Christmas Spirit(s)

Feliz Navidad, X-Mas Peeps!

As someone who's incessantly accused of overt hum-buggery (?) I feel that I must defend my festive reputation.

So, here it is, folks:

DAVE'S TOP TEN THINGS THAT NEVER FAIL TO BRING ON AN ACUTE CASE OF CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

(10) Life-Threatening Weather  I'm a bit of a snowstorm masochist, which is totally left over from growing up in Stephenville, Newfoundland.  At the risk of evoking charges of blow-hardery with such phrases as "BACK IN MY DAY..." I do have to make the claim that Old Man Winter seems to have gotten a helluva lot more pussified over the years.

Age may be clouding my memory a bit, but when I was a kid it would usually start snowing around the first of November and not let up until around May 23'rd (if it was a good year).

During this time you'd also get about three or four rip-roaring storms that would last for days, barricade you indoors and then threaten to trigger a veritable rash of Donner Party re-enactments.

Even now I can't resist the urge to don johns that are long (try saying that five times real fast), strap on my boots, en-parka-nate myself and then venture out for a long walk during white-out conditions.  Let me tell, Holiday shoppers, if you actually make it back alive from such a harrowing expedition you'll never again feel guilt over staying indoors until the second week of June.    

This one dove-tails nicely with...

(9)  Outdoor Shenanigans  As I get older and my circulatory system begins to approximate that of an eighty year old shut-in, I'm becoming increasingly unlikely to take advantage of this one.

But if you can force yourself to go outside for some skating, skiing, snowshoeing, sledding, or even just marinating in a snowbank while wearing a ski-do suit, you'll regress back to fuzzy childhood Christmas memories faster then William Hurt goes feral in Altered States.

Bonus points if you linger outdoors long enough to flirt with Mr. Hypothermia, make it back to your heated womb-like home and get pulled back from the brink of death with the timely administration of six gallons of stout, marshmallow-infused hot chocolate.  Regardless of your denomination, nothing will get you praising Sweet Baby Jesus quicker then a near-death sub-zero experience ...

(8) Tempting The Collapse Of Your Local Church Down On Top Of Your Head  Look, I've been accused of making Bill Maher look like Pat Buchanan but there's still something uniquely magical about being guilted into going to church once a year.  I don't know if it's the aroma of self-righteousness or incense, but when you're interred in a large, spartan, echoey chamber being bored into the preliminary stages of Alzheimer's you're quickly reminded of the true "Reazon for Da Seazon", yo.  Also, occasionally you can luck out and score a talented choir who, if they have any skillz whatsoever, can really raise the hair on the back of your neck.    

Which bring me to...

(7) Christmas Carols That Don't Suck.  I really 'effin despise cutesy contemporary X-mas caterwauling.  As far as I'm concerned "I Saw Mommy Knobbing Santa Claus", "The Little Drummer Nerd" and "Jingle Bell C@*k" are all auditory death.

I much prefer olde skool Holiday tunez.  And by olde skool I mean friggin' Medieval.  Frankly, you just can't top A-list material like "Silent Night, "O Holy Night" or "Good King Wenceslas".

Testify for me, York Minster Choir!  

Not bad, huh?  I have to admit that "Oliver Reed's" shout-out at the 1:56 mark kinda scared the poop out of me.  Overall, though, I think it was worth the little falsetto kid sacrificing his testicles, don'tcha think?   

Honestly, I have no friggin' clue who this Wenceslas cat was and/or what part of the world he was supposedly king of.  And frankly the song's lyrics are more incomprehensible then Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter", but, hey, it's still a bitchin' tune.

Speakin' of "kings"...

(6) ♪♫ Blue x 4 Christmas ♪♫  Y'know, they say that the world is divided into Elvis people or Beatles people.  I firmly place myself in the latter camp, but damned if this melodic tune doesn't have me reaching for the spiced eggnog and pondering a Holiday-themed suicide note.

Damn my parents for their overt brain-washery!  They played the ever-lovin' shirt out of this album when I was a kid and now that I'm home I'll prolly hear it another ho-ho-ho-jillion times.  Well, at least it's a better heavy rotation option then that godawful new Coldplay track.

(5) You're Supposed To Cut Up Not Across, Right?  Like I said before, most "contemporary" X-Mas songs blow reindeer d!@%, but there are a few notable exceptions.  Notably this 1987 remake by these four, young, enterprising lads from Dublin called "You Two".

Keep your eye on these guys, I really think they're gonna go places...

Cripes, why are all the Christmas songs I like depressing as s#!*?   WARNING: Every one of these tracks should be chased with a handful of Xanax...

(4)  "I Am The Ghost Of Christmas...yada, yada, yada"  I absolutely lurves Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.  Although I must shamefully confess that I've never read the original novella (but I did read the crap outta David Copperfield), I've seen a slew of cinematic and T.V. movie iterations produced over the past sixty or seventy years.

I love the classic Albert Finney version, the extra-grumpy George C. Scott television movie, The Muppet Christmas Carol and the Disney adaptation starring Scrooge McDuck (man, talk about casting to type, huh?).

Here's one of my favorites, which is surprisingly bittersweet and unnerving for what's supposed to be a vapid sitcom.

(3) The Ballad of Max The Indomitable   Now, I'm talkin' about the classic Boris Karloff narrated, Chuck Jones animated How The Grinch Stole Christmas from 1966.  

So many memorable moments: Roast Beast, Who Hash, Max's martyrdom, the Grinch's prototypical and gleefully evil expressions, his snake-like method of locomotion and his triumphant redemption.

Honestly, if this nasty green bastard can come back from the brink of Bloefeld-level super-villainy, there's still hope for all of us, n'est pas?

Oh, and for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (what?), don't wean your kids on that execrable Jim Carrey abomination from 2000.  Y'know, I'm talkin' about that crass piece of cinematic "product" which featured a marketing tie-in with Visa, A.K.A. "The Official Card of Whoville".

Wow, way to miss the entire f@#$%^& point, you greedy jack-holes!

(2)  Good, Grief  Nothing actimivates my feelings of Christmas nirvana quite like watching this poor, bald-headed manic depressive go through the motions every year.  Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown features a strong anti-corporate message, vintage animation,  authentic voice work from actual kids and a groovy jazz soundtrack to boot.

Despite (or perhaps because of) the anachronistic presence of characters like Peppermint Patty (who I suspect was probably evicted from Occupy Minneapolis last month), this perennial favorite seems even more timeless, important and relevant every year.

I can't help but crack up every time Snoopy goes spastic on top of Schroeder's piano and then slinks off under his withering glare.  Or when the pint-sized musician treats Lucy to a virtuoso performance which culminates with a one-fingered toy piano rendition of "Jingle Bells".

And again, although I'm just two steps away from official "heathen" status, I still well up like a sniffly little b!%$^ whenever Linus takes the stage to deliver his "true meaning of Christmas" speech.  By the time the kids transmute an alder branch into a Douglass Fir using Snoopy's Christmas lights and then start crooning "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" I get messier then Chris Crocker talking about Brittney Spears.

(1) Christmas "Spirits" (Fo' Reals, Yo!)  I.E. Guinness beer, Gabbiano Chianti and/or copious amounts of El Kapitan.

EPIC  I could never conceive of having the time to do this within my own lifetime, but kudos to people who do...

FAIL  Proving democracy still works:  http://jezebel.com/5870113/weve-found-the-worst-christmas-song-ever

Incongruous

What's Crack-A-Lackin'?

I've written before about the idiotic archetypes that often populate outdoor music festivals but after witnessing the U2 concert in Moncton just over a week ago, I feel compelled to give a specific example.  So, without further ado here's:

Dave's Top Ten Signs That You Don't Belong At A U2 Concert:

1. The highlight of the show was playing with the inflatable beach balls.
2. You have to ask "Who's Larry Mullins (sic) Jr.?" when you spot a sign bearing the name of the drummer who started the band thirty-five f#@$%^& years ago! 
3. If the mental catnip provided by the beach balls is trumped only by two fighter planes flying overhead then you may have taken a wrong turn en route to the airshow.  First test to determine if you're in the wrong place: ask yourself if you've heard "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by the Scorpions yet.   
4. You stand as quiet as a church mouse while the bands are on stage but freak out like Steve and/or Doug Butabi whenever one of your baked-to-the-point-of-zombification cronies heaves into view.
5. For some godforsaken reason you're chronically obsessed with taking off and putting on your "kicks".  My vote: keep those funky-smelling canoes sealed in their leather coffins.  
6. Your concert attire of choice: a flat-brimmed Moncton Purple Knights (?) ball cap, baggy pants, a blood-stained wife-beater and facial hair so spotty and nasty-looking you look like an understudy to the cast of The Hills Have Eyes.   
7. You have no qualms about getting back to your place by plowing though people like a bull moose with an erection.
8. Your girlfriend looks as if she would take a cyanide capsule without pause if it were offered to her.  
9. You're willing to risk life and limb to smoke up even while standing in the cross-hairs of a security guard who looks as if his only other gig was killing hippies during a Rolling Stones gig. 
10. Gang signs are your default method of greeting.   

EPIC:  Classic...

FAIL:  This amazing doc captures the ultimate concert security FAIL.

A Sort of Homecoming

And A Hearty Hello To U2 As Well!

In order to combat monotony, music was often a frequent topic of discussion at my last job.  One of the more memorable exchanges I had was with a co-worker named Bob who told me that he'd actually seen The Beatles live in Toronto in 1964.  I was in awe when I heard this.  Imagine being able to claim such a thing!  Imagine having been a witness to this sort of music history!     

Well, as of July 30'th I'm hoping to make a similar claim.  I'm hoping to see our generation's answer to The Beatles perform live and in person.

I'm hoping to see U2. 

Now, there are some people out there who will cry "Blasphemy!" and declare that U2 isn't fit to carry Ringo Starr's drum kit.  Well, I'm not going to stand here and pretend that such an argument is completely devoid of validity, but I would challenge critics to name another 80's-era band that continues to pack in massive crowds and wow them consistently with stellar live shows.

My history with U2 is a bit checkered.  By the mid-to-late Eighties my heavy metal heroes were releasing increasingly mediocre albums.  I was looking for something new.  This conveniently came along in the form of what I now dub "Conscience Rock", so named after it's eternal association in my mind with my High School's Social Action committee.

Here's a quote from the first part of my music-oriented blog entry from May 21'st 2010:

"I fell in with a group of friends who'd joined an Amnesty International group in High School purely to ramp up their sad odds of meeting girls who might mistake them as 'sensitive'.  I was chided for listening to The Scorpions so I began a 'Conscience Rock' phase which involved exposure to...U2.   
 U2 was initially a tough sell to me, but I borrowed 'Under a Blood Red Sky' from a friend and it soon grew on me.  Thank God I didn't see the accompanying concert footage until years later since the band's appearance would surely have been a deal-breaker: especially Bono's prototypical mullet, Peter Pan boots and tendency to stage prance."

I'm not kidding here, folks.  If I'd caught sight of U2 back then I'd likely have never been a fan of theirs.  Years later I learned that these young, naive, devoutly religious boys looked the way they did because that was the way they thought they were supposed to look like.  They didn't have a stylist on retainer or an entourage of public image consultants.  All they had was a best guess as to what a modern rock band in the 80's should look like.  Too bad this made them resemble roadies for Kajagoogoo.

Mercifully, the only image of the band that I had at the time was the iconic cover of Under a Blood Red Sky and the video for the following song.  Here's a snippet from this now-famous live performance:



After the live renditions of these songs infiltrated my brain, I purchased the band's first three studio albums Boy, October and War.   The stripped down Red Rocks performance had been so powerful to me that I distinctly recall being disappointed with the studio versions of "I Will Follow" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday", mainly due to their superfluous use of chimes and violins.  Nevertheless, I thrilled at hearing "new" material by the band, particularly "Out of Control", "Stories for Boys", "A Day Without Me", "Another Time, Another Place", "Two Hearts Beat As One", "Seconds", "Like A Song...", "With A Shout", "Tomorrow", "Is That All?", and "Rejoice".

Um, did I mention that they were kinda religious? 

Then I discovered The Unforgettable Fire, still their best and most even album, IMHO.  Although I wasn't a big fan of "Pride" with it's conventional verse/chorus/verse structure and borderline pretentious lyrics, everything else is money.  From the buoyant instrumental heights of "4th of July" providing a flawless segue into the hauntingly beautiful "Bad", this album is pure genius.  I love the kaleidoscopic melodies on display in "Promenade", the propulsive drum beat and choppy riffs in "A Sort of Homecoming" and the driving attack of "Indian Summer Sky", which actually sounds like it could be an out-take from the soundtrack of The Road Warrior.     

"MLK" is a showcase for the sort of vocal passion and delivery growing increasingly extinct in today's musical landscape.  The album's title track alone is an incredible mosaic of  instrumental textures which climbs to dizzying and ever-more powerful heights.  "Wire" comes at the listener with an unrelenting guitar and bass assault and then spins off into an incredibly infectious shout-chant.  "Elvis Presley and America" winds things down nicely but Bono still can't help but raise some vocal rabble towards the end of the song.

The first time I actually remember seeing U2 on stage was probably during the "Live Aid" broadcast.  Speaking of transcendental performances, it was this moment which catapulted the band from groundswell underdogs to bearers of the rock super-group standard.  Too bad this performance nearly broke up the band.

More on that in a bit.  First, here's that historical performance in it's entirety.  Stick with it,  kiddies, 'cuz it's a doozy...



Y'see, the band didn't expect to do a twelve-minute, extended dance-mix version of "Bad" while Bono pulled his little stunt of dragging girls out of the audience to dance with.  In fact, it completely derailed the band's plan to play "Pride" as their third scheduled song.  So, for about a week after their showing at "Live Aid", Bono's name was mud with the rest of the band.  However, as soon as the amazing moment went viral (or as viral as it could go in that pre-internet world), the rest of the lads had to admit that it was stroke of inspired genius.

Then came that cultural juggernaut: The Joshua Tree.  To me this isn't so much an album as it is the soundtrack for tremendous change in my life.  At the time I was about to graduate from High School with all the fears and trepidations that go along with it.  This landmark record gave me tremendous fortitude to face what was ahead and also somehow feel as if better days were to come.

The first half of the album is an emotional roller-coaster.  Standouts include the perpetually building "Where The Streets Have No Name", the haunting and melancholy "With Or Without You", the oddly optimistic "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", the apocalyptic "Bullet The Blue Sky", and the truly heart-rending "Running To Stand Still". 

My favorite song on the entire album, however, is track six: "Red Hill Mining Town".  I don't like my odds for hearing it live on Saturday, but I remain optimistic since it would make for a stirring and rousing sing-along.  This is the band at it's most cohesive, powerful and sincere (even if the accompanying video isn't):



Well, after embracing Americana for two albums, the band went to hell with the joke on Rattle And Hum.  Although somewhat deservedly criticized for being pretentious and self-aggrandizing, there's still a ton of "A"-list material here.  Witness Edge's stark and mournful performance on "Van Diemen's Land", the chill-inducing beauty of "Heartland", the clarion call-out of "Desire" and "All I Want Is You", arguably the band's most delicate and passionate slow tune.  Oh, and you also have to recognize the penultimate delivery given to "Bullet The Blue Sky":



Regrettably, Rattle And Hum gave us too much U2 too quickly (try saying that five times real fast).  Although Bono is the band's resident extrovert by default, the rest of the band is pretty reticent.  As a result, the film's interview segments and "musical discovery" plotline seem terrible contrived.  It almost seems as if America didn't exist until it was discovered by U2.

So, what's the perfect antidote for looking too self-absorbed and serious?  Why, make a daring, avant-garde, German-influenced album that self-parodies fame and dresses the entire band up in drag!   Enter Achtung Baby, one of my top five favorite albums by the group.

If it had been released in the Eighties, fans would have been left to ponder just what the band had been smoking in order to produce such a record.  But in the early Nineties, a time of musical derring-do and alternative acceptance, Achtung Baby was birthed at a perfectly opportune time.  Plus it certainly helps that there is absolutely no dead weight on this album whatsover.

In a moment of synergistic genius, the Zoo T.V. tour that followed in support of the album was an incredible, multimedia-driven assault on the senses.  As it evolved and grew, so did Bono's stage personae.  He developed no less then three self-depreciating alter-egos: "The Fly" a black leather-clad, sunglasses-sporting egomaniac, "Mirror Ball Man" a slippery used car salesman/good 'ole boy and "MacPhisto" a melancholy demonic lounge singer who may very well have been the precursor to Lorne on the T.V. show Angel.  .   

As if that wasn't enough, each live show was an orgy of message-strobing televisions, pop cultural references, channel surfing, prank calls and video confessionals.  It was the perfect way for the band to completely erase their reputation as pompous, goody-two-shoes crusaders and still attack the media-soaked masses for their passive resignation.

Although every song on Achtung Baby is a winner (no lie!), my favorite tune has to be the deliriously melodic "Ultraviolet (Light My Way)".  This rare clip features one of "Mirror Ball Man's" many failed attempts to get then-President Bush on the horn.  It also illustrates the in-born live potential of the new material:



U2's adventures on the Zoo T.V. tour gave them plenty of fodder for their follow-up album, the unfairly maligned Zooropa.  Although it isn't nearly as even as it's predecessor, I find Zooropa certainly more complex and subsequently, more interesting, then some of the band's more recent efforts.  I keep coming back to it over and over again and discovering something new, as evidenced by the haunting title track which explores themes of moral confusion in a future rife with commercial and entertainment-related over-saturation: 



 The band has played "Zooropa" live as recently as eight days ago so, fingers crossed, I may get to hear it this Saturday.  

Am I pushing my luck to also hear Lemon?  Yes?  Um, okay then...  

In typical U2 fashion of going to overboard, their next album Pop really tested the loyalties of fans who were patiently waiting for them to record Joshua Tree II: The Revenge.  I'm a bit guilty of this myself, having chuckled at and then soundly dismissed the video for the album's lead-off single "Discotheque":



Although I die laughing every time I get to the 4:20 mark of the video, the musical landscape at the time was so dire and depressing I really didn't need one of my favorite bands to remind me of just how bad it really was, even in parody.  I needed them to step and provide an antidote to it.  Sadly, since I didn't buy this album until years after its release, it took me that long to realize that Pop actually was a solid kick back against the mediocre musical landscape of the time.

In fact, to this day, I'm confident that if the band had used a different lead-off single (like "Staring At The Sun", "Gone" or "Wake Up Dead Man") and employed a more sober video, the album would have been a massive hit.   

As if U2 could sense the collective will of it's fan base it went back to it's simpler roots with All That You Can't Leave Behind.  In doing so the band composed and released the most anthemic and optimal single possible in their bid to once again be regarded as the best band in the world.  That single was the rousing "Beautiful Day":



 The album yielded a slew of hits, some awesome ("Walk On", "In a Little While", "Wild Honey", "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of") some unfortunate (like the inexplicably meat-headed "Elevation").  Overall, though, fans came back in droves and U2 rode a renewed wave of popularity.

They managed to distill this momentum directly into their eleventh studio album, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb.  Sticking to the successful formula of it's predecessor, HTDAAB cranked out more radio-friendly unit shifters like "Vertigo", "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" and "City of Blinding Light".  Although I enjoyed both of these albums quite a bit, I still couldn't shake the feeling that the band was taking a risk-free step back and pandering somewhat to audience expectations.

Which is why I prefer their most recent album No Line On The Horizon.  Although it's wildly uneven and even a bit off-putting at times, I believe it's their deepest and most daring offering in this recent crop of releases.  Maybe I dig it because of the semi-experimental Achtung Baby/Zooropa-esque flirtations which crop up album from time to time.  Although I'm not a big fan of "Get On Your Boots" (although I do acknowledge it's potential as a stadium-pleaser) I really like the title track:



And so U2 find themselves at a cross-roads.  Like other venerable and legendary rock outfits like The Rolling Stones, their new studio releases might not be quite as urgent or relevant as they used to be.  But their appeal as a live act is as undiminished as ever, in fact this year the U2 360° Tour became the highest-grossing concert tour, with ticket sales totaling over US $700 million.

I'm hoping to contribute to this myself on Saturday and finally earn the right to claim that I've seen the biggest band in the world live.  It's been a long time coming...

EPIC   Five must-have U2 albums:


FAIL: Sign of a great band: their earliest albums don't sound dated like this pablum...

"Dude, the soundtrack for your biopic sucks!" Part I

Hello, y'all!

I just picked up two CD's yesterday and tonight I'm going to a Wintersleep concert. It's hard to believe that there was a time in my life when music didn't mean anything to me.  What a stupid six year old kid I was!

Yes, I was exposed to music at quite a young age.  I loved the melodic quality of the 50's music my parents often listened to.  Here are two of my favorites:


Buddy Holly "Rave On"

The Dovells  "Bristol Stomp"

Like most people in their larval stage, music was often just background noise at the time.  And at that time the state of the union was dire.  Radio was awash in disco.  Like this:

Stars on 45 "Stars on 45 (Video)"

If you got through more than three minutes of that crap, by the way,  you're made of sterner stuff than I am.

With disco so prevalent, it was only a matter of time before it seeped into my consciousness osmosis-style, yo.  When I was eight years old I asked for the Spirits Having Flown record by The Bee Gees.  I played that s#!& incessantly, often caterwauling along to the song "Tragedy" (much to the delight of my parents).

As a possible omen (or perhaps it was an ottoman) of better things to come, my ears were also piqued the following year by Peter Gabriel's "Games Without Frontiers".  He's the vid:

But for some odd reason I didn't ask for or buy the album.  Alas, my interest in music continued to be pretty superficial as I entered the Eighties.  My listening and purchasing trends continued to be based around the philosophy of "Well, if it's popular, it's gotta be good!"  This resulted in some tentative but ultimately, misguided "Columbia House" disasters.  Such as purchasing my very own copy of Culture Club's Colour By Numbers album (although I still insist it's a pop classic what with the vocal stylings of Boy George and backup singer Helen Terry on display).

Now having said that, some other ventures into Eighties pop continue to resonate with me to this very day.  You may scoff (actually I can hear the scoffage right now) but I still play Cargo and Business As Usual by Men At Work quite often.  It was the first time music spoke to me so directly, so color me delighted that I have so much in common with this pack of homely Aussie weirdos.  

Songs like "Who Can it Be Now?", "Helpless Automaton", "Be Good Johnny", "Overkill", "Upstairs in My House", and "It's a Mistake" all touched on heavy topics like paranoia, isolation, disconnect, parental pressure and fear of nuclear holocaust.  In other words, stuff that most pre-teens in the Eighties likely struggled with.  Here's a sample:

But by then, thanks to my cousin Jason, there came from beyond something called THE METAL (special nod to Jack Black).  THE METAL made me forget everything that had come before it.  As an increasingly antisocial and angry kid with a penchant for horror films, Motley Crue's consciously vacant (or is that vacantly conscious?) Shout at the Devil album was a game changer.  I'd been a bit too young for both KISS and Alice Cooper so when "The Crue" came along it was the perfect storm of time, place, aggression level and modest rebellion.

I was hooked.  These leather clad, makeup-wearing, be-studded punks were obnoxious, dark, loud, boorish and appeared to be wasted twenty-four-seven.  Yes, they were loutish.  Yes, you suspected that they smelled awful.  And you were vaguely amused when Nikki Sixx defended his band against charges of satanism when confronted with the album cover. His rejoinders sounded weak even to a twelve year old ears:

"Uh, yeah, it isn't satanic cuz, uh, you can see by the title of the album that we're...uh, shouting at the devil, not...uh, y'know...with him."

Dude, weak.     

Back then THE METAL was also the perfect foil to terrify parents, kinda like the modern day equivalent of...well, actually there is no modern day equivalent.  Which bring me to a point - why is music so damned safe now?  A few years ago it might have been Marilyn Manson, gangsta rap and death metal.  But what terrifies parents now?  I think I just heard someone say "emo", but that's actually pathetic not EEEEEE-vil.   Where the hell is the EEEEEE-vil in music now?  That's right, I said EEEEEE-vil, not just "evil."  There's a big difference there.

THE METAL proved to be fertile ground for my imagination and self-esteem.  The small-minded people that railed blindly against THE METAL had no idea how much self-empowerment and solace THE METAL gave to shy, angry kids.  I cheered when Tipper Gore got pwned by Dee Snider during the PMRC hearings:

Until the mid-Eighties, THE METAL continued to infuse my wasted youth with tremendous color. I soon found myself be-mulleted, wearing baseball style T-shirts, castration-prone jeans and leather armbands.  I worshiped at the portable stereo altar of my sonic heroes every night.  Ozzy Osbourne wrote about self-conviction in "Believer", Iron Maiden fueled my interest in history and poetry with "Aces High" and "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", Judas Priest railed against surveillance in "Electric Eye", and Ronnie James Dio (R.I.P. Ronnie!) gave me an appropriately cheesy soundtrack to my Dungeons & Dragons days with "Sacred Heart".

But by the time 1986 rolled around my metal gods were forsaking me.  Motley Crue released Theater of Pain and shed their bad-ass EEEEE-vil trappings.  Suddenly Vince Neil was tying scarves to his mike stand just like every other glam metal loser.  Ozzy got a perm circa The Ultimate Sin.  Judas Priest invited me to be their Turbo Lover ("WTF is this crap!?"), which is kinda interesting in retrospect given Rob Halford's eventual revelations.  Even the wheels fell off my old standby Iron Maiden when No Prayer For The Dying came down the pike.

THE METAL was moving into thrash and increasingly aggressive tendencies and I had outgrown it.  Looking back, I realize I shouldn't have missed the boat with good metal bands like Anthrax, Slayer, Metallica, and Megadeth but this is how it went.  It was not to be my destiny.

I fell in with a group of friends who joined an Amnesty International group in High School purely to ramp up their sad odds of meeting girls who might mistake them as "sensitive".  I was chided for listening to The Scorpions so I began a "Conscience Rock" phase which involved Rush, The Police, Simple Minds, Peter Gabriel (Yay!) and U2.  Peter Gabriel I dug right away 'cuz I had previous exposure.  I was pre-disposed to Rush already since they were somehow socially-conscious metal.  I stuck with them until the execrable Roll The Bones album was pooped into existence.  I took to The Police right way thanks to their punky first album.  U2 was initially a tough sell to me, but I borrowed their Live At Red Rocks album from a friend and it eventually grew on me.  Thank God I didn't see the accompanying concert footage until years later since the band's appearance would have been a deal-breaker right there, especially Bono's prototypical mullet, Peter Pan boots and tendency to stage prance.

And, oh yeah, Simple Minds bored the crap outta me.

Coming up:  I delve back into classic rock, eventually find a musically passion that has sustained me to this day and why liking Nickleback is just plain laziness!

FAIL: http://www.cracked.com/video_17618_black-eyed-peas-have-officially-written-worst-song-ever.html

"My Humps" is still worse, IMHO.

Also, here's this week's totally non-music-related comic: