All-American Rejects Get Grand Slammy at Denny’s
Those days of carbing up after Green Door shows might be long gone, but for Nick Wheeler and Tyson Ritter, 2 a.m. just isn’t 2 a.m. without a Moon Over My Hammy.
Via Idolator.
There’s Gold In Them Thar Promo Discs!
Those of you who do or have in the past received promotional discs, or you just saw the racks at the used disc places filled with them from time to time, know about those gold-embossed warnings on the promo cutouts, warning the holder that the disc in question is property of the record company and can be recalled at any time to the mothership. You couldn’t even throw them away.
Well, that might not be especially true anymore.
Back in April, Universal Music Group sued an eBay reseller named Troy Augusto, who would buy promo copies from used record stores in Los Angeles and resell them on the auction site. The suit was filed in federal district court, even though most copyright law experts said that UMG’s claims were wishful thinking at best.
Well, as of today, a federal judge has thrown out the suit. This means that if you’re in the media business, you can get rid of all those promo discs they sent you of long-forgotten post-grunge bands and early ’90s white rappers.
Julian Casablancas, Santogold and Pharrell Williams Put Their Chucks On
Via Stereogum, Converse sneakers is celebrating its centennial by playing matchmaker between three artists that, at first blush, don’t look like they’d have much in common. But as summer fizz goes, the results of Pharrell Williams, Santi White and Julian Casablancas’ meeting of the minds and mouths, “My Drive Thru,” is a nice example of what can come from bizarre couplings, or triplings, even if it is all for the sake of selling shoes.
So, let’s play a comments section game. Put three people together, and try to articulate what the resulting mess would sound like.
Welcome to Staticblog’s Live Coverage of the “American Idol” Season Finale
Yes, this is the site of up-to-the-minute, play-by-play, nitro-burning funny car excitement for the next two hours. Live from Staticblog World Headquarters in the historic and picturesque central neighborhoods of Oklahoma City, I will be chronicling every time-waster, every superfluous use of the word “pitchy,” every sub-sentient utterance by Paula Abdul, every strange and underwhelming guest appearance, and the ultimate coronation of Simon Cowell’s pet human. What does it look like when the country’s favorite show reaches it’s critical mass? It looks like two hours of watching toothpaste harden. Here we go!
7:01 p.m. Here you go: 97.5 million votes for a David. So glad to see the youth so energized by an election.
7:03 p.m. “Correspondent” Mikalah Gordon, dressed in a gold-lame sausage skin, shows Kansas City fans screaming for Cookie, while Matt Rogers looks like he’s going to bust a blood vessel amonst the Archuletans.
7:05 p.m. What a way to suck all the soul out of a Temptations classic. I’m old, so I remember where I saw this group performance first: the “Brady Bunch Variety Hour.” I can hardly wait for Greg to push Bobby in the pool — that’s comedy gold.
7:10 p.m. Okay, so this Chad Kroeger song from “Spider-Man” was not a good choice for Cook, since it only points out what 19 Entertainment has in place for his Nickelbackian post-”A.I.” career. Little Arch gets to do the soaring melisma. Can hardly wait to see him in the next Andrew Lloyd Webber extravaganza.
7:13 p.m. Mike Myers gets a massive plug for his seemingly stillborn “The Love Guru” non-comedy. “Mariska Hargitay,” indeed. According to the Guru, Archuleta might make “boom-boom in your Pull-Ups.” I think my son is doing that right now. In his Pull-Ups. Now I understand why that Hindu group keeps sending me daily nastygrams about this movie.
7:18 p.m. Syesha Mercado and Sealhenry Samuel sing. Honestly, he hasn’t been the same since he stopped working with the illustrious Trevor Horn, who hasn’t really been the same since he produced Yes’ 90125. And Yes hasn’t been the same since that awful Tormato album cover.
7:21 p.m. Ah, a “Love Guru” mersh. Got to savor the rich, full-bodied taste of synergy.
7:26 p.m. Jar-Jar Castro returns for another run at Leonard Cohen. Hey, get that anesthesia mask off me! Oh, there’s no mask, that’s just my bodily functions slowing to tree sloth levels. No, Jeff Buckley didn’t write that, coffee shop boy.
7:28 p.m. I’m going to miss these Ford music videos — I think I’ve seen more of them in the past few months that I’ve seen actual music videos. Great production values. Shouldn’t these people have been practicing instead of clowning around in an Escape hybrid?
7:29 p.m. Oh, they each get one. Nice. You get to pay taxes on that, Cook. And Archuleta, your dad gets to pay taxes on yours.
7:30 p.m. This Donna Summer medley is… pitchy. And here’s Donna Summer performing her new song, apparently not knowing that the Sandmen are coming after her for being over 30 in a shallow pop music environment.
7:37 p.m. Watching that “Incredible Hulk” rehash is, once again, going to be alot like watching my nephew play Playstation 3.
7:39 p.m. Carly Smithson and Michael Johns doing Alex Chilton, but it’s more like the Joe Cocker version, especially Carly. I know many people will see the appearance of also-rans as a charitable move by 19 Entertainment, but that’s not the vibe that comes off it. It’s more like, “You didn’t like these people enough. And here they are for your derision.”
7:44 p.m. Jimmy Kimmel calls “American Idol” “19 weeks of karaoke singing.” He is a national treasure.
7:46 p.m. A Bryan Adams medley is made unbearable by the fact that Cook started out “Heaven” sounding a little hellish. And here’s the man himself, the one honored on “How I Met Your Mother” when Cobie Smulders called Bruce Springsteen, “The American Bryan Adams.” He doesn’t really look any different than he did in 1983. It’s like they’ve been curing him in a vat of Labatt’s.
“I need somebody/ Somebody like you/ Yeah, I need somebody/ Yeah/ I need somebody/what about you?/ Yeah, need somebody.”
Wonder if Castro got the words right.
7:54 p.m. For the love of all things holy, I’ve been doing this for an hour, and nothing has happened. It’s like live-blogging golf. Or C-Span: The Musical.
7:56 p.m. Cookie jams with ZZ Top. And he does the ZZ rubberleg dance, too. This song is as old as he is — seriously. And ZZ Top hasn’t done a noteworthy song since they released that industrial cover of “Viva Las Vegas” the year Archuleta was born.
8:02 p.m. Brooke White looks a little alarmed during her duet with Graham Nash on “Teach Your Children.” Could be because she’s getting schooled.
8:05 p.m. Cookie does the Tom Cruise underwear scene from “Risky Business” in a Guitar Hero III commercial. Cook, no matter what he tells you, Dianetics does not have all the answers.
8:08 p.m. The Jonas Brothers perform, which is one of the most demographically appropriate appearances of the evening. They should really have a nice, long chat with two or three Hansons.
8:11 p.m. Tryout zaniness. Jared Wiley should win “Alpine Idol.” That was Von Trapp-worthy. And James Lewis, the guy in the giant gold suit, looked like he was doing Jake LaMotta’s nightclub act — if LaMotta spoke humpback whale.
8:14 p.m. Does this atonal pirate Reynaldo Lapuz really deserve the USC Marching Band treatment? Where’s Lindsey Buckingham when you need him?
8:21 p.m. Young Archie jams with OneRepublic, but without Timbaland grunting and conducting from the control room, they’re nothing.
8:25 p.m. “Correspondent” Matt Rogers tries to sow seeds of hatred amongst Archie’s grandparents. Schmuck.
8:27 p.m. I’m going to say something nice: the song Jordin Sparks is singing, “One Step at a Time,” could have been a hit during Janet Jackson’s prime. Also, that Coldplay song in the iTunes ad is sooooo much better than “Violet Hill.” I guess that wasn’t so difficult. Now, on with the show.
8:34 p.m. Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. are Pip-tastic. But this isn’t getting us any closer to the results. I feel like I’m on the “Permanent Midnight Train to Georgia.” Get it? Aaaaah, look it up on IMDb.
8:37 p.m. Just as my colleague Brandy McDonnell predicted, Carrie Underwood is doing “Last Night” again, but she’s looking like a hot wedding cake and sounding better than any of this year’s contestants. Some people don’t need “American Idol” to be stars, but maybe it happened for Carrie just a little bit sooner than it would have otherwise.
8:44 p.m. Now Archie gets to do the Cruise tightie whitey dance for “Guitar Hero.” Xenu, he’s right down here.
8:45 p.m. Mother, the lights are growing dim. The Top 12 women are doing George Michael’s “Faith,” which makes me feel like I’m watching a really bad episode of “Eli Stone.” Now the men are doing “Father Figure,” and it’s going to be really awkward when Archuleta starts singing the lead. Okay, that didn’t happen. So now we’re up to “Freedom ’90,” and George Michael still hasn’t shown up.
Man, I should know better than to write things like that. Now it’s exactly like a really bad episode of “Eli Stone,” except he’s singing “Praying For Time,” his relatively brave attempt at Elton John singing a John Lennon song — I mean, other than “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.” Actually, we should all be praying for less time than two hours of this mess.
8:57 p.m. This is a little redundant, given the time stamp and all, but it’s 8:57 p.m., and we still don’t know who the freakin’ winner is. I guess Andrew Speno’s 9 o’clock newscast is getting the bum’s rush.
9:02 p.m. And after all that padding, here it is. And the winner is…
David. Good night, ladies and germs! We won’t be here all week, mainly because it’s already felt like it. And congratulations, Tulsa (and Kansas City, I suppose) — Simon’s pet didn’t win after all.
9:08 p.m. Man… I didn’t even get to use this photo in context. But it’s my blog and I’ll do what I want:
Good night!
Countdown to Bad Vibes and Live Blogging: David vs. David vs. Staticblog, 7-9 p.m.
A gentle reminder: I will be live blogging the “American Idol” finale, that two-hour program-padding phenomenon that reinforces the attitude among network executives that no one really needs writers anymore, from 7 to 9 p.m. on Staticblog.
It’s my view that Simon Cowell either hates or doesn’t understand rock music, would rather deal with a compliant 17-year-old winner than a 25-year-old who has lived in the real world and called his own shots. We’ll see if I’m wrong, but currently I feel that Cowell gamed the show last night, and the outcome is about as certain as gravity.
Countdown to David vs. David vs. Staticblog: 1 day
As I’ve been flog-blogging you for the past couple of days, I will be live blogging the two-hour “American Idol” results show from 7 to 9 p.m. Wednesday. So this is the opportunity for you to remember me as I was: semi-young, full of life, and optimistic about the future. You can recall with fondness that lad when you see the ashen and bereft specter I’ve become after this live blog. Cheers!
Countdown to David vs. David vs. Staticblog: Two Days
Yes, from 7 to 9 p.m. on Wednesday, I will be time-coding the long hard slog of the ”American Idol” results show with a live blog. Join me in my carpal tunnel misery as we root for David and cast aspersions against David.
NKOTB Hangin’ Rough on “Today”
I expended a metric ton of energy from 1988 to 1991 hating New Kids on the Block — in those days, I considered getting a few veins to pop out on my forehead a good anger workout instead of a cautionary medical situation. But the NKOTB reunion was a sure sign that I’ve mellowed, because my initial reaction was not pig-biting anger — it was more like, “Well, good for you guys. Stay off reality television and don’t do drugs.”
But this performance from Friday on “Today” shows why Donnie Wahlberg needs to concentrate on his acting career. These were not good songs by any just measure, and I’m not sure if it’s NBC’s godawful mix or the group’s attempts to graft modern rhythms onto tinny late ’80s pop, but this didn’t sound ready for prime time, vocally or musically.
And it’s a shame, really, because my charitable streak is tied to hoping that former pop stars of a certain age don’t embarrass themselves. There is a thriving industry that profits on the misery of people who no longer occupy the A-list, and I’d like to see that industry sacked like Rome.
Via Idolator.
Break Up to Make Up
The Police commissioners meet with New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg on May 7.
Making up is hard to do in pop music, and when major bands split the sheet, the reunion offers start flying before the ink dries on the divestiture contract.
But groups that beg out of their partnerships should know: there is a window of opportunity for viable, crowd-pleasing reunions. If you miss that golden moment, there is a good chance that a late regrouping will disappoint fans, and an equal chance that lapsed acolytes will greet it with deafening apathy.
Three recent breakup and reunion situations come to mind: the Police’s regrouping and recent re-divorce; the Velvet Revolver/Stone Temple Pilots/Guns ‘N Roses soap opera; and Sub Pop Records’ upcoming 20th anniversary festival, featuring reunited grunge legends Green River. Each represents found and lost opportunities, and at least one cautionary tale.
The Police fattened their wallets last year with a massive stadium tour over two decades after breaking up. There was interest on the part of Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers as early as 1999, but it took the band eight years to make it happen. By then, Sting’s cache as a solo act had been marred by horrifyingly lame mellow pop and lute-oriented renaissance music. And to accommodate his diminished vocal capacity, Police songs had to be transposed down so Sting could hit the high notes.
People bought tickets, but few raved about what they saw. So when the Police announced it would play one more fundraising concert in New York City this year before locking it up for good, the world said, “Whatever.” A reunited Police could have been great 10 years ago. Instead, they were OK at best, underwhelming at worst.
Here’s a fine idea when it comes to reunions: lead singers should stop believing the messiah in the mirror and learn to play nice. That sounds easy and trite, but Scott Weiland is doing it now with Stone Temple Pilots after a few years in a nonproductive relationship with Velvet Revolver.
Now, Velvet Revolver’s Slash, Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum are reportedly considering reality television as a way of solving their human resources problem. Meanwhile, there’s a guy who’s been working on a Guns ‘N Roses album for 14 years and cannot seem to keep any musicians around long enough to finish it. There’s a logical solution here, but when were rock musicians ever logical? Again, this should have been resolved 10 years ago.
On a high note, Sub Pop Records is hosting its SP20 Festival on July 11, 12 and 13 in Redmond, Wash. SP20 features bands from Sub Pop’s entire history with a special caveat: a reunion of Green River, the seminal grunge group whose members went on to form Mudhoney and Pearl Jam.
That is great news, but while I’m carping here, there is one great lost opportunity. Since Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard of Pearl Jam will be onstage with Green River, Pearl Jam drummer Matt Cameron might have a free day. And I hear Chris Cornell’s old bandmates in Audioslave have been raging against the machine lately.
Can Soundgarden not take a hint? Just a thought, guys: don’t wait too long.
Flyover Country Served Entirely By Piggly Wiggly and Dusty Pawn Shops
Yee-haw!
Via Idolator, the New York Times published a condescending article in Sunday’s travel section about the Denton, Texas music scene. The story dovetails with the newspaper’s seeming inability to publish anything about our own state — neither the Flaming Lips nor the Olympic trials escaped the reference – without mentioning the Dust Bowl:
“With its Piggly Wiggly markets and dusty pawnshops, the Texas college town of Denton does not look the part of a Woodstock in waiting,” wrote the Times’ Lionel Beehner. ”A Romanesque courthouse juts out of the central square, as in that fictional town in “Back to the Future.” And whenever the local college football team plays at Fouts Field, the entire town seems to put on Mean Green T-shirts.”
I drove through Denton coming and going this weekend, and while yes, there are two Piggly Wigglys (Wigglies?) there, I’ve never seen them, possibly because of the sheer din of commerce emanating from the I-35E corridor.
Midlake
So, this fake-at-worst, deceptive-at-best characterization of Denton is used as a contrasting setup for a discussion of Midlake, as in “how did such dreamy, haunting music come out of a hayseed town?”
These kind of characterizations of Midwestern towns are roughly as fair as writing a feature on the Williamsburg music scene and populating it with references to Abe Beame, the Five Points riots, David Berkowitz and the Triangle Factory fire.
