These are the times that try men's souls...good thing I don't have one....what with all the forced penetration, urine hoarding, and he-she rendezvous. But times are lean and I've resorted to snorting the last traces of Ludmila's personal stash of smuggled butt hash off of my limp johnson. Oh, I didn't tell you? I'm married...or was married...yeah, she's Russian, she's called Ludmila, and she came in the mail.
Ludmilla, the busted cherry of my eye.
It's amazing what an Eastern Bloc chick will do when you give her some back alley dental work and an Iron Maiden mix tape. Shhh.....its not really Iron Maiden - just some shit grind band from Pico Rivera. But yeah, I traded her to Sergie for a handful of raver drugs but that shit only lasted the bus ride to the blood bank. No complaints, I got 10 bucks for some plasma and a full release from all the needle play in the lobby. But that only got me as far as the liquor store for a bottle of Cobra.
But, back to my point....actually I don't have a point..well besides the one I used to bust some trust-fund cherries in the Amoeba Records parking structure. Yep, I hate to admit it but I had to get a job. Wait, no...a real job...one that doesn't involve exploiting your band & your trust fund or blowing CEO's in the back alley behind Tribal Cafe. So naturally I applied to the first and ONLY roach infested restaurant that would let me bathe in their kitchen sink and give a skag-haggler like me a job - fuckin' Jerry's Deli. You know, its amazing what Javier, the head "chef", will let you do in the meat freezer for a tube sock and a half full can of spray paint. FUCKING SANDWICHES!!1 I don't know what got into me. There I was - Shitloe started playing on KXLU, I had just slammed a fist full of Fontana biker dope, and I found myself geeking out over the pig meat. My shit-fondling boss was yapping about the finer points of prosciutto and how it's not safe to cook pcp by the propane tanks and next thing I know I'm involved in some sweet horizontal action with the ciabatta rolls. The mustard ended up down my pants and I deposited whats left of my sperm count on the pastrami.
Hey, don't ever accuse Spike Anderson of abandoning prole traditions. I once was in the ELF....lived in the Verdugo Mountains for a few weeks eating grubs and drinking river water with Shelby Danger, the bassist of Blood Herp. So celebrate - go cut a tree down and stick in yer living room. BACK TO THE EARTH BITCHES!
PS: Here's me and Rivers in '95. Our ska-core venture was cut short following Al Goldstein's heart attack at A&M Records and us getting kicked off the Warped Tour for mainlining draino-niacin shooters.
(The following is an excerpt from a recording made available to Spike Anderson via connections with Weezer's management)
Manager: ...so then you're going to have to bend over for the CEO of Interscope at the Christmas party or you'll have to bring Mikey Welsh back and do an entire malls across America/West Virginia Wal-mart tour as an opening act for Paramour. (reaches for bag of DMT)
Rivers Cuomo: mmm hmm. (sniffs index finger)
Manager: Which brings me to another point: the new album. It needs to be simple-minded enough so that 7 year olds will love it, yet endearing to tasteless old people who prefer things when they were bland and inoffensive. And let's try to keep it devoid of anything that makes the audience think too hard or they'll all just throw your record into the "Shiloe pile".
Rivers: oh yeah.
Manager: I hear this Lady Gaga is popular. I don't know who she is or what style of music she plays but you should try to cover one of her songs. And fuck, why not make it a mash-up of a MGMT song while you're at it? I don't know who that band is either, but I like acronyms and I've rubbed a fair bit of cocaine on my gums for breakfast. I'll call up Mel at Universal, I think they still have the prop MICROKORGs from the Ladytron debacle. (takes puff of DMT) EXHIBIT A:
Rivers: definitely.
Manager: Okay....yeessss...i'm starting to peak! Fuck, pinky in the ass - PINKY IN THE ASS! Okay, okay...the new albumis called "raditude". Lets see, we already did blue - tested well with curious teens with boners market. Green went after twenty-somethings with high school girlfriends..eh with a slight crossover of ICQ users...and Soccer moms, sex addicted orphans, and prego teens ate up the red cover. So we have no choice, this cover's going to be written in yellow lightning font and it's going have a crazy picture of a flying dog on it. Oh fuck, did you just see that? EXHIBIT B: Rivers: smart. yesss! (sniffs finger)
Manager: Most of the songs are going to be about awkward teenage love even though you're pushing forty and frighten most children. Of course one song is going to be called "Can't Stop Partyin'" and will feature Lil' Wayne. Because why the fuck not?!? And shit, man, make the album come free with the first thing you can find on the Home Shopping Network. Shamwow towel? Billy Mays' certified cock ring? Snuggie? Your call. (hits the DMT again) Shit, I'm blind!
Rivers: mmmm....uh huh.
Manager: Your first single is going to be a horrible song with no chord changes and a laughably simple drum beat. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, due to the economic climate Pat will be replaced by a BOSS Dr. Rhythm. Also, kids these days like auto-tune, so the bridge will be nothing but auto-tuned harmonies that still sound really off-key. If you need help with this, I have Green Day in my Rolodex. Then we'll shoot a video for it that will feature your band at a 50's style gas station doing absolutely nothing with as many special effects thrown in as we can. Pat is allowed to be in the video...if you want? The lyrics will be about...lets consult the Disney-Idea-Wheel and...ha, of course! - meeting your girlfriend's parents, archery, the movie Titanic, weave in an inappropriate boner and uh...some more shit about awkward teenage romance. EXHIBIT C:
Rivers: Yup...wait, how will the video relate to the lyrics at all?
Manager: (huffs a handful of dirty, gasoline-soaked panties) Uh, what was the question?
Why do Weezer keep pissing all over their own legacy? They have no idea how bad they are now, do they? Obviously they don't have any objective view of their own music anymore, as is evidenced by this cover of "Paranoid Android":
It's not even that Rivers has a bad voice. I can accept that it just sounds different (worse, but different). But I just can't take the ending guitar solo, which is trainwrecked to shit. Fast forward to 5:49 to hear it. It's one of the most famous guitar solos ever recorded, and not only do they fail to play any of the parts of the original recording, but they actually fail to play in the right fucking KEY. Wow. But hey, it's not like this was posted somewhere where thousands and thousands of people will see it, right?!
In case you're wondering how hard it is to play this solo, here's a video of some college kid actually doing it right:
This college kid is recording it in his dorm for fun and making 0 dollars for it. Weezer, however, are signed to Epitaph records and making hundreds of thousands of dollars every year. These are, by definition, PROFESSIONAL MUSICIANS. As far as I can tell, there are a total of 5 different videos of people playing the solo right on YouTube. Next time you're thinking about buying a Weezer record, find out if one of those 5 people have a record out and buy THAT.
There are many, many people on this planet who play music and work hard at learning an instrument. But they never get any exposure and no one ever hears their music. They toil in obscurity until they die and never make a dime off of their art. Does that stop them from doing what they love? No. Meanwhile, Weezer are making money left and right off of substandard music that they barely bother to play correctly, and no one cares.
Tomorrow, when you and I both get up and go to jobs we don't particularly care for, to work for people we dislike, to make just a small amount of money so that we can live...stop and think about what the members of Weezer are doing at that particular moment. And that would be pretty much anything but PRACTICING.
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