Smash The Market Place
In AP's last My Chemical Romance cover (AP # 221), there was a point of contention as to whether or not their fans were going to embrace the classic-rock signifiers prevalent on The Black Parade. Would the MCRmy wave their opened cell phones to such 12-bar blues rawkers like "Teenagers" or the Styx-meets-Jesus Christ Superstar pomp of the title track? Or did they want Three More Cheers For Sweet Revenge? Taking Back Sunday front-dude Adam Lazzara testified on behalf of his buds with a rhetorical question. "Should the scene dictate what bands are doing, or should bands be dictating what's going on in the scene? Because right now, everything's sounding the same." Obviously, we know how MCR fared. But when Mr. Lazzara read the writing on the wall, did it really say, "OMG, Metro Station?"
The advent of social networking sites and file-sharing portals make hearing about a new rock combo easier than ever. Every week, I get packages from guys in bands desperate to leave their jobs stocking the pet supplies section at Wal-Mart. Most of the time, the front of their CDs will carry a sticker that begins with "For Fans Of..." followed by a three-strong list of established units currently making bank. All I can say is thanks for the extra jewel boxes.
Seriously, why should I pay attention to some unknown dudes parading a sticker telling me their band "sounds like Underoath, Converge and Isis" when I've already got the latest rock power from those iconic teams on my hard drive? You want a fecking cookie for learning how to dress yourself while you're at it? Hear that voice? It just said "Clean up, aisle seven." Turn off the computer and grab a mop.
But let's be frank, even though that's not my name. Any musical movement that has gotten traction will always be filled with cultural carpetbaggers and folks who want to ride the zeitgeist. In the Seventies, labels were trying to sign the next bunch of bland-ass stadium-rockin' woodbeez. In the Eighties, America (and the ozone layer) was infested with pop-metal hair farmers with the same crappy production techniques and gear endorsement deals, looking for their piece o' pie, cherry or otherwise. When Nirvana came along and flushed all those turd burglars out of our consciousness, "Alternative Nation" soon morphed into Asshat Nation. It was a three-pronged attack mounted by a) shitty indie bands taking major-label cash thinking that somehow an audience was going to magically appear for them like Jack's Beanstalk (you know that story, right?); b) generic character-free nimrods who were able to flourish because some deaf pigs at commercial radio thought they could use the vernacular to cash in and c) poodle-metal dudes tuning to drop D and forgoing their Maybelline and creme rinse conditioner to prove how "real" they were. When that gen became tired of all the wuss rockers polluting a truly honest thing, the nu-metal opportunists came along. For every singular unit that was truly something glorious to behold, there were plenty of douchebags. When that particular merchant vessel began teeming with rats, forward motion in America's underground pop/punk/hybrid scenes rose to a fever pitch, because we wanted something that was real, and not some millionaire phucktard in a red ball-cap singing about breaking stuff while his supermodel whore girlfriend was backstage doing lines of Peruvian baby laxative off of the promoter's intern's six-pack.
Which brings us to the stack of mail I have right now. "For Fans Of Paramore and Crash Romeo." "Recommended If You Like Mayday Parade, Motion City Soundtrack, Rentals." "Rocks Like Underoath, the Devil Wears Prada and Norma Jean." Then I got to thinking about what would make me slam a new, unproven band's disc in my computer. "Rocks Like Your Mother On Your Best Friend's Leg After Several Whiskey Sours?" "Recommended If You Like Your Head Stuck Up A Dead Cow's Ass?" "For Fans Of Huffing, Cutting And Syrup Of Ipecac?" God Bless Mindless Self Indulgence: The sticker on their major-label debut read "Be The First Person On Your Block To Throw This Disc Away!" (MSI fans are a pedantic bunch, so if perchance that's not exactly what it said on the sticker, I beg your pardon. Frequently.)
Anyway, I've decided to start a band. I haven't written any songs or gotten my hair cut yet. But I did design 22 shirts and came up with the following sticker text:
Tear-Stained Hanky!
For Fans Of: We The Kings, Alesana and This Dude.
With the help of a personal trainer and an elite cadre of Photoshop artists, I will pwn all of you.
The advent of social networking sites and file-sharing portals make hearing about a new rock combo easier than ever. Every week, I get packages from guys in bands desperate to leave their jobs stocking the pet supplies section at Wal-Mart. Most of the time, the front of their CDs will carry a sticker that begins with "For Fans Of..." followed by a three-strong list of established units currently making bank. All I can say is thanks for the extra jewel boxes.
Seriously, why should I pay attention to some unknown dudes parading a sticker telling me their band "sounds like Underoath, Converge and Isis" when I've already got the latest rock power from those iconic teams on my hard drive? You want a fecking cookie for learning how to dress yourself while you're at it? Hear that voice? It just said "Clean up, aisle seven." Turn off the computer and grab a mop.
But let's be frank, even though that's not my name. Any musical movement that has gotten traction will always be filled with cultural carpetbaggers and folks who want to ride the zeitgeist. In the Seventies, labels were trying to sign the next bunch of bland-ass stadium-rockin' woodbeez. In the Eighties, America (and the ozone layer) was infested with pop-metal hair farmers with the same crappy production techniques and gear endorsement deals, looking for their piece o' pie, cherry or otherwise. When Nirvana came along and flushed all those turd burglars out of our consciousness, "Alternative Nation" soon morphed into Asshat Nation. It was a three-pronged attack mounted by a) shitty indie bands taking major-label cash thinking that somehow an audience was going to magically appear for them like Jack's Beanstalk (you know that story, right?); b) generic character-free nimrods who were able to flourish because some deaf pigs at commercial radio thought they could use the vernacular to cash in and c) poodle-metal dudes tuning to drop D and forgoing their Maybelline and creme rinse conditioner to prove how "real" they were. When that gen became tired of all the wuss rockers polluting a truly honest thing, the nu-metal opportunists came along. For every singular unit that was truly something glorious to behold, there were plenty of douchebags. When that particular merchant vessel began teeming with rats, forward motion in America's underground pop/punk/hybrid scenes rose to a fever pitch, because we wanted something that was real, and not some millionaire phucktard in a red ball-cap singing about breaking stuff while his supermodel whore girlfriend was backstage doing lines of Peruvian baby laxative off of the promoter's intern's six-pack.
Which brings us to the stack of mail I have right now. "For Fans Of Paramore and Crash Romeo." "Recommended If You Like Mayday Parade, Motion City Soundtrack, Rentals." "Rocks Like Underoath, the Devil Wears Prada and Norma Jean." Then I got to thinking about what would make me slam a new, unproven band's disc in my computer. "Rocks Like Your Mother On Your Best Friend's Leg After Several Whiskey Sours?" "Recommended If You Like Your Head Stuck Up A Dead Cow's Ass?" "For Fans Of Huffing, Cutting And Syrup Of Ipecac?" God Bless Mindless Self Indulgence: The sticker on their major-label debut read "Be The First Person On Your Block To Throw This Disc Away!" (MSI fans are a pedantic bunch, so if perchance that's not exactly what it said on the sticker, I beg your pardon. Frequently.)
Anyway, I've decided to start a band. I haven't written any songs or gotten my hair cut yet. But I did design 22 shirts and came up with the following sticker text:
Tear-Stained Hanky!
For Fans Of: We The Kings, Alesana and This Dude.
With the help of a personal trainer and an elite cadre of Photoshop artists, I will pwn all of you.
4 Comments:
I'm personally a fan of the sticker from Every Time I Die's The Big Dirty, so much so that I peeled it off the cellophane and put it on my computer:
"CAUTION: LISTENING TO THIS RECORD WILL MAKE YOU AWESOME. PLEASE AVOID DIRECT CONTACT IF YOU ARE NOT READY TO RULE."
Jason Pettigrew's Blog:
For Fan's Of Ridiculously Big Fucking Words.
Ah, there's nothing like an angry rant from Jason Pettigrew about everything that's wrong with the music industry and how people are all idiots to start my day off right. I'm not even being sarcastic either.
so when does your album hit the stores?
Post a Comment
<< Home