False Idols

I came home and was flipping through the channels and saw that American Idol is on again. I don't know why that surprised me. I suppose it's time to start bludgeoning us out of our post New Year stupor. They ought to sell a line of products for people to use while they watch the show. Included are an anal dildo and a little plastic bowl of frozen feces with one of those wooden ice cream spoons! A $9.99 Limited Offer!

It's not like I should care, because I don't watch it. Except at the beginning, when they show the super freaks. That's pretty sweet. Watching those people always makes me rethink my stance on the death penalty. But then it goes into the "star making" part and I can't take it. Even if I turn my TV off, I get angry. Just knowing it's on bothers the shit out of me. And not because it's crap entertainment or that it's so shameless, but because those judges fucking are so creepy. I can't get past it.

That cross-eyed guy, Randy, is definitely a replicant. Watch him closely. I guarantee if you study his movements and really listen to his voice you will find yourself sitting bolt upright in your bed at 4 am. That guy is fucked.

And Paula Abdul? Wasn't she married to Kiefer Sutherland in 1983? Just before he shot Julia Roberts? (Someone look that up.) Twenty five years later she looks good, maybe even the same. And that's because she was encased in an incredibly thin layer of clear rubber sometime in the mid nineties. I think Michael Jackson's people had something to do with it. And now she is clearly jazzed up on something, booze, pills, some kind of gauze, whatever. With that vacant smile...and you know that English guy is drilling her. And she has no idea because she's catatonic inside her rubberized mind thinking about Keifer or Emiliez or one of those guys as the English guy finishes up and wipes himself off on her dressing room drapes.

Finally there is the English guy, the star. Ian (or Liam, or Neville, or something like that). He wears those black shirts. Unfortunately. But he's clearly the class of the group. He has the British accent, which esptblishes his superiority over us Earthling American rodents. His haircut is sweet- very Mark Allen 1979 (Mark Allen was a kid who lived on my block and he got tons of girls in sixth and seventh grade. Then he mysteriously spun out of control into dungeons and dragons level dorkdom in eighth grade and I never saw him again, although my yearbook indicates that he graduated with our class. The hair, however, is from Mark's scoring chicks years, which obviously this Ian guy knows about.) Ian, who invented American Idol as well as all talent contests, is a star maker. Where did he learn his craft? Oh yeah, someone told me...he was in the music industry. The same music industry that once told me that Oasis is the new Beatles and now tells me that I should listen to Daughtry. The industry that can't sell any records.

So Ian, who is a genuis, makes people into "superstars". But unfortunately there is a by product: despite the fact that we now have all these new "stars", everyone has realized that the music they sing sucks so bad they would rather listen to electronic ring tones. Good job, bro. By the way, they should play Daughtry in prison. No one would ever commit a crime again if they knew they had to hear that guy screaming at them for the next five to ten.

I know regardless of what I say, they can't be stopped. Something like 300 million Americans watch every episode. So I'm in the minority. Fuck it. I can take comfort in the fact that nothing lasts forever (except the Simpsons and Abe Vigoda). But who knows, maybe it will end sooner than we think. Maybe some terrorist group will free Paula from her epoxy prison and brain wash her Patty Hearst style. A week later we will watch in horror as she gloriously castrates Ian on live television with a garden hoe. Then Donald Trump can take over. And get his own set of robots.

Of course it could be worse. They could do a movie version of Quincy, with the Rock playing Klugman's role.

My TV is officially off. Time to read a book. I'm starting a good one, it's called "LT: Living on the Edge. The Lawrence Taylor Story." I'm going to read it to the kids at the orphanage this weekend during book time. I hear it's an inspiring story.

Mick

The New Year

Happy New Year! You know I'm pretty sure I wrote a blog in late December that somehow disappeared from the site here...I don't really remember what it was about but now that it's gone I'm convinced that it was the best thing I ever wrote. Lost forever! Like Hemingway leaving those stories on the train in Spain or France or wherever he was drinking and writing long sentences in those early years when the words and blood flowed like wine and we all went to the Cafe Bernice and had a pernod. But I'll try to recapture the magic.

Let's see what's new in the world of music. A friend of mine recently sent me a disc of Ryan Bingham, folk/bluesy stuff, reminiscient of Townes Van Zandt/Billy Joe Shaver. Excellent stuff. Seriously very cool. Strongly advise you track this guy down if you have any interest in folk/blues/guitar kick ass music. But if you don't like good music, you definitely won't like Ryan Bingham.

I spent some time in Mexico in the last couple weeks. Nothing like being drunk during the day listening to Mexican music. Heard some excellent mariachi players wh went deep into the catalog to play something for my niece and nephew. There is some really great Mexican music out there- I would particularly recommend Los Tres Ases and Los Dandys. Musica bonita.

Pretty pedestrian blog this week. Nothing really to say now that the New Year started and we're all back to work. I promise something better in the next couple days. Something that will really piss someone off.

Signing out.

MU

Missing Magma

It's been interesting watching the frenzy over Jack's Knick commercials/comments etc. Hilarious that people get that worked up over it. Some of the comments are pretty insane. Makes you wonder if people don't have anything real to worry about in their lives.

God knows I do. I made a huge vat of Chili the other night and ate like three pounds of it in one sitting tonight. Now I think I'm hallucinating. It feels like there's a brick in my stomach. This was a huge mistake.

On the music front, I haven't heard anything good lately. Of course everyone and their mother has a Christmas album out. Leave it to Bing, folks. Somehow hearing Death Cab for Cutie play O Come all Ye Faithful or Audio Bullys banging out "The Little Drummer Boy" just isn't doing it for me. Not that I don't like a good Christmas album, because I do. My recommendation: The Clancy Brothers Christmas. Listen to it once and you will learn all about the story of baby Jesus and how to get shitfaced on Christmas.

Oh yeah, and why didn't anyone tell me Chad Magma was playing in New York! They played the Rub Room last Wednesday and I heard it was off the charts. My buddy Meathook was there- he recorded them playing "Simmering Sands" on his phone.

As you probably know, le Magma hasn't played in NY since '99. And now they make an already legendary appearance and I miss it. I can't believe it! I'm inconsolable.

You'd think Uncensored Interview could get a soundbite or two from the "Ultimate Under the Radar Band of All Time" (as they were dubbed in Vibrations Magazine.) C'mon guys! Get me an interview!

More later, I have to go throw up.

Jack Rocked

So my buddy Jack is having a tough time right now. You might have seen the commercial he did for the New York Knicks. If not you can see it here.

He's pretty convincing. The Knicks do sound "formidable" when he talks about them. And his rip on the Celtics is straight up "courtside jabber" from the asphalt courts of Harlem or the Bronx. "You know what formidable means, BITCH?" the kid yells as he does a 360 jam in the other guy's face.

It's all good, except for one problem. The Knicks may be the worst team in modern NBA history. They just lost to the Celtics by 50 points, which is something that rarely happens even in junior high basketball. So...the Celtics fans who don't know what "Formidable" means probably think it's synonymous with "sucks shit".

Not surprisingly, the barbaric Celtic fans have jumped all over my boy and mocked him...to the tune of 10,000 hits on youtube and counting.

Let's get real here. He did a commercial. He read the lines. Ok. Guilty as charged. But what these Boston Troglodytes don't know is the real story.

And if they did, they might be inclined to take it a little more easy on the guy.

On May 10, 1973, The same day that the Knicks won their last championship, Jack was born in a Brooklyn hospital. His parents, Irish immigrants, were forced to give him up for adoption because he wouldn't fit in their one bedroom flat; they already had 17 other children. A troubled kid, sent from orphanage to foster homes and back to the orphanage, little Jack never could seem to find a home of his own.

Then one day in 1980, he and his fellow orphans got tickets to go see the New York Knicks play the Boston Celtics at Madison Square Garden. Michael Ray Richardson lit up the Celtics for 33 points and Bill Cartwright had 17 boards and the Knicks won by 7. Jack had never seen anything so incredible in his life. The colors, the crowd, the hot dogs and the music...he was enchanted. He knew then he had finally found a home.

So when they boarded the bus for Staten Island after the game, no one noticed that there was one orphan missing. As they pulled out onto 7th Avenue, Jack was already deep in the bowels of Madison Sqaure Garden. And there he lived.

Jack watched every Knicks game, every Rangers game, the Ice Capades, concerts...he ate hot dogs and pretzels and drank sodas...he learned to read and write by reading programs and the scoresheets. He knew every inch and cranny of the Garden and got to know all of the people who worked there: the ticket takers, the ushers, the guy who waxed the floor, the beer and soda vendors. Jack was like their own little kid, their mascot almost. But still none of them knew he actually lived there. Until one day.

He had been living in the Garden almost three years when one day Jack woke up in his usual spot, the luxury box at midcourt. He rolled up his blanket and collected his things. He waited until he heard the janitor move down the hall and he scrambled out of the box and jumped down to the seats just below. As he walked to the aisle he realized someone was watching him. It was Carl Jackson. The Organ player. He was sitting way up in his organ box, looking down at Jack. Jack ducked behind the seats but then heard the Organ's blast: Duh-duh-duh-DUH-DUH-DUH! The bugle line for "Charge!". On the last note, unable to stop himself, Jack stood upright and yelled "CHARGE!". He looked at Carl, who motioned him to come up to the box.

Carl got the truth out of little Jack; that he had been living in the Garden for three years, that he had no other home. So Carl took him home to live with him. Carl was a widower who never had children and he raised Jack as his son. He sent him to school and took care of him when he was sick and played with him on the weekends and summers. They went to every Knicks games together.

Carl was a good guy, but still, he wasn't Jack's flesh and blood. Jack would ask Carl about his parents and why they abandoned him. To make him feel better, Carl told Jack that they were sold into slavery by the Evil Red Auerbach, the President of the Celtics. They would be bound as slaves to Red until the day that the Knicks won a championship again. Then they could come home and they would live with Jack happily ever after. (It should be noted at this point that Carl, while a nice fellow, was also a schizophrenic.)

So Jack watched year after year, and waited for the Knicks to win a championship. He grew up, went to college, and became a successful musician but the Knicks never won their championship.

Poor Jack waited and watched and rooted for years...and then this season, just before the sexual harassment trial ended, old Carl Jackson died. They had long since replaced him with blaring rock music and a recorded organ and the Knicks didn't have any use for him anymore. Jack, who has since realized that his parents weren't slaves (Auerbach died last year and when his parents didn't show up after that, he put it together) went into a funk...now he was alone again. All he had were his Knicks.

So when the Knicks came knocking and asked him to do a commercial, he thought of Carl. He thought of his days living in the Garden. And he thought of his parents, enslaved by the evil Lord of the Celtics....so he made them big in his mind, legendary, unbeatable...FORMIDABLE....

Yes, he's crazy. Yes, he probably should be locked up. But it is that hope, that passion, that once in a lifetime chance mentality that makes us all fans of sport, fans of life...and fans of Jack.

You go Jack. Dream on. You are formidable! No matter what the New England yokels say.

And by the way, fuck the Patriots.

Rock Star Blather

"We will teach our twisted speech to the young believers." - The Clash

Gore talks until he's green. Bono ponies up about third world debt. Bruce Springsteen sings war protest songs. Ted Nugent stumps for gun owner's rights. Rosie O Donnell complains about undercooked chicken or whatever the hell she complains about.

Leads to a good question from a comment to my last post. I paraphrase, but something along the lines of: "Should rock stars and celebrities use their fame to promote causes they feel are important, or should they just shut the hell up?"

Musicians have long been a part of protest culture. And I'm not just talking about the sixties. Many folk songs were written by populist rebel types as a way to get the word out on beefs against the people in power. Many old songs were "masked", allegories that told stories that were essentially political protest songs. Mostly about the rich man keeping the poor man/black man/certain type of religious man down. So music itself has always been a statement. Of course the statement may be stupid...

And so can Rock Stars and celebrities. But we all have opinions. What's wrong with the A listers airing their opionions, too? God knows my opinions are pretty fucking useless, but I'm spewing them here. So why not them?

Well, for one thing, their opinions are going to be heard by millions of people (whereas my blog reaches tens of people), so they better choose them carefully. When I was 22, I was of the strong (and I thought well reasoned) opinion that anyone who didn't get rip roaring drunk and stoned every night was a tool. Now if I was a rock star and said that, say in an interview with on E!, I'd be beaten by a bunch of justifiably worried parents. (Wait, they do say that...and when the parents come to beat them, the dads get crushed by security and the moms end up boning the rock star.)

The company line from the celebs and their backers is that with all this exposure, they can bring attention to certain opinions or issues that the mainstream media or our society as a whole would rather avoid.

But the flipside of the "educating the masses" concept is that many of these celebrities are so annoying that seeing them talking about anything is enough to drive someone to the opposite camp. When Alec Baldwin said he was going to move out of the country if Bush got elected I was like, "please do." And I'm no fan of Bush. (Well at least not the President).

These celebs need to think (and be honest) about the purpose of their statements. Is it really to effect change, or is it to draw even more attention to themselves? Because they need to know that there's a good chance that just by speaking on an issue they'll piss enough people off to vote against that issue. So they're actually acheiving the opposite result.

I agree that it depends on the issue, the celebrity and the manner of the delivery. Hey, if someone is asked a question in an interview about their opinion, then what's wrong with answering? But making speeches and backing candidates, then they need to be careful about their own credibility and whether they're helping or hurting their own cause.

A line here or there, a throwaway joke in a concert about sticking it to the man, is fun and all part of music. Once they start on a big speech though, they lose me. They may have the right to have an opinion, but I could care less about theirs. Unless it's funny. Or really stupid. Then I'm into it.

So the ultimate answer to the question is yes, they should shut up. But they also should stop doing seventeen year old girls and they should stop ingesting copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. But that's not happening. Like they're going to listen to you? No. So you're gonna be forced to listen to them. Have another beer.

Have to carry the Patriots/Ecuador blog for one more week.

Mick Underground. Delivering you pointless drivel since 2007.

Musipontification

I know I'm supposed to write about Ecuador and the Patriots, but that will have to wait until next time. I was checking out Uncensoredinterview.com tonight and watching these indie rockers wax philisophic about politics and love and roofies and shit. Hilarious stuff.

As I was watching them pontificate, I thought, what is it that makes musicians so....I dont know. Full of it? Assured, while at the same time being simply ridiculous? Stylishing confident but at the same time kind of lost?

Maybe it's because when they get on stage people almost worship them, move when they tell them to move, do what they tell them to do. So they become a little pedantic. Maybe it's because they're artists, and artists by definition express themselves. So when they talk, their artistic side comes out unedited. Maybe it's because they're completely baked. Either way, it makes for some very funny stuff.

Different musicians are different; I get that. Put a cello player, a rapper and a vegan folk singer in a room and ask them a question and you'll get three different answers. You'll also get someboyd's ass kicked. And don't automatically think it's the Cello player, because they can be totally hardcore. And vegans are frankly dangerous, so I wouldn't bet against them either. But whatever happens you know you'll get some real opinions, a performance with each answer. And it will be a crapshoot as to whether you get something totally inspired or easily mockable. Either way though, it will be entertaining.

Watching those interviews reminds me that there is more to the indie music scene than just downloading songs and going to shows at HP Dog House or the Rainbucket. That these are weird artists who have strange and strong opinions and don't give a damn what anyone thinks. Which is pretty cool. Unless their opinions are really stupid. Which they usually are.

Uncensored reminds me of some of my favorite musician's quotes:

"The thing I remember most about America is that it's silly. That can be quite a relief at times."- Thom Yorke

"Dogs smoke in France."- Ozzy

"We're bigger than Jesus." -John Lennon.

“Don't do drugs, don't have unprotected sex, don't be violent... leave that to me”- Eminem

"I tried to give up drugs by drinking." - Lou Reed

"I don't know anything about music. In my line, you don't have to." - Elvis Pressley

Back to more serious topics in the next blog. Like why Styx should be the national band of Ecuador and why Jessica Simpson will be the next Meryl Streep.

The Non Ugly Factor

Lately I've been cranking Kings Of Leon on my way home from work. Reminds me of high school for some reason. Or more accurately, makes me wish I went to high school. But there' s nothing wrong with a little rock n' roll on the way home. It's almost like taking a shower or having a cold beer at the end of a long day, it revives the tired soul.

I have been thinking about the fact that you pretty much have to be good looking to get a record contract now, or at least to be promoted in the pop world. No wonder pop music sucks- ugly people make way better music than good looking people, yet the only thing you ever see in a pop music video is some model pretending to sing while another model gives him or her oral sex in the back of a large industrial freezer.

What people don't remember is that pop music, which has sucked for a long time, wasn't always this bad. Why? Because they let ugly people in on the deal. Think about the 60s and 70s- the most popular music was played by some weird looking dudes- the Beatles were certainly no models, the Stones and Led Zeppelin look like really ugly women dressed as really ugly men. For Christ's sake, Peter Frampton was a sex god. Rick Ocasek? The guy's like some kind of experiment.

They still got tons of chicks (because they're rock stars) but it would be a lot harder for them now. If Arethra Franklin was a young performer today, she'd get voted off of American Idol in like the fifth week. Bob Dylan would be beaten by a angry mob of Banana Republic wearing, purposefully-messed-up $200 hair cut Blackberrying "boyzz".

It's like you're actually immoral if you're ugly now. And although some freaks are playing good music, and you can find it if you look for it, the big boys aren't marketing it to the masses. Because these good looking dancers and models have no idea how to write music or even sing it (I don't care how "good" their voices are, singing isn't about hitting notes, it's about style), pop music blows worse than ever. It also blows because they're running out of things to write in this genre- three chords can only take you so far. But that's a story for another day.

For now, let's demand a return of the ugly rock star- maybe make Iggy Pop the mascot. On second thought, I can't stand the idea of looking at his ugly ass, so I'll just put on the CD and think about the chicks he gets. Anyway, stop worrying about what you look like and start worrying about what you're listening to. And crank some Kings of Leon on the way home.

Next Up: Why the Patriots are not the best team ever and why Ecuador is a hilarious country.