Who The F**k Are These Kids?

I’ll admit that I did not pay too much attention to the Grammy’s. Award shows are becoming ridiculously overblown and phony. The one show I used to watch with great regularity, The Oscars, is slowly dropping off my radar with every year. James Franco nearly killed it all together, last year.

However, I did manage to see a few performances, like Katy Perry, who looked and sounded awful. I also saw Adele win for album of the year, which I applauded. Her voice is reminiscent of singers from decades gone by and whoever wronged her has now made her a rich woman.

Frankly, I really don’t give a rat’s hind quarters about half of those musicians out there. They all suck in my book. I don’t think I need to beat that dead horse like I have in the past. And another thing… what the hell is Country music doing infiltrating the Grammy’s? Don’t they already have 15 award shows throughout the year? Though, Taylor Swift losing made me smile.



But on a more disturbing note, a trend developed on social media services where people, mostly kids, said, “Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?” 

Come on, parents! This is sad. This is my generation’s offspring running around out there praising Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj and Lady Gaga and they don’t know who the ‘effing Beatles are?   And not just because of Rock Band or Guitar Hero.

My daughter is four years old and she knows most of the words to “Eleanor Rigby”!   She loves The Beatles. She sees commercials that use Beatles’ songs and says, “Hey, it’s The ‘Yellow Submarine’ guys.” She loves that movie, even though The Beatles had little to do with the acting. I remember watching an intimate performance, by Scott Blasey of The Clarks, in our hometown a couple years back and his daughter knew all the words to “Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” She’s roughly the same age as my daughter.

Folks, we are one step closer to Idiocracy. It’s pretty sad when Dave Grohl, of all people, has to come out and say, “Musicians, knock that autotune shit off or I will cut a bitch!” OK, he didn’t say that. In fact, his speech was a little hypocritical because he has done some electronic work on some of his music awhile back. Still, the fact that one of the Foo Fighters has to come out and shame you is ridiculous. That’s like putting Katherine McPhee out there as the poster child for saving Country music. “Y’all need to start drinking more and having heartache or Country will die!”

Rock is dead. I get it. One of the greatest rock bands ever found a replacement singer on YouTube. Another is touring with an American Idol winner. We get it. Rock died before Kurt Cobain did. But it only ceases to be memorable if parents do not educate their kids on what it used to be like for those of us who remember bands like The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and The Who. Kids need to know that Elvis Pressley was more than a guy who does weddings in Las Vegas and died on a toilet. They need to hear Jimmy Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn both play “Little Wing” and then have a healthy discussion on which version is better. Even though it was Jimmy’s song, I love Stevie Ray Vaughn’s version better. Though, I love Hendrix’s version more than Derek and the Dominoes’.

The point is that the current pool of artists, if you can call K-E-Dollar Sign-HA an artist, are lazy and are given fame and prominence for nothing. There was a time when you had to bleed and starve to get a sniff at stardom. You think Blues artists back in the first half of the 20th century were able to hit it big thanks to a hack singing contest?  No. John Lee Hooker was not auto tuned nor on Fox being judged by a British twat with a horrible haircut.  And yet, we should praise Miss “Tik Tok” because she can string together a mess of rhyming couplets about drinking some Jack and smelling of crack?

Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?

Who the ‘eff are you? What have you done to earn anyone’s respect. Go out and learn a little about the world. Get a clue!

Parents? Teach your damn kids about real music. Class dismissed!

The Cave of Seclusion Has Poor Radio Reception

Every once in a while I have to come down out of my cave of seclusion to see what’s happening in the world. The Cave of Seclusion is much like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude, except it shields me from the crap that is out there on in mainstream Pop Culture, like Bristol Palin making it to the finals on Dancing with the Stars or yet another reality show like Bridal Plasty. But, I should embrace the malaise instead of shuddering myself from it. After all, I am in the business of making t-shirts based on such tripe.
It was one of these trips down from the mount that I discovered Cee-Lo Green’s new single, “F**k You!” I’m trying to keep it PG around here. I have limited exposure to Cee-Lo, other than the song Crazy from Gnarls Barkley. I still love that song and keep it on current play lists for my listening pleasure. However, I had heard that he had released the new song but since I don’t listen to Top 40 stations that only play the top four songs in a constant rotation of ear bleeding torture, I tend to miss a lot. I had to go to my wife’s niece and ask her to call up “F**k You!” On Demand. I guess that’s the way we get music videos nowadays. MTV no longer plays music videos and I didn’t exactly have access to YouTube when I made this request of the 14 year old who loves everything Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift related. I don’t blame her, I blame society.

I was blown away at the song. It was perfect. It had a great Motown feel to it while spouting obscenities, although it was censored. I had to call it up on YouTube to get the uncensored version, because even though I love it. I’m still too cheap to go out and buy the CD for one song. Afterwards, my wife’s niece called up Katy Perry’s “Fireworks.” From what I can pretty much gather, Katy Perry’s music career consists of things shooting of her breasts in the videos. Frankly, I could turn down the sound and watch "California Gurls" and be happy. My thoughts are that her first album was probably the best she’ll ever be. The whole “I Kissed a Girl” song was the pinnacle of her credibility and now she simply panders to girls who want to be like her and teenage boys who become piqued with the promise that she might actually fall out of her top. I don’t blame her. I’ve been there. I remember recording the video for Motely Crue’s “Take Me Home” and running it back in slow motion just to see how close I could come to seeing a hint of nipple when the female fan lifts her shirt in the concert footage during the chorus. Of course, you never do see anything but Tommy Lee’s expression of “WHOA!” You’d think he’d never seen a pair before.

I really need to start getting out of my bubble. I have a three year old who is quickly adapting to the world around her, even though I’ve tried to shield her from the crap that is out there.

I admit, my methods probably aren’t approved by child psychologists. One Saturday I happened to be flipping through channels and found Ghostbusters on one of the cable channels and, of course, had to watch a couple of minutes. Forgetting that there was a three year old present, I continued to watch as Slimer greased up Venkman and then became trapped inducing the pop culture nugget, “We came. We saw. We kicked its ass!” That got repeated, immediately by my child. I toyed with the prospect of putting Toy Story on for the umpteenth time, which don’t get me wrong, it’s a great movie, but I can only take so many repeated viewings. I weighed the fallout from this decision and decided to throw the DVD in and watch from the beginning. Ghostbusters, not Toy Story. She was hooked. I figured she’d be a little frightened but she kept asking me to rewind the parts with Slimer and The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. She doesn’t get frightened by things on television. Now, seeing a Halloween decoration, in the store come to life, has spooked her to the point of screaming until her eye sockets were flushed red, but seeing the skeleton cab driver in Ghostbusters simply caused her to say, “Hey, that skeleton isn’t a very good driver.”

Thankfully, I was able to locate her portable DVD player because Ghostbusters 1 & 2 has become her new favorite loop of movies. I can freely sit and play Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare free for all while she sits and dances to the "Ghostbusters" song.

Unfortunately, one day, the crap of the world reared its ugly head in my living room. While being fragged by 12 year olds over my Internet connection, this little voice began singing from across the room. She was playing with blocks and just muttering the lyrics to a pop song. At first, I had no problem with this behavior. That was until I heard what she was actually saying. She was singing Ke$ha’s “Take It Off.” After being blown up by a grenade, I called my wife into the room. “Guess what your daughter is singing?” I wasn’t appalled at the lyrics, but more the choice of artist. Where the hell did she hear this crap!?!?

I need to step up my daughter’s instruction on the finer artists of 20th century pop culture. I figure some heavy doses of RUSH and CCR followed by a nice application of some Johnny Cash and Cream. I’ll be damned if any kid of mine is going to start singing that crap that is on the radio.

Of course if she breaks into “F**k You” anytime soon, I might let her finish the song before I scold her for swearing. After that I’ll tell her to go watch Ghostbusters on her little DVD player while I get blown up another 15 times. Parent of the year award, here I come.