I’ll have the "Making the Dead Roll Over In Their Grave" special, with a side of "Attention-Whore" and a Tall Glass of "STFU." Hold the ashes.

Hey, all. So, I know I haven’t written here or updated in a while…this is due to a couple complications. My reviews at 411Mania are taking a lot of my time…if you haven’t checked them out, you should. I’m having a lot of fun with them. :) Also, I’ve been trying very, VERY hard not to blog about the US Presidential race. For those who are long-time followers of my thoughts online, I get rather vehement around this time, and I thought it was probably best for my stress levels that I not.

However, that being said…I couldn’t help but post on this one. It’s too classic. First, from Friday, came the news that Converse was going to produce a shoe with pages from Nirvana frontman and grunge rock icon Kurt Cobain’s journals screened onto them. Yes, the man who hated celebrity and corporate America as much as anyone in the last twenty years or more gets his private thoughts plastered over people’s feet at $50-$65 a pop. Isn’t that AWESOME? I guess Courtney ran out of smack again…which is impressive, considering that just two months ago, she auctioned off all of her dead husband’s shit to Christie’s. But then, I guess when you’re as big of a crackwhore as Love is, you blow through it quickly.

People might think I’m being too harsh on poor Miss Love. I mean, obviously the woman has issues. No one can deny that. Maybe we should all just leave her alone? But clearly, not if we want her to let the Cobain name have any sort of legacy near what Kurt would have wanted. Every time this woman drops out of the news, she does something to leech off Kurt’s legacy and put her back in the papers. Hole, her band, wasn’t horrible, and her first album, Live Through This, was actually pretty good. But it wasn’t good enough for the fame she wanted…the fame she got when her husband died. And so she keeps going back to it, again…and again…and again. Whether it was licensing Kurt Cobain action figures, as well as his music for commercial ads, posing as the Virgin Mary with a Kurt look-alike as a dead Jesus, or executive producing the upcoming Universal Pictures film version of late husband’s life, it becomes increasingly clear that Courtney is set to turn Kurt Cobain into the money-making machine he never wanted to be in life.
Well, guess what? She’s at it again. From Spin.com:

Kurt Cobain is certainly in high demand: After his likeness was snatched by Dr. Martens, utilized by Converse, and his effects auctioned via Christie’s, an unidentified burglar has upped the ante, stealing the rocker’s remains from widow Courtney Love’s Los Angeles home.

According to an NME.com report (via News of the World), an unidentified robber entered Love’s Hollywood home and snatched clothing, jewelry, and Cobain’s ashes, which were kept in a “pink teddy bear-shaped bag along with a lock of his hair.”

“I can’t believe anyone would take Kurt’s ashes from me,” said Love. “I find it disgusting and right now I’m suicidal. If I don’t get them back I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Following Cobain’s 1994 death, portions of his ashes were spread near his Washington State home and at a New York Buddhist temple. The remaining ashes’ whereabouts were previously unknown by the public at large, and now, following the heist, are again lost to obscurity.

“They were all I had left of my husband,” Love told the Brit paper. “I used to take them everywhere with me just so I could feel Kurt was still with me. Now it feels like I have lost him all over again.”

Is it bad that my first thought was, “I wonder how much she got for them?”

I actually had a conversation with someone about this, and they likened the way Courtney was treated to Yoko Ono; people resent that Kurt died tragically, and sort of react overly venemously to her actions. Now, I’m not a huge Ono fan–frankly, if she never sang again, I’d be happy–but there is a huge, HUGE difference to me. Yoko, as much as a bitch as she can be, always showed respect for John and for John’s children. In fact, she is almost the opposite of Miss Celebrity Skin. Ono has a deathgrip on Lennon’s legacy and won’t let go; Courtney gets low on money and she hawks something new, or gives another interview talking about how many pills Kurt swallowed at X time or another, so clearly he was suicidal. While Julian and Sean Lennon grew up with their father’s public image being incredibly (some would argue overly) protected, Frances Bean Cobain…well. I shudder to think what she thinks of her father, the way her mom talks about him. Or what she thinks of her mother, for that matter.

And I will state, for the record, that it will not surprise me, one iota, if this is a publicity stunt by Love. In fact, I’d bet it is. And if it’s not…well, if his ashes were all you have left of your husband, maybe I should take a moment to point something out. You also have a daughter, who is as much of him as she is of you. You seem to forget that most of the time. Also, you might have more of him…IF YOU HADN’T AUCTIONED IT ALL AWAY!!!

So Courtney Love? Congratulations, you’ve earned the Ravyn’s Nest Image Award of the Day:

Your award is in the mail. Honest.

Now Playing: Nelly Furtado – Folklore – Build You Up

I’ll Watch Anything

So, this is what happens when a song gets stuck in my head after hearing it for the first time in forever…I start to parody it in my head. Sometimes, like today, I’m inspired to make a full song out of it. So…enjoy my nuttiness.

“I’ll Watch Anything”
By Jeremy Thomas
To the tune of “I’ll Do Anything” by Simple Plan

Another day on the picket line
While the writers stand up for their rights
But I sit here
And I’m still waiting

And I’m on my couch, this ain’t no fun
’cause so many shows didn’t get done
And now they’re gone
And I can’t watch them

So I sit here, I drink a beer, try to enjoy myself, yeah

I’ll watch anything
While the writers are on strike
I’ll watch whatever crap
The networks show to keep us pacified
I’ll watch anything
Even reality TV
But God, I hope that soon
Heroes gets it’s Volume 3

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel sore
The scripters deserve what they’ve asked for
The studio heads
Are greedy bastards

But I’m going nuts with all this crap
How many damn game shows can they tap?
I don’t need to see
Singaporean Idol

This could be the one last straw, I can’t take it no more
This network junk, it’s really such a bore, yeah

But I’ll watch anything
While the writers are on strike
They try to make me laugh
But I’d rather deal with staph
I’ll watch anything
Leno’s so depressing now
Without his writing team–
Wait, he wasn’t funny anyhow…

I close my eyes
And wait for it to end
I close my eyes
It’s easier just to pretend
Nanana, nanana
’cause I want something new to view
Nanana, nanananaaaa

I’ll watch anything
While the writers march in line
To try to find a way
To force myself to pass the time
I’ll watch anything
Even Price is Right Primetime
But I want my Family Guy
And CSI

I’ll watch anything
Just bring my Office back
I’ll watch anything
24 is like my crack
I’ll watch anything
But what’s on now is whack
I’ll watch anything
Give me my House, that crazy quack…

Now Playing: Simple Plan – No Pads, No Helmets…Just Balls – I’d Do Anything

Guns N’ Roses Gets Someone Else Arrested

It’s a music day, it seems. This particular piece of “What the Fuck”-ness is credited to 411Mania:

Guns N’ Roses Song Mistaken For Death Threat

A school custodian’s after-hours karaoke performance prompted a police response when a teacher thought she was being threatened over the loudspeaker. State police say a teacher at Booth Free School in Roxbury, Connecticut barricaded herself inside a classroom Wednesday when she mistook someone singing a Guns N’ Roses song over the public address system for a threat. She was working after hours and thought no one else was in the building. Then she heard someone say over the loudspeaker that she was going to die.

Six troopers and three police dogs showed up and found three teenagers, one of them a custodian at the school, who had been playing with the public address system. Police say one of them sang “Welcome to the Jungle” into the microphone. The song contains the lyrics “You’re in the jungle baby; you’re gonna die.”

The teenagers were cuffed on the ground for about 15 minutes while police investigated. They were released after being questioned and state police Sgt. Brian Ness said they did not realize the teacher was in the school and will not face charges.

Okay…wow. Now, don’t get me wrong, if I was working late at a school and I heard “You’re in the jungle baby…you’re gonna DIEEEEEEE!” come out of nowhere, I’d probably jump myself. However, I feel the need to point this out:

The lyrics to “Welcome to the Jungle”

You see that? You see where the offending lyric is HALFWAY into the song? Now, if they literally just shouted that one line into the loudspeaker–which it doesn’t seem like is the case, per the above story–maybe. MAYBE it’s worth calling the cops (though me, I’d just be the smart person and get the fuck out of the school). Otherwise…someone needs to listen to some hard rock STAT, take a chill pill, stop watching horror films, and get a clue. If someone’s gonna kill you, they’re not going to announce it over the school loudspeaker first. THEY’RE JUST GOING TO KILL YOU!

And lastly, to the would-be rock stars…welcome to the 21st Century. You weren’t even alive when Appetite For Destruction came out. Go rock out to Fall-Out Boy or Stuffing Gerbils or whatever crap band is filling the “Alternative Rock” airways now. G N’ F’n R is MY crap music, and you can’t have it!

–Jer


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Minor Work Amusement

So, as part of supporting our online protection software for my company’s broadband partners, we often get logfiles that include various bits of information about the user’s computer. One of the key elements is the system.nfo file, which shows several crucial pieces of system information. (If you’re curious what I’m talking about, you can see your own system.nfo file by going Start –>Accessories–>System Tools–>System Information) One of these things is the user’s directories.

So, I’m looking through the directories of a particular user to see if they have anything that might interfere with our installation, such as other anti-virus software, firewalls, or a host of other problems–A/V and Firewalls are notoriously picky about this–and I find their iTunes folders.

Brooke Hogan
Paris Hilton
NOW 26
Hannah Montana 2
High School Musical
Kanye West

Among others.

So, I suppose it would be wrong to include this in the troubleshooting steps…right?

“Also, please advise the user that per the logfiles they sent, their music tastes are defective. Advise the user of the following artists….”

I’m just doing a public service, really!

–Jer


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More Filky Stuff

So, the last post got a pretty decent reception, and a couple people have told me I should post more. Here’s the one other I could find that would make sense to anyone–or, at least, anyone who’s played World of Darkness roleplaying games, particularly online. If you haven’t played said games, then forgive my geekiness…it truly knows no bounds.

CROSSOVER
To the tune of “Glamorous” by Fergie — Video Here

Are you ready?
If you let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke
I said, you let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke

C-R-O-S-S-O-V-E-R, yeah
C-R-O-S-S-O-V-E-R

I’m maxing my stats up to the sky
Got Appearance maxed out at Five
I’m crossin’ genres, and I won’t change
Love the crossover, ooh, I’m twinky, twinky

The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, ooh, the twinky, twinky
The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, ooh, the twinky, twinky

Tzimisce with angel’s wings,
All those rules don’t mean a thing
Changeling Arts and high True Breed
Bought by lots of min-maxing

I will be the drama queen
Emo-ing up every scene
I’m not mean, I’m just obscene
Playing whores who are sixteen

Welcome to my cyber hell
Subtlety, farewell
I don’t care, I’m still cool
No matter how much the ST’s yell

After the scene, once the angst ensues
I like to go write up my new Garou
Dreamin’, and scheming on ways
That I can get Dominate
So now

I’m maxing my stats up to the sky
Got Appearance maxed out at Five
I’m crossin’ genres, and I won’t change
I love the crossover, I’m twinky, twinky

The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, the twinky, twinky
The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, the twinky, twinky

I’m talkin’ Brujah wi-ishes, Euthanatos dre-e-eams
I deserve nothing but all the uber thi-i-ings
Now the S-T has no clue what to do with us
I got freebies from my Flaws for the two of us

Plus I gotta stay coquettish
And play each and every fetish
Lifestyles so sick and depraved
That DeSade would get jealous
Fortitude just for the soak, add Lore of Death to that–no joke
If you let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke

C-R-O-S-S-O-V-E-R, yeah
C-R-O-S-S-O-V-E-R

I’m maxing my stats up to the sky
Got Appearance maxed out at Five
I’m crossin’ genres, and I won’t change
Love the crossover, ooh, I’m twinky, twinky

The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, ooh, the twinky, twinky
The crossover, the crossover, crossover
Love the crossover, ooh, the twinky, twinky

I got Merits up to here
They just let me raise my Spheres
You’re telling me these crazy rules
That I don’t wanna hear

I got firepower like a tank,
And I’d really like to thank
The Golden Rule, I’d like to thank
Thank you very much

’cause I remember way back when
Back before White Wolf began
My paladin was dark elven
She was really hot

Yeah, it takes a lot of fools
To play hell with all the rules
I’m glad contradiction abounds
That gives arguing ground

(You let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke) I’ve got arguing ground
(You let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke) I’ll fight it pound for pound
(You let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke) I’ve got arguing gound
(You let me get away with it, I’ll go for broke) I’ll fight it pound for pound

–Jer


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The Ravyn Filks!

So, sometimes, I get a song stuck in my head, and words start to come out. Geeky words. It ends up as what’s known as filk. I’m not claiming to be a Tom Smith or any of the other artists at the FuMP; I’m no Leslie Fish, Luke Ski, or Mercedes Lackey. Sometimes, though–just sometimes–I manage to amuse myself.

The following is one of those rare times.

Insta(nce)-Death
To the tune of “Pepper” by the Butthole Surfers

Marky was a paladin
With a Holy talent tree
He was sharing Sharon’s spec
Because Sharon was a priest

Mikey was a Combat Rogue
Bobby had a war staff
They were all in love with dyin’
They were doin’ it in Warcraft

Tommy played his warrior
Just like he played his mage
Then his party wiped in Zul’Farrak
He was tanking while at range
They were all in love with dyin’
Using every single button
As they tried to kill the boss
At the bottom of the dungeon

I don’t mind the quests sometimes
They set for me my goals
By killing mobs and getting things
My reputation grows
Gnomeregan and Dire Maul
And into the Deadmines
You never know how screwed you are
Until the party wipes

Some will die in BRD
A firey fight with Magmus
Some will die in Uldaman
Losing to Archaedas
Some will fall in love with life
And use all of their buttons
As they try to kill the boss
At the bottom of the dungeon

I don’t mind the quests sometimes
They set for me my goals
By killing mobs and getting things
My reputation grows
Shadowfang and Molten Core
And Stockades are good times
You never know how screwed you are
Until the party wipes

Another Mikey made ‘em wipe
While questing on in Scholo
Skipper died because of it
He quit and left to solo
Then there was the ever-present
Mage who loved to aggro
They were all in love with dyin’
So they didn’t force him to go

Holly shot a bullet
But it broke the caster’s sheep
Well, she should’ve just been smarter
Her repair bill’d be less steep
They were all in love with dyin’
Using every single button
As they tried to kill the boss
At the bottom of the dungeon

I don’t mind the quests sometimes
They set for me my goals
By killing mobs and getting things
My reputation grows
Naxxramas and Zul’Gurub,
Victory shall be mine
You never know how screwed you are
Until the party wipes

–Jer


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Lyrics Thursday

Yes, I know, I’m just a flurry of posts today. I just…felt that some beauty was needed today. I don’t know why. So I give you Charlotte Martin.

“Every Time it Rains” (YouTube Link Here)

Every time it rains I listen to the sky
And wonder what’s so great about sunshine
Everybody lives and everybody dies
And no one’s gonna love you like I do

When it was getting dark
I didn’t need a match
I never needed light to see you
You thought I disappeared
But I was always here
I could never get that far from you

Though I misunderstand
And been misunderstood
So love me ’cause you can
And not because you should

Every time it rains
I know it’s good to be alive
Every time it rains
I know I’m trying to survive

Take it as it comes
And take me as I am
I never was a good imposter
But I know how to dream
And don’t know where I stand
I’m willing to admit I try too hard
Stop playing with my heart
I’m waiting by the phone
Afraid to be myself
Afraid to be alone

Every time it rains
I know it’s good to be alive
Every time it rains
I know I’m trying to survive
And every time it rains
I’m gonna hide myself inside

I know it’s good to be alive
I know it’s good to be alive
I know it’s good to be alive

Every time it rains
I know it’s good to be alive
Every time it rains
I know I’m trying to survive


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Lyrics Saturday

From the hilarious (and in this case, DAMN right) Worm Quartet, who are part of the Funny Music Project (or FuMP):

“C is for Lettuce”

I’ve listened to you bitch, I’ve listened to you whine
But you couscous-eating yuppie jerks have gone too far this time
Your kids are getting fatter and the outlook’s rather bleak
Despite you putting them on three fad diets every week
So do you take the blame, and make a change at home?
No dammit, you’re American! You’re born to bitch and moan!
And just like every problem, your solution is the same:
Your v-chipped cable-ready babysitter is to blame!

Cuz every single character in every single show
Must be shaped and molded perfectly to help your children grow
Cuz if they’re not ideal role models and beacons for good health
You might just have to be one yourself!

And who has time for that?

So with your pen of judgement, you turn on your TV
Prepared to write down ev-e-ry indecency you see
(There’s) a googly-eyed Muppet with a coat of navy blue
He grabs a plate of something…hey, that don’t look like tofu!
And with a ghastly “ahm nahm nahm” the cookies disappear
And suddenly the reason for your offspring’s size is clear
This glut’nous monster’s brainwashed them and driven them to gorge!
Someone must stop this Toll-House-fueled sloth-inducing scourge!

Because you’re far too busy, you can’t teach your kids to see
That reality is different from what’s broadcast on TV
So you know that they’ll just emulate the things the puppets do
And that might reflect badly on you!
So now you’re
Screaming for the blood of the cookie monster
Evil puppet demon of obesity
Time to change the tune of his fearful ballad
C is for “Lettuce,” that’s good enough for me

Well now you start to think, your kid may be depressed
Even though each day he sees a different therapist
So you go to his classroom, which is looking rather stark
Cuz their funds were voted down last year to build a baseball park
The teacher says he’s failing English, history and math
And suddenly it’s clear what’s led him down his darkening path
You can’t call it “Failing!” That’s such a scathing word!
We’ll just call it “Success that’s temporarily deferred!”

Cuz language can be powerful, to raise and to depress
That’s why we no longer have “Shell Shock” we have “Post-traumatic stress”
And the only way to keep our precious darlings out of jail
Is to make them think that they can never fail!

So now you’re
Screaming for the blood of the underpaid teacher
After all your taxes pay her yearly 12 G
You can’t change the world, so just change what you call it
F is for “Almost,” that’s good enough for me

No one understands just how brutal you have it
You wake up each morning and have to fight traffic
Then spend all day chained to your laptop and beeper
Kiss some client’s ass and then play some minesweeper
Then hightail it over to your yoga lessons
Then lattes, pilates, and therapy sessions
Where you whine and ramble and dab your eyelids
And complain that you never get time with your kids

You’ve bitched your yuppie heart out, and meddled with the best
But your brooding fatass offspring keeps deferring his success
So what the hell’s the problem? It surely can’t be you!
It must be all the violence on his new PlayStation 2!
Look at this atrocity! There’s hoodlums, thugs, and skanks
And chronic-tokin’ gangstas running hookers down with tanks
There’s nudity and blood and guts and chainsaws cutting people
And that’s just in the new updated 3-D Tetris sequel!

And sure there’s labels on the games that say that they’re “mature”
But now honestly, just who the hell reads labels anymore?
Tell me wouldn’t it be easier for parents ‘cross the land
If games that aren’t for kids were all just banned?

Now you’re
Screaming for the blood of the game programmer
Gaming should just be a children’s industry
Pixellated actors should be role models
“M” is for “Censored,” that’s good enough for me

Screaming for a new place to point your finger
Won’t rest ’til the whole world is rated “PG”
Don’t stop to think what those letters really stand for
“M” is for “Censored”
“F” is for “Almost”
“C” is for “Lettuce,” that’s good enough for me!


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Selling Out, Linkin Park + Backstreet Boyz, and Politics – A Musical Rant & Review

First, a bit of information from Wikipedia, just so everyone knows what we’re talking about:

Selling out is a common slang phrase. Broadly speaking, it refers to the compromising of one’s integrity, morality and principles in exchange for money, success or other personal gain. It is commonly associated with attempts to increase mass appeal or acceptability to mainstream society. A person who does this is labeled a sellout. Selling out may be seen as gaining success at the cost of credibility. Though generally associated with the entertainment industry, regular individuals who similarly compromise their ideals (e.g. a Bohemian individual who suddenly switches to a socially conservative lifestyle) could also be considered sellouts.

All right, is everyone clear? Good. I wouldn’t want confusion.

So, I picked up Linkin Park’s newest album this week, Minutes to Midnight. If you’re not familiar with Linkin Park…well, then you haven’t been paying attention to the radio, MTV, or popular music at all for the last six in a half years. Their breakthrough album, Hybrid Theory, burst upon the music scene in October of 2000, and was played just about everywhere you could find. One of the biggest reasons (regrettably) that the airwaves have been clogged with Nu Metal and Rapcore for the last six years, it was perfectly poised among a music scene that was sick and tired of bubblegum pop, containing more angry teenage angst per capita then had been seen in years. While many of the songs were, to be generous, weak (“One Step Closer” and “Crawling” can hardly be called musical epics), it was all catchy, and there was enough talent simmering under songs like the ridiculously catchy “In The End,” the frenetically paranoid “Papercut,” and the Rapcore answer to “What Have You Done For Me Lately,” “A Place For My Head,” that you could see that this band could be something very good if they matured.

Their next two albums seemed to show that they were on the fast track to nowhere, being essentially a remix album of Hybrid Theory and a new album with more of the same (although admittedly, Meteora did show some lyrical improvement). They sold well, and Linkin Park looked to remain a fixture in the music scene for a while, while their contemporaries like P.O.D., Kid Rock, Papa Roach, and (thankfully) Limp Bizkit faded away.

Now, let me make this clear. I like Linkin Park’s earlier work. From a critical standpoint, it’s not the best music out there, by a long shot. In fact, some of the songs as I’ve said are seriously weak. Any fucking moron can right teenage angsty-angry lyrics. Smashing Pumpkins did “One Step Closer” light-years better in the 90’s with “Bullet With Butterfly Wings.” However, “Breaking the Habit” is a great song, as is “Papercut.” “My December” showed an incredible amount of depth from a song who was best known for blase, generic lyrics like “Crawling in my skin/These wounds, they will not heal/Fear is how I fall/Confusing what is real.” And…dammit, their first three albums are catchy. Yes, despite my opinion of them from a purely objective standpoint, I own all of Linkin Park’s albums, listen to them regularly, and I’m not afraid to say it. Music doesn’t always have to be rated “Absolute Genius” and be a 5-Star Masterpiece to be enjoyable.

So, I get my hands on Minutes to Midnight, cue up my iTunes, and let it roll. And I found myself…honestly stunned. I can say, without a single doubt in my mind, that MtM is Linkin Park’s best work to date. Chester Bennington and Mike Shinoda, with the help of legendary producer Rick Rubin, have gained some serious depths to their lyrics. I mean, seriously, did anyone ever consider it likely that Linkin Fricking Park would ever get a social conscience…and more to the point, do a good job expressing it? Well, with lyrics like in “Head Held High,” where Shinoda raps lines like “It’s ironic, at times like this you’d pray/But a bomb blew the mosque up yesterday” over a mellow harmony and a stripped down drum beat, that time has come. The album, while containing elements of the classic Linkin Park in angry tracks like “No More Sorrow” and “Given Up,” represents the biggest growth of a musical artist seen in the current decade, if not further back. And best of all, it’s still very easy to listen to. Catchy tracks like “Bleed It Out,” the only song besides “Head Held High” where Shinoda does his quintessential rapping, are present, catchy as hell and quite enjoyable. Meanwhile, they slow down on tracks like “Shadow of the Day” to great result. And through it all, the lyrics stand the test in ways their previous albums haven’t. This is, in a two-month period that’s seen great albums like Nine Inch Nail’s Year Zero and Tori Amos’s American Doll Posse come out, an album that can stand up with them without shame. (Ravyn’s Review: 8 out of 10)

In fact, remarkably, it sort of completes a trifecta with Year Zero and American Doll Posse for the first half of 2007, in an emerging trend in music, socially conscious music is finding it’s way back into the mainstream. It’s not entirely surprising, when you think about it. The current decade can be called, without hyperbole or pretentiousness, our generation’s 60’s. The parallels are astounding; both decades had their unpopular, unwarranted wars, and a crackdown on the public’s civil liberties that had the public learning (or remembering) how to fight back. Civil rights, so prevalent in terms of African-American and Women’s Equality, has found it’s way into the forefront again, in the form of gay rights. And, as a reflection of the society that they’ve found themselves a part of, music is following suit. It began in a big way with Green Day’s American Idiot, which held back nothing in going after the current Administration and its war in Iraq. Artists like Pink (with Dear Mr. President) followed suit, and slowly, activist music is finding it’s way back into the mainstream. I may well be called entirely too delusional about this, but one can’t deny the trend, brought one again to the forefront with NIN, Tori, and yes, Linkin Park. And I say, more power to them.

For the record…we hadn’t hit the rant yet. Not by a long shot. No, the rant is coming right about…now. Buckle your seat belts, folks, we’re about to hit some turbulence.

“Linkin Park totally sold out.”
“They’re a bunch of pussies now.”
“I just heard it…it’s like listening to the Backstreet Boys”
“I liked it when they were bad-ass and not gay”

These, folks, are actual, verbatim comments from Linkin Park “fans” I’ve heard that aren’t happy with how the band sounds on Minutes to Midnight. To which I say…what the fuck? Comparing Linkin Park to a BOY BAND? Seriously, give me a fucking break. Here’s a piece of advice, “fans.” If you don’t like the album, then that’s fine. You’re entitled to your opinions–just go listen to Hybrid Theory and Meteora until the next big, mindlessly catchy thing comes along to rock it like it’s fucking hot. But just because you don’t like what happens to a band when it matures and becomes better for it, doesn’t give you the right to apply the horrifically over- and misused label “sell-out.” The label has been viciously and petulantly applied to almost every artist that grew out of being the band that their initial, tiny little fan base liked. Consider Nine Inch Nails, who was said to have sold out after The Downward Spiral hit it big. Same with Bob Dylan when he went electric. Because Goddess fucking forbid it actually have anything to do with the fact that Trent dealt with his depression and his music changed because of it, or Dylan was taking a new creative direction that inspired him. No, no, it couldn’t have been that!

*GroinKick*

Here’s a clue, you ostentatious, self-important douche bags. These people are ARTISTS. Commercial artists, sure, and they have fans that ideally, they will satisfy. But you know what? They have to be artistically true to themselves. Just because you don’t like it because it’s not another “Hurt” or “Closer” (thank fucking Christ, I ~HATE~ that song), another “Blowin’ in the Wind,” another “One Step Closer” doesn’t give you the right to insult their artistic credibility. That displays a level of arrogance that’s simultaneously laughable and disgusting. Claim you don’t like it. Feel free. Feel TOTALLY fucking free. But I swear to all the gods in the skies and the Earth, if I hear one more person bitch about the fact that they’re favorite artist “is a sell-out little bitch” or anything like that because they simply matured as artists? I’m gonna shove their iPods so far up their asses that they’ll never have to worry about new music again, because they’ll have their precious Hybrid Theory reverberating it’s teenage, angst-driven screams through their colon until the end of time.

Pompous fucking idiots.

–Jer


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