Deja Tune

The state of music today is something that is lamented by so many people, everywhere you go. It must be a common thought that you're not a true musician or music fan unless you hate basically everything you hear on the radio, at the bar, on the street, or in your head before your medication starts working.

Whoever came before was better. Whatever's on now is utter crap, and getting utterier and crappier with each passing single.

Everything is imitating everything that came before it, and doing a piss-poor job at that, too.

And then there's me, who will basically like anything with harmony, melody, and a beat I can tap my foot to while working. And you know what? I'm not fucking ashamed of it.

Yesterday X. talked about how Eat, Pray, Love is a fast-food-condensed version of true mental enlightenment. If that is the case, then the music I choose to listen to must be about equal with the street meat and churros you find being sold out on the streets of Jackson Heights.

I must admit that I am all about these empty musical calories. Give me Britney. Give me Beyonce. Give me Cascada. Or whatever nameless slut is currently auto-tuning her voice with sampled parts of Kylie's Locomotion in the background. I will eat it up, the greasy crumbs falling from my earlobes, and ask you when the beat buffet will be refilled.

And it is truly for the flavor, not the substance. Like eating Tacos at Midnight Doritos. There is no nutritional value - but you're not throwing back those tangy orange triangles for your joint health. You're doing it because they taste so damn good.

I do not go to Beyonce, Britney, Pink, Katy, or otherwise for true life meaning or relevant topic matter. I go to them to get some beat in my head that can power me through the day. Most of the time, I never bother to learn the lyrics to the songs I overdose on. They don't matter. They could be singing words in another language. Or in no language whatsoever.



And then, maybe as a defense mechanism for my inexcusable poor taste in music, I usually roll my eyes at the music snobs. Chill back! I say. It's not really that bad. Lighten up and shake your booty! Can't you just smile? Why does all the music YOU like sound like a heroin fiend going through withdrawal in a factory that bangs pots on blackboards?

And then they say things like: Everything is the same fucking song these days. You don't have taste. You're falling victim to SCIENCE.

Bullshit, I say.



Oh. Shit. When I first found this, I'll admit I choked on whatever crummy pop I was currently devouring. Here in front of me was proof positive that two chart-busting singles released in the SAME TWELVE MONTHS could be stitched together to become one continuous song. A completely nonsensical song, sure. But still: one continuous song.

Further shame: I then downloaded this song to my iPod and began listening to it on repeat.

Because it's a damn good song, even if it is the musical equivalent of The Human Centipede.

What do you want me to say? If the beat is right, the harmony is right, and the sampling is right, I am just a lab hamster slamming his paw on the feed pellet button. Over and over and over and over. Munch munch munch with my big-ass teeth sticking out of my lips, my cheeks puffing out as I jam more and more in.

Plus, it's just two recent songs by two pop goddesses, Music Assholes. Big fucking deal. Right? Right?

No, not right.

Perhaps you've seen this video already. If you haven't, you might find it interesting, hilarious, or incriminating:



Thanks to Joe over at Laughter, Singing, Sex for that one.

And guess what? I've been listening to this pop version of Dr. Frankenstein's monster on repeat since I first found it. I'm hooked. And unfortunately I can't download the recording, so I have to keep YouTube open so I can keep hitting "replay" every 5.5 minutes.

If that's not lab hamster behavior, you tell me what is.

Should I be ashamed? Should I expand my taste and search out truly innovative music that maybe adds a 5th, 6th, and even 7th chord?

No. Because I discovered something else last night: this 4-chord progression I love so much actually originated in Pachelbel's Canon in D.



Which means I have a deep-seeded appreciation for classical music. Which means I have taste. Taste I was born with.

So fuck the lot of you. I'm gonna go download the new Katy Perry single and watch The Human Centipede.

- J.

Asshole Boyfriend OR Music Industry??

It is very rare that a pop song can pull a fast one on me. When Britney Spears released "Circus," I was not fooled by her lyrics into thinking that she was actually leaving music behind to join the circus. And when Lady Gaga released Alejandro, I didn't actually consider that some gay hispanic man was chasing her around saying her name over and over again.

No, when it comes to pop standards, I am pretty ridiculously smart about what they're trying to communicate to me. EXCEPT for one pop piano goddess: Sara Bareilles.

Yeah, you know her. She wrote "Love Song" - an anthem whose MP4 I have worn out on my iTunes like it was an old-timey cassette. If you don't know Love Song, then here it is to remind you:



When I first heard this song, I had just broken up with a significant other. It was perfect timing. Yes! I thought. I will NOT write you a love song, ex-boyfriend! Because you're a jerk and I don't love you! I was ecstatic! Sara totally got where I was coming from, she knew how I felt!

But then the ground fell out from underneath me. I found out that "Love Song" is not at all about an ex or love at all. No, it was a Communist Spy-sneaky style attack against the music industry! Sara's song's meaning was in fact literal. A music guy wanted her to write a Love Song, and she didn't want to. So, instead she wrote him a song that told him she wasn't going to write him a love song. (But wait, isn't that, in its own way, a love song? Like when I tell you not to think of a rhinoceros and so you start thinking "okay, I'm NOT thinking of a rhinoceros, I'm not thinking of a rhinoceros..." and not-rhinoceros might as well be rhinoceros because you're still thinking about it?)... head-kaboom!

But kaboom-head aside, I felt betrayed! Because it's not like the lyrics COMPLETELY say what the song means. It's not like the lyrics go "Mr. Record Producer you want me to write you a love song, but I'm not going to because I don't want to be like every other musician!" I mean, if that were the case, then I would NOT be surprised. I would know what the song was about and I would have not been led astray by wordplay and vague possibly-boyfriend-related statements.

Oh Sara, you tricky minx.

But you know what they say about "Fool me once," and all of that. So when Sara released her next single, which is paving the way to her upcoming album, I was on to her game, and ready to spike that volleyball of deceit away from my face before it smashed my nose and knocked me on my ass.

Her new single is called "King of Anything" and even iTunes won't try to fool us this time:

"Sara builds upon the charismatic wit and wisdom imparted by "Love Song" on the new single, "King of Anything," a sharp elbow to the ribs of all the know-it-alls she's met since entering the music business."

Ooooh fuckin burn! You hear that, music executives? Back the fuck away before Sara comes plowin in here and starts elbowing in your stupid know-it-all rib cages! That shit'll bruise! It seems as if the music executives that she's paying (and hopefully not chest-elbow-dropping) are framing her as some sort of professional piano playing WWE wrestler. She's fiesty! She'll pop you in the face if you offer criticism or have ANY experience in being successful!

It also means that she's released a second single on a major label where she uses veiled potentially romantic ex-significant-other-related language to crotch-kick the music industry. Which makes me wonder: will she continue doing this on her third album? What's left for her to beat up? Music album designers? Associate publicisists? The late night janitor at her music label's offices?

I hope it's the last of those options, I'd love to hear her compare his late night mopping to something that could be skewed as romantic.

So let it be known, Sara Bareilles: I'm on to you. No more will I think that any of your songs have to do with the true human condition. No, clearly they are all veiled references to other things. Your asshole tax attorney, your bitchy in-laws, that piano tuner who smells bad whenever he comes by.

Of course, none of this changes the fact that I've played "King of Anything" over 100 times already (as evidenced by iTunes.) I mean, c'mon, that deceptive shit has one hell of a chorus.



J/

THIS JUST IN:

Sara Bareilles is about to go viral with her piano version of Single Ladies... but BE FOREWARNED, BEYONCE FANS! Now, when she tells you to "put a ring on it," she's secretly KARATE KICKING the music industry right BEHIND THEIR EARS for not paying her a high enough percentage royalty when they sell pieces of her singles as ring tones... just an FYI.