red and blue garbage and the pleasure derived...

You know how there’s certain shit that you hate and the reason you hate it is because sometimes, against your better judgment, you like it, and it makes you so fucking furious that suddenly, in the darkest recesses of your brain, you’re kind of singing along to that Owl City song and loving it and suddenly, not only are you forced to acknowledge, on some level that no, this music isn’t COMPLETE dogshit, but also, now YOU’RE one of THEM, one of ‘those turds that likes this shit’. You’ve betrayed yourself, and why? How? I’ll tell you. Because anyone can accidentally do something good every once in a while, in exactly the same way that anyone can do something bad. Hell, even Tiger Woods makes mistakes here and there, man. There’s no real reason that, using that same sort of probability machine that Daughtry can’t accidentally crank out a tune that’s good. Not that he has, mind you, but…well. Read on.
God. So much to talk about today regarding this. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not a Daughtry fan. I think they’re wack. I consider Daughtry to be in generally the same category as turtlenecks. They’re not for me and there’s nothing cool about them, but hey, you’re into em? Cool. Fine. No problem. I mean, Will and the boys are just playing some good old fashioned crappy rock music. Nothing terribly offensive in that, AND he’s said in interviews that when reviewers attempt to discredit them by saying they’re nothing but Nickelback 2, well, he loves that comparison because Nickelback has sold millions of records, and that’s what he’s here to do. That’s refreshing, I think. I mean, for how many people out there write songs like music is nothing but commerce, it’s nice to hear someone actually mention the commercial aspect of it in a way that’s not just whining and crying because the world turned a few clicks and now you’re stuck in an outmoded business model with a pile of cds and a chip on your shoulder about the old days and how shit used to work.
Fuck yeah, Daughtry! Get out there and sell that crappy music to those people with bad taste and buy a ton of those vests and jeans and boots that you love!
Truly, there’s a sinister motive here. That new Daughtry song is called Life After You, and it’s not so good. I mean, it’s bad. Downright bad, but I don’t change the station. It’s, to borrow a phrase from our brethren in Boston, wicked embarrassing, but I can’t quite hate the song. I mean, it’s a song for PUSSIES, by pussies about being a total pussy and at first I started listening to it because I noticed that Daughtry and Tim from Rise Against do lots of real similar things in terms of melody and structure. Now, I’m not saying that they sound the same or that in almost any other circumstance you should be putting these two acts up for comparison because well, look it’s obvious. One’s cool. One’s daughtry. But the fact remains, very different genres, but they’re approached similarly, and I found it to be fascinating.
But then the fucker got its hooks in me. It’s like in Super Size Me when suddenly, three weeks in, Morgan Spurlock is talking about how good the food at McDonalds tastes and you want to be like “NoooooooOO!” but you get it. You get inculcated into ingesting trash, you adjust. Fuck. That’s me and daughtry. Oh well. Keep it our secret, kay? Good.
On the other hand we have Owl City. I don’t know much about this band but I know that dong nozzle that’s in every other band in the world is doing the singing. This guy drives me nuts. Firstly, Death Cab for Cutie is the DUMBEST band name EVER. BAR NONE. And it’s a band full of fat guys. Okay, that’s not a deal breaker or anything. Some of the best bands in the world are nothing but fat guys. Like…uh, the Fat Boys, for example. But the thing is, these Death Cab dudes aren’t even embracing their ‘wacky fat dude’ personas and always having a pizza or a chicken leg within arms reach or constantly being shirtless or anything that fat dudes pretty much HAVE to do to be in a band. These guys are just nerdy, bookish fat dudes that now, somehow are in one of the biggest bands in the world. And man, the music is so fucking pussified that it borders on being audio castration. Fiest had more kick ass songs than these guys, for fucks sake. I mean, why oh why do I need to listen to a fat millionaire that’s somehow circumvented all the rules of rockstardom and become the main guy in three huge bands despite the fact that he’s a chubby nerd, drone on about how he feels disconnected and alone and the world is a lovely, sad, touching whimsical place if you can just harvest the energy of the light and trees and souls or whatever. Fuck off, duder. I don’t like that at all.
Although…sometimes it comes on and you have to admit, that guy’s good. He’s got it, whatever “it’ is. Just one turn of phrase here or there and it’s like “ah GIBBARD!!! YOU BASTARD! You win again!” and that makes me hate him more.
He sounds like John K Samson imitating Tom Delonge by the way. Listen to “Vanilla Twilight” (the all time gayest song title ever, by the way) by Owl City if you need evidence of this gross misappropriation of sound.
Also, I hate Will Smith but I love him in movies. Same with Tom Cruise. Same with Tory Lane. Nah. Tory’s cool.
Actually, no. She’s probably not. She seems like she’d be mean, right? I think so. Look, speaking of things I hate, it’s time for me to get ready for work, so I’m out. Later turds.