R. Kelly, “Number One”

FINALLY. Good song. Nonsensical video. “Sex in the Kitchen” callback. Domino!

Like Visiting the Holy Land

Guess what. It IS possible. And it will fucking happen.

UPDATE: Earlier today, I received this email from my buddy, Jay:

The infomercial is now set to private and it’s disabled everywhere. Fucking Juggalos.

While it seems apparent that the Juggalos are hellbent on ruining everything they ever touch, here’s something they can’t ruin: my favorite radio show, with special guest Paul F. Tompkins, discusses the short form audio commercial for the 10th Annual Gathering of the Juggalos. It’s perfect (if you must, skip to the 1 hour 27 minute mark for the relevant content).

Seaside Heights, 1993

I grew up in Lakehurst, NJ, a town that has only two claims to fame: 1) it is where the Hindenburg crashed in 1937 and 2) it is about 10 miles from Seaside Heights.

The latter was more significant to me, of course, because it had arcades and girls wearing bathing suits. It had my favorite ride (the Poltergeist), a game of chance at which you could win cassette tapes from bands like Shudder to Think and Elastica, and it had slices of pizza the size of my torso for $1.25 (soda included). But there’s a reason my beach is often referred to as Sleazeside – it exists as a wretched intersection of local white trash and vacationing New Yorkers. The air is thick with machismo and hair gel fumes. And a sideways glance will get you a Churro shoved up your ass.

But I miss it. The NJ beach culture is weird and terrible, but it’s also uniquely a part of my experience and the hours upon hours I spent in Seaside Heights, sitting on the beach with friends, discussing our rapidly approaching futures, playing volleyball, having first kisses, etc. would have been totally different anywhere else. There’s nothing like it here (where summer means you can wear a sweatshirt and pants at the beach instead of a coat and gloves) and that’s a bit of a bummer.

So why this sudden longing for Sleazeside? Courtesy of my buddy Tedford, a video of Seaside Heights in 1993 (I was 15):

MJ

I won’t go on and on about this but I loved Michael. When we were younger, my brother was a far bigger fan than I was, but I was always trying to wrap my head around the fact that people would literally faint at the sight of him. And as I began to understand pop music more, I began to realize what a huge part of my musical development Michael Jackson was and always will be. Continue reading…

The Worst Music in the World

Back when I worked in Center City Philadelphia, I frequented a pizza joint that inexplicably switched their lunchtime musical accompaniment from top 40 to WJJZ, Philadelphia’s smooth jazz station. It was truly unbearable. And I got the sense that WJJZ understood that most people can’t bear to listen to this stuff; instead of filling the airwaves with unrecognizable compositions from nameless musicians, WJJZ spent most of its time playing smoothed out renditions of popular songs. It was as if to say, “hey! You love the Four Tops, right! This is just like that but smoooooth!” And it was garbage.

It was so bad, in fact, that I stopped patronizing what was once my favorite lunch spot. I wasn’t trying to prove a point to anyone. I just couldn’t stomach it. And it was then that I boldly determined smooth jazz to be THE WORST MUSIC IN THE WORLD.

Of course, when you call something the worst ANYthing in the world, you’re casting a wide net. In this case, my claims assumes that I’ve heard (and have an intimate understanding) of every music ever made and that, based on this knowledge, I have determined smooth jazz to be the worst music of all time. Obviously, I’ve not heard everything ever made and I’m not even intimately familiar with every single type of music I have heard. Mistakes will be made and I’m willing to admit that yes, I have made a mistake. Continue reading…