I’ve really tried as I’ve gotten older to be more respectful
of others’ musical tastes, even when they’re in direct conflict with my
own. Sometime within the last few years,
I came to the conclusion that being a rigid music snob was excluding me from
potential fun and adventure. The results
have been nothing short of revelatory: the mind is a terrible thing to close,
friends. Hell, the previous post on this blog was a piece about Whitesnake of all bands, and not a hatchet-job,
either. Growing up, it turns out, ain’t
nearly as bad as it’s cracked up to be.
Whoulda thunk it?
That Whitesnake piece was as much about the nature of
nostalgia as it was about David Coverdale and friends. Honestly, I don’t have much against
nostalgia, especially when it really isn’t nostalgia. There’s something I admire about music fans
who simply continue to like the artists they’ve always liked, regardless of
those artists’ relative hipness or current commercial clout. Staying a fan is a wonderful thing, and
continuing to love what you’ve always loved isn’t nostalgia; it’s giving great
music a permanent place in your life.
Rock on, true believers, and I say that with no amount of sarcasm
whatsoever.
Like I said: new-ish, tolerant me generally tries to keep
the artist-bashing to myself. Still,
there are some things you can never quite let go, and some times when you’ve
got to call a turd a turd. I’ll let this
screen-grab of an email speak for itself:
There have been many times in our combined music geekdom
when Rhea has asserted that the ‘90s were a terrible time for music. At this point in the discussion, I usually
get up, throw on a D Generation t-shirt, and begin to protest loudly. Looking at the above bill – really, the Barenaked
Ladies and Blues Traveler together?! – I feel that my protesting
has all been in vain. Because, based on
the musical “accomplishments” of those two incredibly shit bands, she’s
absolutely right. The Barenaked Ladies
have always shot for cleverness and missed by miles, right down to their imbecilic
name. They’re called the Barenaked Ladies!
They’re a bunch of fat Canadian dudes!
How fucking hilarious! As for
Blues Traveler and their intolerable blare of pinched-larynx vocals and endless
harmonica jams, the Black Crowes’ Chris Robinson hit the nail on the head: they are a novelty act, and a bad one at that.
I can’t even begin to wrap my head around having to endure both of these
awful bands on the same bill.
Looking back on my concert-going career, I’d rate Poison as
the worst professional-level band I’ve ever had to sit through live. To be fair, I was
biased going in, given that I’ve always harbored a somewhat irrational hatred towards that band and my beloved Cheap Trick were somehow opening for them. No surprise then: they
were just as bad as I expected them to be. I’d actually rather see them perform four
times in the same night than have to sit through a Barenaked Ladies/Blues
Traveler double feature. Scout’s honor –
and yes, I was a scout. (A Cub Scout to be exact, but close enough.)
Look, I’m really not trying to piss on anyone’s parade. If, for whatever bizarre reason, you wish to
buy this particular headache for the princely sum of $13.00, go forth and
enjoy. But, really: the Barenaked Ladies and Blues Traveler? You need to raise your nostalgia
standards. You should pick up the
new Whitesnake album with that cash instead.
I’m not kidding.
And, with all of that said and vented, I’ll return to my
older, wiser, more open-minded self.
Still, every now and then, the music snob within comes across something
that makes him have to come out and do his thing. I thank you, dear readers, for your
indulgence.
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