A record label that wishes to remain nameless started a blog recently to document some truly awful demos they received over the years. This presents me with a dilemma.
On the one hand, I think you should only laugh at Big Targets. People who can take it. You know, be like The Marx Brothers and make fun of the Margaret Dumonts of the world. It’s too easy to laugh at the poor slob who wants to make it big in music, but doesn’t have the chops or equipment or connections to make it happen. I don’t like when people put themselves on a Hip Pedestal so they can laugh at the unsophistication of others.
On the other hand, holy shit, there is some comedy gold on this site. Especially since most of the songs are delivered in a Chesapeake southern drawl that sounds like Philly Boy Roy crossed with Kenny Powers.
If I had to pick a favorite, it’d be this one, which the anonymous label describes as being “like a step aerobics class from hell”. I would have said “like a step aerobics class from hell that just dropped acid”.
So you gaffed. Big deal. I do it all the time! I gaffe more before breakfast than most people do all day.
Here’s what you do. I call it the “aw shucks” defense. You just say stuff like, “aw jeez, I’m sorry!” like you’re a big dumb galoot who can’t even control what comes out of his mouth. Works for me all the time! It makes you sympathetic. By the time I’ve done, I got the president of Bolivia apologizing to me, even though I just called his country a hellish sinkhole.
Then again, I guess you have a reputation as a smart man and a skilled orator. I’ve never had that problem. So maybe that strategy won’t work for you.
It was a good idea to gaffe on a Thursday night, though. That way, they roast you on Friday, but the weekend’s about to start. By the time Monday comes all the news outlets are on to the next thing.
Me, I try to save my really big gaffes for Friday afternoons. The newspapers are already knocking off for the day by then. I spit out something really stupid around 3:30, then I can spend Saturday on the links, free of worry.
Also, March Madness–excellent time to gaffe. Nobody’s watching CNN or Fox News right now. Not while they’re keeping track of their brackets. I also find Super Bowl week is a good gaffing time, as is pretty much any day from late June through Labor Day.
Would it help if I made an even bigger gaffe to take the heat off you? I got a speech scheduled for a Mothers Against Drunk Driving event later today. How bout I make some real dumb old-timey Foster Brooks-type jokes about tippling? Or if I accidentally ask a mom to bring her kid on stage, even though I know her son was killed by a drunk driver?
No matter what you do, make sure you apologize. Better late than never, I say. And if you do wait a few days to apologize, you can just say you were doing it on Colored People’s Time.
Oh jeez, I can’t believe I said that! Oh man! I am so sorry!
For previous Inappropriate Walk Up Music posts, click here.
Every day until Opening Day, Scratchbomb presents three tunes that are completely, unequivocally inappropriate for use as major league walk-up
music.
These are not necessarily bad songs–although that
certainly helps. They are merely songs that don’t evoke the fear and dread one traditionally associates with the walk-up song. In fact, they evoke the exact opposite.
Imagine yourself in the on-deck circle. Bottom of the 9th. Down by one. Man on second, two out. You hear the PA system blare, The centerfielder, number 20… The crowd roars at the sound of your name. And as you stroll to the batter’s box, you are greeted with the strains of one of these songs:
* “Seven Nation Army”, The Flaming Lips I’m sure there’s several dozen major leaguers who walk up to the batter’s box to the original White Stripes version. I’d love to see someone switch out the CDs and hear an entire stadium reverberate with Gibby Haynes-penned lines like “I’m goin to Florida/I’m gonna bowl me a perfect game/I’m goin to Florida/I’m gonna cut off both my legs…”
* “Shut Up”, The Monks This could actually be quite appropriate. Musically, it rocks pretty hard, as do most of The Monks’ tunes. The inappropriateness comes from the band’s image, their lyrics, their backstory, and their general outlook on life. They were all servicemen who played together in a band at their army base in Germany in the mid-60s. After their hitch ended, they stayed on in Hamburg to try and crack the same swingin’ scene that birthed the Beatles. In a pique of collective madness, they renamed themselves The Monks and dressed like monks everywhere they went (even cutting their hair in tonsures). Luckily for them, Germany’s just about the only country in the world where this act would fly.
The Monks made stompin’ garage rock that was also darker than pretty much anything else circa-1965. It was probably as dark as anything, musically, until punk appeared 10 years later. They put out one album in Europe that was fucking incredible, then imploded from collective insanity and burnout. Here’s a video to demonstrate the full extent of their crazy-tude.
* “I’d Rather Jack”, The Reynold Girls There’s a Worst Song Ever thread going on at the Friends of Tom forum. FOT mike_b posted this video there, and while I can’t say it’s the worst song ever, I am astounded by its aggressively 1989-ish brand of pop suckitude. What makes it perfect for this post is that “I’d Rather Jack” could sort of apply to a batter (as in, I’d rather jack a home run over the center field wall), except that it’s really a song about chicks who hate Fleetwood Mac and have decided to express this hatred to a Rick Astley beat.
A record label that wishes to remain nameless started a blog recently to document some truly awful demos they received over the years. This presents me with a dilemma.
