Or “Writer Rehashes Content You’ve Already Ignored Once.”
Estonia officially adopts the Euro as its national currency. The singer from an nth generation rockabilly band accuses a toy conglomerate of stealing her identity. The Green Hornet is theatrically released, but I hear mixed things, so I decide to wait until it’s on DVD.
The White Stripes break up, allowing me to finally admit I was always a fan. I get food poisoning at my own Super Bowl party from a batch of eggplant-based dip. A computer beats Ken Jennings on “Jeopardy!”, shaming this country’s entire Mormon population.
I interview Mike Watt at the suggestion of my Crawdaddy! editor; the chat goes well, but I later regret not asking more questions about “Piss Bottle Man.” Zoogz Rift dies. Yuppies have a collective hissy fit when it’s announced the new season of “Mad Men” will be delayed until 2012.
Prince William marries Kate Middleton. I commemorate the early ’90s advertising ubiquity of MC Hammer. I also attempt to finish writing “We Didn’t Start The Fire” for Billy Joel. Yuppies have a collective hissy fit when this month sees the end of both LCD Soundsystem and Steve Carrell’s tenure on “The Office.”
I issue not one but two lengthy feature reports on forgotten Star Wars disco song “Lapti Nek”; unfortunately, they come too late in the year for Pulitzer Prize consideration. A personal trip to Minneapolis fails to yield any Prince sightings.
I discover via Twitter that the little kid from Cop & A Half is a rapper. Seth Putnam dies. Super 8 is released, and the scene were the children all sing “My Sharona” strikes me as not only grating but historically improbable; while I am researching this story, my boss calls to tell me Crawdaddy! is folding.
I interview “Weird Al” Yankovic, fulfilling a life-long dream. I see The Green Hornet and my distaste for Seth Rogen is cemented.
It is revealed that Steve Jones from the Sex Pistols didn’t really play on The Great Milenko. The original Star Wars movies are released on Blu-Ray with even more ridiculous CGI scribbling. A personal trip to Denver fails to yield any Sinbad sightings.
I publish my investigation into the Atari Landfill legend after it’s clear no one from the former video game giant can sue me. My favorite soda Vault is discontinued. Anthrax finally release Worship Music; riots erupt nowhere in response.
Steve Jobs dies, ostensibly before hearing a single note of Lulu. I interview Raj from “What’s Happening!!” and discover he’s a cool guy. After several seasons of speculation, Dr Pepper announces that they have no affiliation with “South Park.” The best song of the year is released.
The Justin Bieber Christmas album drops and gives the world a moment to reconsider Busta Rhymes. I eat pizza for Thanksgiving.
Americans suspect Coca-Cola of flavor treachery. Universal Studios Florida announces the closure of their Jaws attraction. An image surfaces that proves noted UFOlogist Giorgio Tsoukalos once combed his hair. Kim Jong-Il dies. I live the cliché by getting socks for Christmas.
“Alan Greenspan ain’t got nuttin’ on me, stretch nuts!”
It seems like there’s been a lot of stuff online lately pertaining to Juggalos, i.e. that unflappable subset of Insane Clown Posse fans who make members of the KISS Army look like junior ROTC. This is probably because last month saw the tenth annual “Gathering of the Juggalos” in some Illinois cornfield. That’s right—ICP’s fans have been getting together, painting their faces, and spraying each other with dime store soda pop for a full decade now. Seems the “Wicked Clowns” aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, and that’s scaring / irritating / amusing the pants off 2009 America.
Juggalos have never gleaned much respect from those outside the “Dark Carnival,” probably because they actively support the most ridiculous rap act since Arsenio Hall’s Chunky A. Yet something about relentlessly dogging these people strikes me as shallow and pointless. Who are Juggalos hurting by wearing greasepaint and worshiping blatantly stupid crap? No one.* I mean, taking a shower in Faygo and calling everyone you meet “stretch nuts” doesn’t seem any dumber to me than wearing a giant block of fake cheese on your head to a football game or participating in a Civil War re-enactment. Given the choice, I’d rather sit through ICP’s entire discography than put on a wool jacket and hang out with a bunch of accountants who wanna pretend it’s 1863.
The big hoo-ha concerning last month’s “Gathering” was Ice Cube’s headlining appearance. How could a founding member of N.W.A. lower himself to appear before the court of a thousand Juggalos? “Clearly this is his nadir,” critics huffed. I guess you all forgot about Cube’s recent cinematic quest to become the black version of post-Fletch Chevy Chase (“It’s always wacky when Ice Cube goes camping!”). We should feel lucky he still considers doing musical things at all these days, considering how much money Hollywood is probably throwing at him to make those lousy Hey, Are We Doing Something? flicks. Besides, Ice Cube isn’t even the most famous person to pal around with Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope. No less than Alice Cooper and Slash(!) made guest appearances on their breakthrough Great Milenko record.
ICP released a new album just this month, Bang! Pow! Boom! (guess they’ve been watching a lot of the old “Batman” TV series). Yes, it features songs called “Juggalo Island” and “Imma Kill U,” and no, I’m not going to bother listening to it. However, I will also not bust on anyone for listening to or liking it, nor will I bust on anyone who outwardly appears to enjoy the greater ICP oeuvre. There are better, more worthy targets out there, people. Let’s direct our ire and nasty humor towards those who really achingly deserve it, like Jon, Kate, Lindsay Lohan, the government, lawyers, Morrissey, Kanye West, people who brag about not owning or watching television, the Kardashians, George Lucas, banks, people who talk during movies, Sean “P Diddy” Combs, Jay Leno, and, of course, Brett Favre.
To all the crazy Juggalos potentially reading this—keep up the good fight, and try to play nice with those Slipknot kids, okay? They’ve had a hard time ever since their father got laid off.
* = Unless you’re talking to cops in Pennsylvania; the Monroe County district attorney’s office just announced they consider Juggalos a gang, like the Latin Kings, because last week four ICP fans murdered a contemporary with baseball bats over a snitching violation. Based on some of the stuff in this article (particularly the bit about the detective having “studied the Juggalos since they first appeared…two years ago” and marveling at the fact they “speak their own language”), it sounds more like Monroe County should classify Juggalos as blood-sucking aliens from the Z Sector. There are other pockets of this country where Juggalos are considered a serious threat to public safety, but there are also pockets of this country where it’s illegal for two consenting adults to have sex in any position other than missionary. My point is the law isn’t always right, you can’t judge an entire group of people by a few misguided strands, old people need to stop blaming music they dislike for everything.
Like most human beings alive between the years of 2003 and 2006, I have a Myspace profile. I kept a blog there before I started this one, and you know what? A lot of what I wrote there was really interesting / funny / much better than the crap I’ve been writing here lately. So I’m going to begin intermittently resurrecting entries from that blog on JG2Land, so that they may live on in a non-creepy social networking / stalking environment. Here’s Zombie Myspace Blog Entry #1:
TOP TEN WORST ALBUMS OF 2007
Because my friend Jennifer asked nicely, here are my picks for the worst albums of 2007.
1. The Libertines – Time For Heroes: The Best Of The Libertines
I made my disdain for the Libertines clear in this slightly controversial Crawdaddy! piece. I stand by everything I said before; you legally should not be allowed to release a greatest hits album after only two regular studio albums, they sound like a wet napkin anyway, and Pete Doherty is a scab-covered danger to kittens.
2. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible
I liked ’em better the first time…when they were called XTC. Great, now I owe David Spade eight bucks. This album makes me feel empty and sad, like Bud Bowl (or if I saw a literal arcade on fire). I don’t think I’ll ever get the whole mopey, depressed pop thing.
3. The Stooges – The Weirdness
They didn’t just phone this one in—they faxed it in. Telegraph, possibly. Pony Express? Much like The Phantom Menace, I saw the crushing disappointment coming a mile away here. Yeah, five rich dudes in their fifties are totally gonna be able to rock like it’s 1968 again, no problem! Assholes.
4. Insane Clown Posse – The Tempest
All five or six joker’s cards have been revealed, so now these guys are rapping about roller coasters. Okay, whatever. This actually may be brilliant. It’s kind of hard to tell. I have a feeling a lot of history will have to go by before we can accurately assess ICP and their legacy. For now, though, this quasi-Six Flags commercial can jog the hell off.
5. Avril Lavigne – The Best Damn Thing
This bitch makes Miley Cyrus look like Joan Baez. I’m pretty sure she lives at Claire’s Accessories and exclusively eats at Nature’s Table. If Avril leaves her enchanted home at the Toronto Mall, she loses all her special powers!
6. Poison – Poison’d!
Like being at the State Fair, only without the stale cigarette smoke and mild nausea!
7. Foo Fighters – Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace
The only reason Steve Albini called Smashing Pumpkins the REO Speedwagon of 90s alternative rock is because the Foo Fighters hadn’t become a band yet. How much more generic FM modern rock slurry can these dudes pump out? It’s getting harder and harder to believe Dave Grohl used to be in Nirvana.
8. R.E.M. – R.E.M. Live
How come there’s only like two songs I know on this one? WTF? LOL. No one wants to hear live versions of post-Monster material. You’re lucky the crowd cheered that hard when you started playing “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” Stop pushing your luck, fellas.
9. Rob Zombie – Zombie Live
I hate to dog my boy here, but this just seemed extraneous. It’s not like Rob Zombie is all that different live than he is on record. Call me when you bust out the Casio or the mouth harp, bro ham.
10. Rivers Cuomo – Alone: The Home Recordings of Rivers Cuomo
This would seem appropriate if Rivers Cuomo died six years ago. Seeing as he’s still alive and squirming, this ego stroker just reinforces the fact Riv thinks he’s the Brian Wilson / Syd Barrett / Wilhelm Wagner of gooey Generation Y fuzz pop. Too bad his maudlin jams come closer to some Muppety seventies bullshit (I knew there was a reason he was hanging out with Kermit the Frog so much).