now, I've been told by a certain blogsnob who stole my initials that I need to put a little more effort into my write-ups, despite my insane schedule and lack of readership. So...onto the HATE.
Man, this is absolute horseshit. Taking THIS and adding some obnoxious backing music... VOILA!
Are you fucking kidding me? What is wrong with people??? They're the worst.
I have a well-documented (to my figurines) issue with covers. Specifically, if you're not adding anything to them musically or vocally, they're bullshit. So how do you think I feel about a vocally weak "singing" of a poem? You guessed it. The same way I feel about a spoken-word version of a song that America inexplicably slurped all over. Someday all you hipsters will come around to worship me, since I HATEd these lazy "musical" nothings before it was cool.
So I just watched the latest episode of Dexter, and I'm reminded why my love holds strong. Few shows in recent memory are quite as polarizing. Critics, somewhat justifiably, take issue with the over-the-top nature that toes the line of shark-jumping. Supporters, more rightfully, understand that this is part and parcel for a show based on a borderline absurd storyline that is to be granted leeway if accepted from the start, and that the thrill of the underlying thematic challenge of traditional morals trumps the increasingly difficult suspension of disbelief that is required to get us there. I admit to being just about the worst disbelief-suspender the world has ever known, but I look past the unfathomable escapes, feats of superhuman strength, and increasingly cartoonish villains because they all lead back to a moral question that I find both fascinating and almost uncomfortably identifiable. An ex of mine, who I am on good terms with, once told me that I remind her of Dexter. I was a bit confused, yet not insulted. I don't look like him, I am not a blood spatter analyst, and I have certainly rarely never taken a life. I choose to believe that she was referring to the strength of my moral conviction to challenge conventional notions of "good", rather than my penchant for plastic wrap. Either way, at the end of last night's episode, when Deb bemusedly asks what her gladness over Dexter's latest kill means, I spit out his answer in my head before he uttered the word. "Human." That's how it makes me feel week after week, in a way that is complex and thrilling, and that's why I remain on board. And Homeland, I can't even get started right now. Undeniable greatness that calls for a write-up of its own. Look for that within a few weeks if interested.
Oh, HATE??? Let's see... Dexter's last name is Morgan. There is a country singer named Lorrie Morgan. This song is everything that is wrong with country music. And I'm sure Kevin Bacon may have boned Lorrie Morgan while listening to it.
Another exhilarating weekend! I don't even know how I have energy left to put this masterwork together, but I'll give it a shot.
You know what's a good indicator that a song is terrible? Your dorky social studies teacher incorporating it into his lesson plan. IT MENTIONS PEOPLE AND THINGS THAT WERE ONCE PEOPLE AND THINGS!!! HISTORY!!!!!!!
But hey, it was groundbreaking. Until this, there really wasn't a musical template for things like reciting your grocery list, or naming the colors in the Crayola 64 box. Burnt Sienna, Raw Umber, 62 is now the number, Periwinkle, Forest Green, CRAYONS AREN'T TOYS OR FIGURINES!!!
I can't take it anymore either, Billy. At least it's "catchy", right? It's open.
