Festivus Musical (and then Some) Grievances 2021

Below, a few taint ticklers share their musical grievances for this year. 

Anita Papsmear:

1. Right-wing conservative groups using the “My Body, My Choice” slogan as an anti-vaccine stance. You want to control your body but don’t want others to control theirs? How fucking dare you??!!

2. The gutting feeling that we, as U.S. citizens, cannot bring forth the changes this country so desperately needs because of an outdated two-party system, an equally outdated electoral college system, legislative assholes, and fucking greed. Our country was sold to the highest bidders and we, the citizens, lost…bigtime. Think of where we could be as a country, if, over the past 40 years, we would have had the leadership we really needed to install future-based policies. 

3. White, male corporate oppression.

4. The Republican Party (on the whole), which includes the fake demo-ass Manchin.  

5. Billionaires/Millionaires who don’t pay taxes. Especially the fucking Walton Family that owns WalMart. They don’t pay taxes and give nothing to charity. Fuck these people and their companies.  

6. Ignorant white fucks.

7. Douche bags at concerts.

8. Tall people who want to stand in front of shorter folk at concerts. Here’s a suggestion…stand on the side!

9. That any man gets to weigh in on the decisions a woman makes with her own body! Fucking hell—it’s 2021 and we still don’t have control over our own bodies? I’m steaming mad!

10. The fact that Viagra is covered by health insurance but modes of female contraception are not.

11. Too many good streaming options and not enough cash.

Kloghole:

It is no great insight that our lives have been shadowed by COVID, and our musical lives have been transformed. Live shows, which many of us look forward to, were put on hold. Because of the shitshow where I work, I really have no time for shows or much social activity anyway. Other than the obvious wearing of masks and carrying-out, instead of dining-in, of vegan sandwiches and soup at my local tea shop, my life is largely unchanged. I spend my days cleaning up my geriatric dogs’ shit and piss, washing clothes, doing dishes, and answering my emails rudely late.

Immediately prior to COVID, I was very proud of myself for finding a show on my own and getting tickets during the preorder period. I usually hear about a show long after the fact, so I looked forward to a nice night of music. COVID delayed the show by a year, but once July rolled around, I was able to go to the Jamey Johnson show at an outdoor venue. Because it was a reschedule, we did not really even have folks sitting near us.

The show started okay, but as the night progressed, I grew more nervous in my anticipation for the one song I wanted to hear, “Poor Man Blues.” Jamey worked through familiar songs, but it was getting clear that we were nearing the end of the show. At this point, the show took an unexpected and disturbing turn. For some reason, Jamey began to belt out some religious hymn. Nothing on his albums gave me any inkling he would assault me with religious twaddling.

Generally, I see people who believe in some mystical wizard in the sky the same way I view children who believe in Santa Claus. Both are pretty naive and have this pitiable worldview, but it brings them some comfort. I do not disabuse either of their woefully delusional beliefs, but dealing with the vapid sloganeering and empty platitudes really chafes my ass. I tolerate it. In fact, I tolerate it much more than the fucking assholes who bitch about proselytizing “vegans.” It is perfectly fine for infantile fucks to go on about the power of jesus, but mention some research regarding the industrial agricultural meat industry, and they lose their shit.

I thought, okay, one hymn is a way to change pace before the encore. No, he moves into another spiritual. Oh crap, my head sinks into my lap. Come on, just get over with this shit. I try not to leave shows early. I like to stick it out for last of the encores, even if I am dead tired. On the third hymnal, I had enough. Like Popeye, “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more,” and did not care if “Poor Man Blues” was the final encore; it was not worth it.

If I believed in karma, I would have to wonder what the fuck I did in a past life. I think shitty things hurt so much more when they fuck up something you were looking forward to—sorta like dropping your ice cream cone on a hot day. The one show that I actually was able to find and eagerly anticipated ended like eating the last berry in the bowl, but it tastes bitter and rancid. It would have almost been better to not even find out about the show and avoid it altogether.

Null:

1. Digital music.

As always, digitally downloaded music, MP3s, and other shit formats are my main musical grievance. Fuck that shit. I got LPs and cassettes. And CDs…because they sound really good. But still…I’ll take the muffled, shit-bag sound of a cassette over some tinny high-end distortion any day. The bass is important, and a hi-hat shouldn’t sound like breaking glass. It is the difference between streaming a “fireplace scene” on your TV and sitting in front of an actual fireplace. Who listens to music on their “Smartphone”? Everyone, apparently. Fuck the world. 

2. Bruce Springsteen selling his back catalog.

Look, I know that Springsteen isn’t a radical leftist, but I liked pretending that deep down he was still one of us, at some level. Sure, he made a book with Obama and he’s a “moderate,” which, in right-wing America, means nothing…but…I mean, this is the guy who wrote, performed, and recorded the Nebraska, Darkness on the Edge of Town, Devils and Dust, The Ghost of Tom Joad, and Wrecking Ball albums. Can he not live off of his loyalties? Who the fuck would do this? What is wrong with rich people? I’ll tell you what is wrong with rich people: They listen to other rich people. Ya know who didn’t, and wouldn’t, do this? Tom fucking Petty. You’re dead to me, Springsteen. I loved you. Now you sit in the dung heap with Pete Townshend and Bob Dylan. I used to love them too. Unbelievable.

3. L.A.N.E. break-up.

L.A.N.E. (Love And Noise Experiment) arose from the ashes of the great Les Thugs, arguably the greatest French punk rock band. L.A.N.E. gave us 2 albums and an EP. No more records from this great band.

4. Eric Clapton—the scumbag.

Eric Clapton had a bad reaction to the COVID vaccine. Millions of others didn’t. However, the world revolves around Eric Clapton. Also, he sued a widow for selling an $11.00 bootleg of his shitty music that was in her deceased husband’s collection. Add it to the list of reason to hate Clapton. He is a douchebag and there are others who do what he does, only better.

5. Capitalism hates music.

When the world goes up in flames, there will be no more music.

Scott:

I suspect that all music fans have experienced a version of this scenario: you think you know the words to a song and then suddenly, shockingly find out that you were mistaken. (For instance, just this summer, there was a high-profile public debate over whether Mary’s dress “waves” or “sways” in “Thunder Road,” until Springsteen’s manager stepped in to settle the question: “sways.”) (See https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/bruce-springsteen-manager-thunder-road-debate-sways-waves-1198762/). My own epiphany involved another famous song, “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols. Near the very beginning, Johnny Rotten sings: “I wanna DESTROY...passersby.” I have probably heard these lyrics a zillion times, but, for my entire life, until the year 2021, I thought he was singing: “I wanna DESTROY... possibly.” But you know what? Fuck him! I like mine better. It’s more ambiguous! Case closed.

SoDak:

The Metallica Blacklist (2021).

This 4-CD collection is a perfect example of how not to organize a tribute compilation. Metallica asked performers and bands to cover songs from their “Black Album” in order to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the record. The band encouraged others to make the songs their own. I thought, perhaps, this could be interesting, such as when Johnny Cash covered Nine Inch Nails. Nope. There is very little that is even remotely interesting and enjoyable on this collection. Almost every song seems uninspired, or simply copies the original version. Listening to the collection is torturous. The songs appear in the order that they were on Metallica’s record. But there are six versions in a row of “Enter Sandman,” seven of “Sad But True,” five of “Holier Than Thou,” seven of “The Unforgiven,” four of “Wherever I Roam,” three of “Don’t Tread on Me,” two of “Through the Never,” twelve of “Nothing Else Matters,” one of “Of Wolf and Man, two of “The God That Failed,” three of “My Friend of Misery, and one of “The Struggle Within.” After so many versions of the same song, I never want to hear any of these songs again. Garbage. 

Low. 

I really loved Low from the mid-1990s until the last couple of years. The transition to programming and noise has been extremely disappointing. Hey What is the second pile of shit in a row that they have released. Unlistenable. My wife described Hey What was a painful experience. She is not wrong. 

Ted Nugent. No need to say more.