Beyond the daily
barrage of shit from Washington DC and cultural insanity in general, a few of
the taint ticklers are here to air some musical grievances.
Anita Papsmear:
I have grievances. I mean, my name is Anita Papsmear. I have
to air it out once in a while. When my comrades at Tickle Your Taint asked me
for my 2017 grievances, I got my speculum out and gave it a shine, ready to be
aired. And then that weird thing happened where my throat began to close, I
shrunk within myself. Due to the swirling vortex of shit that has been our
country since The Head Cheeto was unleashed, I thought that I shouldn’t add
more diarrhea to the mix. In effect, I was telling myself to silence my
opinions, ideas, and voice. I told myself that I had nothing to say. But I
cannot ignore what is inside of me. I am teeming with rage, anger, and helplessness.
I feel voiceless, shocked, dismayed, and utterly despondent with what used to
be a country I was proud of—a country that wouldn’t hurt its citizens, a
country in which each person mattered. Then 2016 came. And now, in 2017, I
stand here, frightened for my sisters. I fear my country and many in it. I cry
for young men, as they have few real men to guide their growth. But it is my
sisters I weep for. It is my sisters who need me to stand up for them, to find
my voice, to scream for them, to hear them, to help them. We are only as strong
and healthy as the people we stand next to. Everyone needs help with something
at some point; not many among us can complete our own health checks, breast
exams, family planning counseling, etc. Where will my sisters turn? Women will
have less access to me (papsmears)…less access to birth control, child care….
But hey, as long as men can get their Viagra covered…how can things be this out
of balance? There is a true divide—and it feels as though it is between the
side of love and the side of outright hate. I thank the #metoo movement—it has
been, and continues to be, one of the most important things to come out of
2017. I hope it continues to turn the tide. But where is the #idid #imsorry
#changedman movement? That will mark the true new direction. We must all take
responsibility for each other—our government has made it clear they won’t.
Where is the revolution? I will meet
you out in the streets. #silencednomore
Class Warrior:
I actually have a
few grievances this year! I’m tempted to write a poem or short story, but I’ll
just get to the point.
“Pop strings” in sixties music.
I listened to a lot
of sixties music earlier this year. I loved much of it. Not only is it a blast
of nostalgia—though I can’t really say why I have nostalgia for my early
teenage years—but the artists and songs themselves that I selected are timeless
classics. The Supremes, Aretha Franklin, Sam Cooke, Roy Orbison, on and on—how
could I go wrong? I’ll tell you. The fucking strings sections in many sixties
songs drives me up the fucking wall. I can still listen to the songs, and still
enjoy them immensely, but I have to mentally shut out the damned strings. They
add nothing and subtract a lot of the rock essence. Sixties pop with all the
strings removed (except guitar and bass, of course) would perhaps be the best
genre of music the world has ever seen. I’d love it if someone could invent
software that would automatically replace the violins (or whatever they are)
with guitars.
Joke metal bands.
Joke bands like
Municipal Waste are annoying. You’re not funny. The joke gets old. Please stop.
A song or two here and there—have fun! One album—maybe, but you’d better think
hard about it. A whole career? How do you sleep at night knowing how much you
have harmed the world?
Not enough reflexive lyrics about rockin’ out.
Having said the
above about joke bands, it’s no joke at all when a metal band sings about
rocking out or how much they rock, either in a direct or an oblique fashion.
I’m thinking “All Men Play on Ten” (Manowar—talk about a joke metal band! But
were/are they in on the joke?) or “We Rock.” (If you think Ronnie James Dio is
a joke, you can fuck off to whatever pitiful existence you have to endure. You
and I have nothing in common.) Every metal band needs a song like this in their
repertoire.
Generic metal.
Hey, metal bands
currently in existence—stop being generic! I cannot tell you how many new metal
albums I had to listen to both last year and this year in order to find the
diamonds. I’m learning to treasure those diamonds more and more because they’re
getting harder to find. Be more like Visigoth! You don’t have to sound like
them, of course, but fuck, try to put some kind of distinctiveness and
personality into your sound! It’s still possible to do this in 2017.
Generic/shitty punk rock.
I have yet to
confirm this, but I’m pretty sure that, for the second year in a row, there
will be no new punk albums in my year-end review. This is unacceptable. It’s
not like I didn’t listen to new punk bands this year. Punk bands, as a wise
random stranger once told me on a wrong-number phone message, you’d better get
it together, boy.
Dave:
Another year, another collection of new and exciting things to hate in the
world of music locally and beyond! I live in one of the biggest bubbles of
reflexive, regressive, liberal thought in the country, and I work every day to
smash it with my fists along with the whiny millennials who prop this bullshit
up, which brings me to my first grievance.
1. Ideologue social justice writers and their poorly conceived garbage hit
pieces on “white music.”
How the fuck does ignorant shit like this get into the Atlantic?
James Parker is such
an arrogant jackass that he thinks it’s a good idea to write a piece attempting
to critique music he clearly knows little about.
Here’s another
lovely steaming pile of shit served directly from the bowels of some awful
gender studies department, degrading the value of another small second-rate
publication, Salon:
You actually don’t
have the intellect or any legitimate platform from which to debate ideas, so
you make anonymous threats against small independent businesses in order to
shut down events you don’t approve of. Anyone who does this, or thinks it’s ok
to do this, is cowardly fucking scum.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjRwvDKUBF0.
http://www.metalsucks.net/2015/03/16/exclusive-black-pussy-forced-cancel-show-serious-threats-violence-vandalism/.
If you can’t handle the name of a band, you are a child. Take your toy blocks
and play somewhere else.
3. While affluent whites sing the praises of diversity and livability in
Portland, OR, they’ve done a hell of job chasing minorities out of town. All
the punk houses have been closed down in the inner city. Satyricon, the oldest
punk venue on the west coast, is gone. My favorite music venue in town is being
closed December 31 all so some rich property developers can skim a few million
off the general public locally before the property bubble bursts. FUCK. YOU.
YUPPIE. TRASH.
There’s more to be said, but I think I’ve made my point.
Five-Inch Taint:
On the whole, this
was a great year for me and music. I have very few complaints. The ones I do
have range from minor to fairly major.
First, as always,
Null has made it to my grievances list. Every year since I have been a part of
this review site, Null has featured prominently in my best of and grievance
lists. His broad taste in music is both delightful and infuriating. To give you
a taste, this is a man who moves seamlessly between Taylor Swift and Cannibal
Corpse. Earlier this year, while combing through the racks at a local record
store, Null pulled out Tears for
Fears, Songs from the Big Chair.
Now, I am not one for new wave, but I figured, Null has good taste, I should
give this a shot. Null was practically frothing at the mouth, like a rabid
animal, begging me to purchase this album and opening up my world. With a
mixture of both naivety and excitement I bought Songs from the Big Chair. At home, I listened to it on my stereo
system, enjoying the opening track, “Shout.” This was a song I was familiar
with and actually enjoyed. Off to a good start. However, as the album played on
my ears were sent on a hellish journey (“Everybody Wants to Rule the World”
excepted). Such drivel; such horrid sounds. How could someone I consider a
friend want to put me through this? I began to question big things in my life—things
that I had always trusted. As I continued on, listening to the album, I felt my
body begin to change. I am fairly certain that this record gave me the Crohn’s
that I now enjoy. In fact, the two bowel obstructions that sent me to the
emergency room this year were more enjoyable than this record by Tears for Fears. Thanks for the Crohn’s,
Null.
Second and third,
both concert experiences. The first of these involves asshole “hardcore” people
at a Cannibal Corpse show. I arrived late to the show only to see juiced-up assholes
pushing a random person to the ground, mercilessly punching and kicking them.
The band made mention of this in-between songs, while the security did nothing
to stop this idiocy. As I found my friends, I came to find out that one of them
had a chipped tooth due to these asshats. Now, I can understand an aggressive
pit where folks run into each other, as there has always been a sense of
fraternity in shared pain. This was something different—something that doesn’t
belong at any show. These people were just looking to beat someone up for the
sake of it. In the words of Havok, “no karate in the pit,” please.
Next, and perhaps
most egregious of the concert experiences, was the ridiculous hippie girl at
Charlie Parr. Now, I may look like a hippie, and I may have some hippie
sensibilities, but, deep down, I loathe hippies. To me they are the most
self-centered, self-involved, group of people I have ever met. All this bullshit
about “peace,” “love,” and creative “self-expression,” is all a cover to do
whatever they want and whenever they want. This was on full display at the
concert. First of all, who twirls and flitters while seeing Charlie Parr? The
man isn’t exactly playing the type of music where sunshine radiates out of your
ass. Learn how to read the room and internalize the music, hippie. That,
though, is not significant. People can enjoy the show how they see fit. What
really irked me was the constant poking and prodding from this hippie-tard,
imploring as to why I wasn’t enjoying the show. Like a female Harvey Weinstein,
this hippie kept groping me, tugging at my braid, trying to get me to enjoy the
show the way she was (she did stop short of masturbating in front of me in a
hallway, so she’s not entirely like Weinstein). This went on for the entirety
of the show—she constantly trying to impose a certain style of enjoyment, me
trying not to rip off my skin to get her putrid hippie stench off of my body.
Afterwards, she had the gall to confront me, asking if I had a problem with
her. As witnesses can attest, I politely explained my position only to be told
that I would be alone and single forever. Jokes on her, I get to make my wife
miserable for the rest of my life. The show itself was great. However, that
hippie-Weinstein made it that much less enjoyable.
Other than those
experiences, and the Crohn’s, this was a pretty good year.
Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B:
My biggest and really my only musical gripe in 2017 is
economic life. I spent six of the last seven years working in a horrible place
due to a culture of fear and distrust brought about by bullying managers at all
levels. A little over a year ago, I decided to leave, which meant commuting to
a neighboring city to a new gig. For two-thirds of 2017, I spent nearly four
hours a day in a car. This had both physical and mental repercussions. After
doing what I needed to do to sustain myself, there was no time or
mental/emotional energy left for hobbies or intellectual exercises like
listening to music or keeping up with new releases or news (I did some of this,
but not as much as normal). I certainly didn’t read a meaningful book, or do
any writing. So, fuck capitalism, the work relations it promotes (even in the
public and non-profit sectors), and the choices it forces workers to make.
Null:
Digital Music.
See all previous
years. I’m like a broken record. To paraphrase Bob Mould, one way to determine
the worth, or worthlessness, of your music is to ask yourself how easy it is to
get rid of. If you only have to hit, “delete,” then it wasn’t worth much to
begin with.
The deaths of Tom
Petty and Fred Cole and Grant Hart and Chris Cornell. Whether death is expected
or unexpected, it still sucks. When I put my radio shows together these days, I
always leave a little space for this week’s tribute.
The death of Fred
Cole, again.
Working as a wage
slave, which doesn’t give me enough time to listen to music. Smash capitalism.
PaulySure:
Considering the
current state of the United States (and much of the world) politically, I can’t
believe that there wasn’t a huge resurgence in politically charged punk and
metal. The new Propagandhi record was pretty solid, the return of Burn was
great (although not very political), and Kreator as usual kept it pretty
political and angry; while these were great (and somewhat expected) I was still
hoping for something new. It seemed like most of the political commentary
musically was coming from the rap scene, which is awesome, but not entirely
what I’ve been in the mood for lately. I was just hoping that 2017 would be the
year to prove that punk hadn’t died, just seriously wounded; but it appears to
be on life support.
The current state of
rap music is another grievance that I have for 2017. While this year did see
some great rap releases (check out records from Run the Jewels, Open Mike
Eagle, Big KRIT, Karriem Riggins, Oddisee, Joey Bada$$, and Vince Staples), and
there was a lot of solid politics, as I mentioned earlier, I have a couple
gripes. Firstly: why does it sound like a lot of the popular rappers (looking
at you Lil Yachty) are rapping while heavily “medicated” on Percocet, after
having finished a bottle of Champagne, that was just a chaser for the heroin
they shot up earlier, and what’s worse is that the near coma/overdosed rhymes
are being done over the laziest beat possible. Goddammit, I want my 16 bars back. Secondly, what is the deal with
only releasing albums digitally, I want to spin that shit and that’s really
hard to do with an MP3.
Next grievance, everyone
is a piece of shit. What’s the point of having musicians that you like/look up
to as heroes anymore? They’re just going to turn out to be a rapist, or
physically assault someone, or kill themselves, or say something stupid. Oh
well, this is the life of a music addict.
Lastly, my most
personal grievance, and possibly the most irrational. Why the fuck is Elder’s Reflections of a Floating World not in the top 5 of every 2017 best metal
lists?!?!?!?!? FAL;SDKFJASDLKFSDLFKJ;ASDJF (slams head on keyboard out of
frustration). Look I know that album may not be for everyone, so maybe the top
5 is aiming a little high. But it is missing from so many “renowned” lists in
general. Rolling Stone is one of the
only lists I saw it on, where it took the 5 spot, which is great that such a
major publication took notice. But it is also bizarre, since Code Orange was
listed at number 1 and it is such an awful band and album. Oh well, long live
Elder!
Scott:
Bruce Springsteen on
Broadway.
From all accounts,
it is a remarkable show, but, even if I could afford a ticket, they’re
virtually impossible to get. The fact that he keeps extending the show's run
just feels like he’s taunting me. I guess I’ll wait for the CD.
Scotty Doesn’t Know:
I was asked to
compile a musical grievance list. Is this because I seem to be someone of
superior intellect and comedic writing skills? Or is it because I seem to be
the type of grumpy person who hates everything? Probably the latter. But let’s
just move on.
Christmas music
played anytime other than Christmas.
Christmas music is
only allowed on December 25—and maybe that day you decorate your Christmas
tree. That’s it. Period. No exceptions.
Depressed musicians
who suddenly become happy.
Sixpence None the
Richer used to be a much better band when head songwriter, Matt Slocum, was
battling depression (see This Beautiful
Mess). The lyrics were tortured and relatable, the music was angsty—it was
perfect. Suddenly they have one pop-filled hit—“Kiss Me”—and the band, by and
large, becomes fodder for the overhead speakers at your local supermarket.
Hey, David Bazan, I
did not pay good money to hear “Second Best” played in a major key.
Slide guitar.
Just ew.
Bad covers.
As far as I am
concerned, cover songs are only acceptable in two situations: a complete
reimagining of a song that sounds nothing like the original, and a resurrection
of a previously overlooked song introduced to an entirely new audience. Birdie’s
cover of “Skinny Love” is neither of these things. By contrast, Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah”
is both of these things. We should play the shit out of that song every day.
Beautiful artists
that die too young.
Twenty-One Pilots.
I’ll admit it, when
“Tear in my Heart” first came out, I actually liked it. A lot. It was catchy,
the lyrics were fun and playful, and it was great to sing along with. But it
was all downhill from there. By the time they tried to get me to sing along
with lyrics like “My name is Blurryface and I care what you think,” I was about
ready to throw my stereo out the window.
Bands that fuck up
their own legacy.
You know that
phenomenon when a band finally starts putting out quality music and then when
you go back to their early catalog you can start to hear foreshadowings of
their eventual greatness? Rivers Cuomo
you’re doing that in reverse! Now I can’t listen to “In the Garage” without
hearing “Pork and Beans.”
If we could just
never ever play “Rock the Casbah” or “Blinded by the Light” ever again, I’d be
totally cool with that.
SoDak:
Karate-Kicking
Dickheads at Shows.
At the Cannibal
Corpse, Powertrip, and Gatecreeper show, there were a dozen dickheads who would
knock someone to the ground and then proceed to circle the individual to take
turns kicking and punching. It was the first time that I witnessed assholes at
a show doing karate kicks and flips. Fuck these macho pricks. They ruined an
otherwise enjoyable show.
Greg Graffin, Millport (2017).
In general, I love
Greg Graffin. He has solid politics. He has one of the great punk rock voices.
Bad Religion is wonderful. But Greg’s solo records are horrible. This year, he
released Millport, which has a rock
and twang sound. The musicians are pretty good. The problem is that Greg’s
voice is flat and uninspired. I do not doubt that he loves country and folk
music, but his attempts to contribute on this front are very disappointing. His
voice does not carry any emotional weight within these songs. It is a
disappointing release. I am looking forward to the next Bad Religion records.
The world needs it.
Johnny Flynn,
“Detectorists” theme song.
I fuckin’ love this
song and the show. So what exactly is the grievance? The song is not on any
Johnny Flynn records or a physical copy of the soundtrack for the series. It
only exists in the disposable digital world. Shit.
The Death and Resurrection Show (Killing Joke documentary).
This film was in the
making for a very long time. I was eagerly awaiting its release and had high
expectations. I even pre-ordered the DVD. Unfortunately, the film is a
disaster, as it lacks a strong story line or a captivating narrative. The sound
on the film is uneven, so it is hard to hear the interviews at times. Horrible.
Chris Thile on Prairie
Home Companion.
I always found
listening to Prairie Home Companion torturous.
Being exposed for too long to Garrison Keillor’s voice and his repartee made me
contemplate killing myself to escape the monotony. When Keillor retired, I did
not think the show could be any worse than it was. But I was wrong. Chris
Thile, an unbelievably talented musician, has managed to make hearing this show
even more painful. His presence, jokes, and banter are a dull knife repeatedly
stabbing me in the kidneys.
Disappointing albums
by artists I generally like. Samantha Crain, You Had Me at Goodbye (2017). On her fifth full-length, Samantha
Crain took a giant shit, making a generic, more mainstream record, with indie
flourishes. Her previous records captured a brilliance and wonderful
songwriting depth, which was very moving. Her recent record is forgettable. Daniel
Romano, Modern Pressure (2017). Since
2009, Daniel Romano released a series of captivating records, inspired by 1960s
country, folk, and rock. His last two records Mosey (2016) and Modern Pressure
(2017) mark a distinct shift toward a more indie-rock sound, losing much of
what was so captivating about his music.
Kid Rock, Michael
Sweet (Stryper), and Bono (U2).
Simple enough, each
of them are colossal assholes. Every time I see their names I shudder, and I
vomit a little whenever I read an interview with them.
