Death has a funny way of improving musicians

Any time an artist "dies too soon" - Amy Winehouse, Tupac Shakur, Jimi Hendrix - everyone assumes the artist would have gotten better. There is always the assumption of something great on the horizon: "He died at his peak." "He died just as he was truly finding his voice."

How come no one ever assumes they would have gotten worse? Why doesn't anyone proclaim that artistic burnout was just around the bend? Think about it, when people discuss musicians, they almost always say:

"I liked his early stuff better."

"They had that one good album..."

The common term for a disappointing album is a "sophomore slump," not a "seventh album slump."

With all the examples of artists who had one or two good records and then a lifetime of failing to replicate them, does it really make sense to always give dead young artists the benefit of the doubt?

Plus the posthumous stuff is nearly always a mixed bag (at best). Granted, the work may be unfinished or edited in ways the artist wouldn't have chosen. But still...if we're so assured that genius was just around the bend, why isn't the proof ever in the pudding?

What's funny is that we're just as forceful in our ridicule of artists who do keep going! How many times have the Rolling Stones had to answer for wanting to do another tour? Apparently they never learned the marketing lesson of dying early to keep folks pining for what could have been (not that Keith Richards didn't try).

If Axl Rose had died in '92, we would have been saved the cornrows. If Dylan had died at the release party for Blood on the Tracks, we wouldn't have had to suffer through his "Christian period."

Almost no artist gets better with age, so it seems like a hell of a coincidence that every single artist whose "fire burned out too soon" was just about to give us a triple album of gold. In his farewell letter, Kurt Cobain apparently quoted Neil Young: "It's better to burn out than to fade away." By burning out, Cobain probably saved us the agony of watching him muddle through a twenty-year "experimental phase."

Another Sign a Band is Out of Ideas

Back by popular demand, another signal your favorite band is dried up and tired:

Suddenly Discovering World Music

The list of people who've gone down this road when the well has run dry is long and blood-soaked: David Byrne, Sting (not that there was much there to begin with), Peter Gabriel, Paul Simon. My proprietary models tell me there is an inverse relationship between the number of random Africans onstage and the number of times the song is worth listening to: the more random Africans the fewer times you need to give the tune a spin.

The convenient thing about resorting to world music is that because it involves Third Worlders, people are too scared to criticize it. God forbid they admit to not enjoying balafon solos. Political correctness dictates they must pretend that when they go to see Paul Simon - who built his fanbase with decidedly whitebread songs like "I Am a Rock" - they are pleased to see him making his concert a UN summit.

Doing a "brave" crossover into world music is a great way to shield yourself from bad reviews and lower listener expectations for your crappy new songs, because hey close minded guy...demanding melody is so Eurocentric!

Here's a tip: If you're at a concert and the singer suddenly says: "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce my backup band: Kenya," RUN.

Five Signs a Band is out of Ideas

You never know when a band is going to run out of gas, but if you pay attention it is easy to spot the warning signs.

"We're returning to our influences."

No one "returns to their influences" when they're breezily penning pop gems. What "returning to our influences" means is we've hit a wall, so we're going to release an album of lazy, tuneless flops with either a blues or jazz tinge. Deferring to blues and jazz is smart, because you have built-in excuses for uninspired music. You can always say: Hey man, blues is supposed to be simple. It's all about the feeling! or Hey man, jazz isn't about three-minute pop songs. It's about improvisation (read: unstructured messes).

WE GET IT, you're dad owned a Howlin' Wolf LP and you spun it once or twice yourself. That's no excuse for playing the same three notes over and over and adopting the blue singer technique of scrunching your face like you just got tear gassed. If I wanted to experience your inspirations, I'd buy a Muddy Waters album and an eight ball from your coke dealer. At least have the decency to name the album Writer's Block Blues.

Unnecessary Gospel Choir

Like your girlfriend telling you she "needs more space," a gospel choir means the end is near.

Here's what happens: You're working on your next single. You can't seem to write a catchy chorus. What do you do instead? Employ 73 fat women to gratuitously repeat a random phrase. Who needs a bridge when you're backed by enough musical girth to sink a cruise ship?

And like blues or jazz, you can cop out by saying "Hey man, I grew up listening to gospel, so I've always dreamed of doing a song with a gospel choir." Sorry, but I don't accept childhood nostalgia as a "GET OUT OF CREATIVITY FREE" card. Have that church choir pray for your talent to return from the dead.

Cover Albums

It seems almost any band that makes it past four albums tries some version of this; either a full cover album or a cover EP. It never goes well. Cover albums are always presented as a stopgap between real albums, usually released just in time for the Christmas shopping season. No band has ever done a cover album and then gone on to do their best work. You don't autopilot your way through a bunch Dylan covers when you've got a Sergeant Pepper inside you. I have purchased just one cover album: Guns N' Roses' The Spaghetti Incident? (all cover albums should have the word incident in the title). It was bad enough to scare me away from ever buying a cover album again. I should probably thank Axl for that lesson in tough love.

Covering a song that was already a big hit without really changing it

This warning sign is so blatant elaborating on it almost seems redundant. So you've got nothing in the tank and you need a hit. Quick, cover a song that is already market tested! Notice they never cover an obscure song. No, it is always the band's biggest hit. Limp Bizkit didn't cover a deep album cut from The Who. They went straight to "Behind Blue Eyes". Covering an established radio staple is a clever move, because through sheer habit fans will toss a few clams in your direction for reminding them of a song they liked much better the first time around. It is like picking up a woman at a bar simply because you remind her of an ex she wants to get back together with. Hopefully, he doesn't look like Fred Durst.

Going Country

Today going country seems the preferred method for an emergency grab at continued relevance. Once your regular fans start to realize the well has run dry you can always reel in some new suckers with a country duet.

Makes sense. The standards for a country hit are even lower than they are for rock hits, so people probably won't even notice how lackluster your "crossover" attempt is. It is akin to going from playing for the LA Lakers to playing for the LA Sparks. And unlike trying an acting career or a hip-hop duet, there is virtually no risk to your credibility. It is impossible to parody an artform that celebrates songs called "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy".

The best part is if your country crossover is a pair of twos, the country world is so siloed from the real world your fans will never know about your embarrassing excursion into the world of ten-gallon hats and tenth-grade reading levels.


My Twitter feed still has 3/4 of a tank: https://twitter.com/greatMikePayne

An Evening with John Densmore

I've written before about being a zealous, irritating Doors fan when I was a teenager:

I probably had that haircut.

Recently I attended a book reading given by Doors drummer John Densmore. He was reading from his new book The Doors: Unhinged, which uses the story of his legal battles with Krieger and Manzarek to expound upon what he calls "the greed gene."

As I sat in the audience waiting, I began to feel foolish. What was I doing there? Was I another tragic dud fruitlessly chasing down the sensations of adolescence?

Before I could dash, leaving behind a dense cloud of self-hate, Densmore walked out. Looked younger than his age; quite an achievement for a lifelong rocker. He began to talk, and his readings and musings fishtailed across many subjects. Maybe this looseness was a tribute to his jazz drumming roots (don't worry I don't actually mean this sentence).

His central theme was "the greed gene." As he put it, he and the surviving Doors (and other wealthy musicians) already have nice houses and "some groovy cars." Why do they need more? Why risk tarnishing the sentiments fans attach to their songs by licensing them for commercials? He roasted Townsend a bit for taking the opposite stance. Densmore wasn't dogmatic. He said he could understand why young, struggling bands sell their songs to advertisers. But "once you have a toehold of success," how much do you really need?

I don't blame musicians for selling their songs to advertisers. Having said that, I definitely prefer not to hear songs I like converted to jingles. Hopefully in Densmore's position, I would do the same thing, but who knows?

The Doors evidently had the only democratic agreement in popular music history. Everyone got 25%, and everyone had veto power (both arrangements suggested by Morrison). Densmore shared the story of one very famous veto: the time Jim freaked out when the others didn't consult him before agreeing to let Buick use "Light My Fire" in a commercial. The chorus was to be: "C'mon Buick, Light My Fire." Jim contacted Buick and said if they used the song he'd go on television and smash a Buick with a sledgehammer. The Doors and Buick did not break on through to a deal. Jim's stance seems to have had a great impact on John.

Since Jim's death, many other offers for lucrative licensing have come in, and the reason they didn't come off was because John said no every time. Consequently, Robby Krieger and Ray Manzarek tried suing him for more money than the Doors have generated in total since their inception (an intimidation tactic, obviously). Densmore won, thanks to that unusual arrangement the Doors had. The others had no case, so as John put it, all they could do was try "character assassination."

He didn't sound bitter about it, though. In fact, John said he and Krieger were planning to play a cancer benefit sometime next year.

He was at his best during the Q&A at the end: totally unpretentious, and though he wasn't getting paid for the event, and though he is already rich and doesn't need to sell books, and though his legacy in rock is already secure, he still seemed excited about getting his point across (his new book is self-published, so he is putting his money where his mouth is). Not for a moment did he slide into self-congratulation or sanctimony. With respect to celebrity charity (and charity in general), Densmore pointed out that the word philanthropy has a Greek origin and is supposed to mean "loving mankind." Preening celebrities humble bragging about how charitable they are doesn't fit that definition.

Mr. Densmore seemed like a man who still has some hope. This struck me: The Doors' music is frequently morbid - This is the end, no one here gets out alive, before I sink into the big sleep, I promised I would drown myself in mysticated wine, all our lives we sweat and save building for a shallow grave, the human race was dyin' out no one left to scream and shout, people walking on the moon, smog will get you pretty soon - but never despondent. There is a sense of romanticism to The Doors' meditations on death. Sure, no one gets out alive, but why mope? Doors' songs are more about taking arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them, as opposed to suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

I left the reading overflowing with self-hate, but not because I sat and listened to John Densmore.

Pouvez-vous chanter?

How much more powerful and far-reaching is music than other art forms? Music can explode in popularity around the world without being translated. Novels have to be translated. Movies need the help of subtitles. But music, whether it is opera or popular music, can move people to tears in a language completely alien to them. They will even learn to say the words (without necessarily understanding them) simply to chant them back at the singer in frenzied ecstasy.

Origami doesn't seem to have this effect.

Rockers who are so straight they're gay

Rumors of homosexual experimentation by rock stars like Rod Stewart, Mick Jagger, and David Bowie have circulated for years. Even if there were truth to these rumors, does this alleged "experimentation" mean these chaps truly have gay tendencies?

Think about the sheer quantity of women they've had - thousands. Among regular people, a guy with numbers in the high twenties (not counting prostitutes) is considered a major success. Think of the quality of women they've had - actresses, models (both famous and unknown, and let's face it, even Joe Six Pack models are pretty hot), and the top "girls next door" in every town in the world. Think of the kind of extreme sex they've had: massive orgies, twins, mother-daughter; depravity that makes Nero look like Mary Poppins. People talk about "exploring" their sexuality; these guys have explored their sexuality and all its multiverses.*

Rock stars have a bucket list longer than the Golden Gate Bridge, and they still manage to check every box. And when you have truly had all there is to have of women, eventually boredom creeps in, and suddenly having every fantasy fulfilled feels tired and bland. Penelope Cruz is throwing herself at you and you're like "Ugh, meat loaf again?"

After hitting that kind of saturation point, all that's left are men, so perhaps it's not surprising that some rockers would venture a few blocks into the gay part of town. In fact, they might be the only people for whom homosexuality truly is an experiment! To them, starting over with men is like a wacky form of born again virginity.

Makes you wonder if Liberace ever tried similar experiments with women.



*Obviously, other kinds of celebrities get around too, but the kind of devotion musicians cull from their fans seems to lead to far more epic kinkiness.


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Remember when Rolling Stone Mattered? Hopefully you don't

By putting Boston bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev on the cover of Rolling Stone, Rolling Stone has reminded us it still exists. I'm not so irate about the cover. What I'm irate about is being forced to recall all the reasons I started ignoring the musical press in the first place.

Music journalists seem to get a pinch more respect than their counterparts in film and television journalism. They don't deserve it. I have previously mentioned Rolling Stone's shameless coverage of trends like hair metal:

When hair metal died in the early 90's, they began speaking of it in the kind of somber, unbelieving tones you'd expect from a medical journal discussing the days of leech treatments. Never mind that RS had spent the 80's hyping bands like Cinderella. They now wanted it understood that the days of hair metal were dark and unenlightened. Never forget.

But the second hair metal returned, what did this pillar of integrity have to say about it? "Dust off those mullets, kids! REAL ROCK is back!!!"

Another spree of dishonesty from the musical press came at the dawn of the rap-rock era. Starting around 1999, music journalists began writing with straight faces about this wild and crazy new trick of blending rock and rap. They panted with affected surprise as they discussed how artists like Kid Rock and Fred Durst liked both rock and rap...just like, oh I don't know, every single kid in the '90s. Even more desperate was their pretending that blending rock and rap was sparkling new. Just two years earlier, these same mannequins had been covering rap-rock artist Beck. And Beck's work wasn't exactly hidden: in 1997 Beck was on every cover of every magazine. He won two Grammies and an MTV Music Video Award. But you wouldn't have gotten that from reading the press's take on rock-rap "trailblazer" Kid Rock.

Not only was Kid Rock's interest in rap and rock not a revelation; neither was the compound of rap and rock. I'm not just talking about self-conscious novelty crossovers like Aerosmith-Run DMC and Public Enemy-Anthrax. In addition to non-novel Beck, you had 311 releasing huge rap-rock hits in 1996 and 97. Faith No More had a top ten rap-rock hit with "Epic" all the way back in 1990.

I have to think some of the journalists who pretended Kid Rock's music and musical taste was unique knew better. MTV "personalities" certainly couldn't claim to be unaware of kids' dual interest in rap and rock: their channel had been showing rap and rock videos back-to-back for years. Did they actually think half their audience turned the channel when Tribe Called Quest was followed by Guns N' Roses? If so, I hope they informed their advertisers.

If I tried listing all the other examples of the music press contriving angles about artists and trends - Kid Rock listened to Johnny Cash and Grandmaster Flash! Can you believe it?! Uh, yeah, actually I and all other Earthlings born post-Watergate can -, I'd be here until Russ Columbo's music came back in fashion. Thankfully, the demise of traditional media means anyone can get whatever musical info. they want without having to trudge through all that intellectual dishonesty. At least I hope it was intentional. I'd hate to think those reporters were truly that thick...

To this reporter, it appears that entertainment journalists are no different from political journalists. They can't help sucking up to the status quo.

Economic Value: Books vs. Music

Compared to other forms of entertainment, the pleasurable effects of music are less likely to wear off. People turn to a favorite album far more often than a favorite short story or favorite film. All entertainment experiences diminishing returns, but on balance, the returns from music are more consistent and stable than its competitors.

A telling example of this: You read a book in a bookstore so you don't have to buy it. You listen to an album in a record store (when they existed) to see if you want to buy it.

An average album doesn't "end" for you. The greatest book does.

There are No Bad Boys Left in Rock, Just LOTS of Bad

If you don't remember Third Eye Blind, count yourself among the lucky. Paris Hilton has led a less charmed life (one might even call it semi-charmed).

During their fifteen minutes, I caught their singer Stephan Jenkins being interviewed on MTV. He was being asked about their onstage antics. Apparently, Third Eye Blind had some dancers onstage shaking their thangs behind screens, causing the VJ to say something like, "You guys are the new bad boys of rock."

The absurdity of this was forever seared into my brain.

By the late nineties, rock had become so pathetic and obsolete as a form of rebellion that all it took to grab the "bad boy" mantle was to have a woman that no one could actually see remove her top while a blow-dried pop song flatulated through the speakers.

I don't blame the host for grasping for the "bad boy" cliché. He was just doing what journalists and talking airheads always do: regurgitate meaningless archetypes. Since rock began, there have been "bad boys." When rock first emerged, they were pretty much all bad boys; Little Richard and Elvis did actually represent some sort of threat to the established order. Then as rock became the new mainstream, more defined rock categories began to emerge--hard rock, folk rock, etc.--and over time various bands--The Rolling Stones, Guns N' Roses--were given the title of "rock's bad boys."

The reality that eventually rock had no bad boys didn't matter. Once "bad boys of rock" became an established marketing tool, nothing was going to stop the industry and its sycophants from using it. No bad boys on the rock scene? No problem. We'll just create some. No one will be able to tell the difference anyway.

Even rebellions within rock were eventually distilled into irrelevance. Look at punk. The fact that Good Charlotte had nothing in common with the Sex Pistols mattered not one iota. Marketing needed to happen, "punk rock" was a marketable archetype, and the kids who fell for Good Charlotte's "punk" put-ons didn't understand or care about punk's origins. Punk (which began as something eclectic) was eventually distilled down to spiky hair, extremely simple chord structures and lots of "energy," and anyone willing to adopt those affectations suddenly qualified as punk. Never mind heckling the royal family, here's Good Charlotte.

If you think I'm just being grouchy, compare some lyrics from Good Charlotte's "Hold On" to the Sex Pistols' "Bodies":

Hold On

This world, this world is cold

But you don't, you don't have to go

You're feeling sad, you're feeling lonely

And no one seems to care

You're mother's gone and your father hits you

This pain you cannot bear

But we all bleed the same way as you do

And we all have the same things to go through

Hold on, if you feel like letting go

Hold on, it gets better than you know

Bodies

Dragged on a table in factory

Illegitimate place to be

In a packet in a lavatory

Die little baby screaming

Body screaming fucking bloody mess

Not an animal

It's an abortion

Body! I'm not animal

Mummy! I'm not an abortion

The fact that by the time Third Eye Blind hit the charts punk rock was safer than a Volvo in the slow lane didn't matter. Just because something becomes passé doesn't mean its archetypes vanish. Far from it. We don't have a WASP in today's White House or on today's Supreme Court, yet progressives still harp about a repressive WASP elite. Opposing malevolent, power-abusing WASPs has been a progressive staple since your great grandparents were in shortpants, so even though WASP elites have disappeared, today's progressives still recycle that archetype to define themselves as rebels. Because nothing says rebel like speaking truth to a long dead power. I've been known to take bold stands against the Minoans.

I don't follow today's rockers, but I bet anyone unfortunate enough to open Rolling Stone would still find anodyne bands being referred to as bad boys without the faintest whiff of irony. This is extra hilarious, considering that today's world is so callous and detached that short of doing a suicide bombing during the guitar solo, nothing can really be called shocking anymore. Possibly the only thing more headline-grabbing than strapping a bomb to your chest and detonating it in a crowded arena would be to grab the mic and announce that you don't think "The Wire" is the greatest TV show of all time.

OPF (Original Pompous Fan)

Bill Hicks famously said: You do a commercial, you’re off the artistic roll call forever.

When I was a young lad, green and pretentious, I seconded that notion. I thought: How dare Pete Townsend sell his songs for use in commercials?

Now that I’m older, I see that it is not so simple. Making money from music is a very rare thing (and getting rarer by the hour). Ever notice how few musicians DON’T have stories of embarrassment and disgrace? Ever wonder why so few bands are able to wear that stamp of so-called “integrity?”

When you’re one of those precious few like Springsteen who crashed the 1% party by selling albums and going on tour, you can pick your spots and “keep it real.” You can say no to commercials, no to scene-ruining cameos in movies, no to inhumane duets with younger, hipper acts. But remember, the Springsteen elite is a very tiny elite. Even lots of popular acts don’t get rich from their music due to unprofitable deals with their managers and labels.

Those acts that aren’t part of that precious elite have to find other ways to make money. The fact that you’ve chosen to be “an artist” doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay your bills. Your landlord doesn’t care about your legacy.

This leaves you with two choices:

1) Try to make a living by touring long after your voice and body has given out, leaving your fans with the memory of the rickety, expired version of you trying to make some coin by flailing through the hits.

2) License your song for a Land Rover commercial.

At least when you let your songs become jingles, you’re not disappointing your fans in a direct, visceral way by subjecting them to a live show that could be mistaken for an open casket wake. Selling your songs for commercials is a much more passive (and dignified) way to disappoint.

Some might say: why don’t they just get a job like the rest of us? C’mon, you know better than that. What kind of job do you suddenly get when you stop being a full-time punk bassist at 38? What special skills do you list on your resume? Faking a British accent? Drilling Frankenstein Monster knobs into your neck? People with real resumes can’t even get jobs these days. I doubt prospective employers are going to be excited about your second stage blowout at Lollapalooza ‘97.

Next time you’re ready to mount your high horse about bands embarrassing themselves with commercials, THINK OF ALL THE EMBARRASSING THINGS YOU DO FOR MONEY IN YOUR JOB. Is selling a song to Suburu any worse than watching an HR sensitivity video and taking a multiple choice test about it afterwards? Is it worse than fetching coffee for a guy who misquotes Office Space without realizing it is about him?

You’re telling me you wouldn’t appear as a chipper chirping chicken in a KFC ad if it meant never having to see your boss again? Of course you would. Pete Townsend doesn’t even have to play a chicken. All he has to do to rake in the cash is let “Happy Jack” play while some thespian bites on a burger in a Jack in the Box ad. If you can’t understand why he might say yes to that…I CAN’T EXPLAIN it you…(yuck, yuck, yuck).

P.S. It probably isn’t a coincidence that the black and white, NO COMMERCIALS MAN! rant usually comes from young people. Young people usually don’t have grown-up bills. They usually don’t have kids. They usually don’t have mortgages (or even rent payments). They usually don’t have a body that cries out for pricey medical attention. When you’re 23, your only medical bill is that once every three years dentist appointment you make to get your girlfriend to shut up. It is easy to be pretentious about the tug-of-war between art and money when your problems fit in an Altoids box.

Practical Love Songs 3

Stephen Stills’s “Love the One You’re With” has many flaws. A forgettable melody and some ill-placed “do do dos” are just two of the things it doesn’t have going for it. However, “Love the One You’re With” packs a critical message you ignore at your peril.

If you're down and confused
And you can't remember who you're talkin' to
Concentration slips away
'Cuz your baby is so far away

And if you can't be with the one you love
Honey love the one you're with

No one ends up with the companion they want. Instead, they eventually crunch the numbers, evaluate the mate they’ve hoodwinked, and figure: ”Well this one doesn’t seem to be dumping me, and I’m not getting any younger, so why the hell not?”

And though part of their brain may recognize they are settling, most folks never seem to fully reconcile this, which is what keeps marriage counselors in Courvoisier.

This inability to accept that they have settled is why so many idealize their high school sweetheart as some magical “one that got away.” For those still attending the Church of the High School Sweetheart, listen up: You were in high school, a time when what little free will we have is sublimated by tectonic hormonal shifts. Back then, you didn’t even grasp that the prom was just another dance. You didn’t even like dancing. You hated dressing up. You couldn’t wait for the bell to ring so you could get the hell out of school. Yet you allowed yourself to be convinced that that DANCE, which involved DRESSING UP, and was held AT SCHOOL, was a life and death crisis. And in the midst of all that confusion, you think you somehow had clarity about LOVE, the most esoteric facet of human existence?

SURE YOU DID.

Don't be angry, don't be sad
Don't sit cryin' of about the good times you had
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something to do

Something to do. That’s marriage in a nutshell. Marriage is primarily a way of avoiding spinsterdom. Being lonely is awful. Being lonely and old drives many seniors to literal insanity. When couples glorify growing old together, it isn’t because growing old together is romantic. It is because it is a relief to know you won’t grow old alone: “Whew, at least I’ll have a sidekick as I creep toward oblivion!”

Probably the biggest reason to settle down is to be saved from the embarrassment of dating in your forties. The 40-something bar scene gives new meaning to the term “last call,” and 40-something office romances either end with a lawsuit or with someone getting chased by a jilted, shotgun-wielding spouse. That leaves Internet dating, which involves the use of a technology that didn’t even exist when you were learning the ropes of courtship. Nothing says old and desperate like two grizzled singles pronouncing LOL as “lull.”

Settle down has the word settle in it for a reason. 99% of you aren’t going to be with the one you love, so devote your energy to loving the one you’re with. Life sucks. May as well have some company.

Practical Love Songs Part 2

When people think about songs of hardship, a name that comes to mind is John Mellencamp. He was born in a small town, he’s going to die in that small town, and along the way, he’s going to chronicle every loose lug nut that befalls the forsaken folk who inhabit that small town.

But many neglect to learn from John Cougar’s ultimate hard luck anthem: “I Need A Lover.” I’ll let Mr. Mellencamp tell it:

I need a lover that won't drive me crazy
Some girl to thrill me and then go away
I need a lover that won't drive me crazy
Some girl that knows the meaning of a
Hey hit the highway

A very biting and perceptive lyric. One reason so many couples are a mess is because they have obscene expectations of each other. When describing what their future mate MUST BE LIKE, it seems no whim is too absurd. Tell me this doesn’t sound familiar:

I want someone who knows when I’m happy. I want someone who knows when I’m sad. I want someone who knows when I need to be hugged and when I need to be bear-hugged. I want someone who knows when the muffins are done without having to look at the timer. Someone who can whittle a chair with one hand while massaging my back with the other. Someone who knows I like to be bitten on that little bump of skin behind my right earlobe that I’ve never bothered telling him is an erogenous zone and that not even my dermatologist can find…

Gee, with such simple requests, hard to imagine why the divorce rate is so high.

Mellencamp knows that all you need and all you should dare to expect is someone to thrill you…and then go away. You have heard that distance makes the heart grow fonder. You have heard that familiarity breeds contempt. John Cougar subtly reminds us of the accuracy of these sayings and throws in a pop hook for good measure.

What I’m proposing friends is that you manage your expectations. If you expect everything from a lover, you’ll be left with nothing. That is something both Jack and Diane can agree on.

Practical Love Songs

You don’t have to wait for Valentine’s Day to hear your radio upchuck a mushy mix of musical malarkey. As you flip from station to station, you’ll recognize one dominant theme; love. Money is an obsession on country and hip-hop radio (country about lacking it, hip-hop about rolling in it), but coinage jingles seldom journey beyond these two formats. Hard to imagine a soft rock single with a chorus about cash: “This dollar in my pocket says ‘In God We Trust,’ like I trust in you-U-U (cue artificial horn section).”

Not only do all stations pump love themes, they tend to be the same types of love themes; new love, dying love, unrequited love, loveboat. You rarely hear a song about practical love. I’m still waiting for a track that sings, “I hate ya girl, but I can’t pay both halves of the rent.“

A practical love song wouldn’t have to be that cynical, though. It could just describe authentic love encounters; the pointy logistics of real relationships rather than the Shakespearean, pie-in-the-sky portraits standard love songs paint for us.

Men with bruised egos often come to me seeking advice. Rather than give them rubber-stamped sympathy about “plenty of fish in the sea” or “those cankles portended bad things down the road,” I prescribe practical romance songs to help them through their troubles. A particularly educative tune is “B.B.D. (I Thought It Was Me)?” by Bell Biv Devoe:

I went out, last night
See, that's when I met a sexy girl
She was lookin' so right
She said, "I wanna take you for a trip around the world"

(I thought it was me) - I thought it was me who makes the girl this way
(I thought it was me) - I came to find out she's like that every day
(I thought it was me) - I thought it was me that makes that girl so wild
(I thought it was me) – I found out she's like that with all the guys

This New Jack fable says it all. Too many young men believe they possess a unique ability to ignite “the crazy” in women. They strut around convinced that each girl they seduce is normally a specimen of immovable frigidity. But when this godsend touches her, blind instinct takes over and l-o-o-k o-u-t…she can’t help but do crazy things! He then confidently reports back to his idiot pals about how he magically transformed her from “I don’t think so” to “Ay Papi!” You occasionally catch 40-year-olds spewing similar garbage, but their tone is transparent. It is the same wounded inflection they use when pretending to like coaching their daughter’s soccer team. They only recite the lie because they know if they don’t try to believe it, they’ll retreat to the shed with a fifth of Jack and a barrel of sleeping pills.

The vast majority of men cannot comprehend that it is every girl’s M.O. to convince you she doesn’t do “this” all the time. Why might that be? So she won’t seem like a whore who does “this” all the time. Of course she wants to downplay her experience. Of course she wants to make it seem like she is usually hyper-inhibited. And the best way to make her story stick is to wrap it up in effusive praise of her lover’s supposed one of a kind prowess.

When I was 19 and 20, I probably had similar delusions, and probably believed the delusions of my friends. I have now tiptoed past 30, but because 28 is the new 19, I am still hearing guys my age share sex tales with that same chunkhead bravado they should have outgrown long ago.

Gentlemen: You are embarrassing yourselves, your friends, the sex acts you are describing, and the ancient tradition of storytelling. Remember:

(I thought it was me) - I thought it was me that makes that girl so wild
(I thought it was me) – I found out she's like that with all the guys

Too bad post-sex chats aren’t conducive to speaking plainly. This is the one time a man might actually learn something from hearing a woman say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Overrated Songs by Otherwise Reliable Bands

D'yer Mak'er by Led Zeppelin

You probably don't know it by its title, but rather as the "OH...oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhh, you don't have to go" song.

When I hear "D'yer Mak'er" I can't help but think it's one of those sugary tunes they threw together FOR THE LADIES. As if Zeppelin needed such a song. When you're so deep in dames you're using them as aquariums, you probably don't need help on the wooing front.

Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden

Anyone who thinks they want their music to be nihilism with a beat...here ya go. You wanted nothingness? You got nothingness. Nothingness ain't so appetizing when it's resting on your dinner plate, is it?

I can't see what function "Black Hole Sun" serves. It isn't soothing when you're down. It brings no crescendo when you're up. Like a stillborn bug in a cocoon, "Black Hole Sun" just sits there waiting to become something it will never be.

If you like Soundgarden but prefer slower tracks, stick to the classics: "Like Suicide," "Boot Camp," or "Fell on Black Days."

Nothing Else Matters by Metallica

I love Metallica so much I feel dirty nit-picking them. But no one ever said the pursuit of truth was a clean business.

To me, "Nothing Else Matters" just isn't that special. Not terrible, but like a woman who thinks her stories are funny, it gets old quickly. I understand that Mr. Hetfield was feeling lonely while touring, and composed this after a phone call with his ladyfriend.

Had clearer heads prevailed, he could have instead called a radio station and dedicated someone else's song to his amore; perhaps a little Al Green.

Or he could have used an alias and requested Barry Manilow. He wouldn't have been the first. No one in Manilow circles uses his real name. Ticket tracking agencies have repeatedly found that 8 out of every 10 Manilow tickets are purchased with stolen credit cards. Better to risk larceny than be outed as a BM fan.

Rapture by Blondie

I get that it's historic. I get that it was the first #1 song with a rap verse. But just because "Rapture" is historic doesn't mean it is great. It may have broken the mold and helped usher in what followed, but that doesn't make it shine as a standalone.

"Rapture" was a germinal work, a precursor to greater things. And that's what it feels like; a scrimmage. Scrimmages are important forerunners to the Super Bowl, but there's a reason no one scalps tickets to them. I have yet to see an episode of "NFL Films" called "Great Snaps of the Pre-Season."

Everybody Hurts by REM

Apparently this song helps people. Glad to hear it. But even if "Everybody Hurts" kept the sawblade off your wrist, you must admit the lyrics have issues:

When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on

Don't let yourself go
'cause everybody cries
and everybody hurts
sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along...

'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends...

Either this song is a high budget gag or REM applied the cut-up method to a bunch of Hallmark Cards.

Is anything smellier than earnestness without subtlety? Isn't the whole point of song to contextualize moods through symbolism and metaphor? If all a song offers is a sappy check list of your problems, what the hell good is it? If I stub my toe, I want a song that provides a poetic framework for my pain. I don't want lyrics that say, "Oww, I stubbed my toe."

'Cause everybody stubs their toe. Sometimes. So hold on.

Unheralded Songs by Heralded Bands

"Hyacinth House" by The Doors

Not only is this song catchy and then some, it contains rock's only reference to vacant lavatories. That's right, the Lizard King actually sings "I feel the bathroom is clear." Spoken like a true late stage alcoholic.

"Across the Universe" by The Beatles

Even many Beatles aficionados seem to overlook this one. Can't imagine why. More haunting than "In My Life". More chilling than "Golden Slumbers". Yeah, I said it. You wanna make something of it, little doggie?! Well I don't, so pour yourself an absinthe martini and give peace a chance.

"(Nothing But) Flowers" by Talking Heads

Not just an underrated TH song; one of the most underrated tunes in rock history. It was pushed as a single, but probably suffered from its association with Naked, their breakup album. Kind of like getting a threesome from your wife the night before she files the divorce papers.

"Not Now John" by Pink Floyd

The one highlight on their last album with Waters; the anti-Thatcher clunker The Final Cut. Should you ever find yourself stuck in a band you need to get fired from, you can't go wrong writing an album like TFC. Works better than a two week notice. Oh well, I still say "Not Now John" is a diamond in the rough. But not a blood diamond, mind you. Mr. Waters wouldn't stand for such a thing.

"2000 Man" by The Rolling Stones

Used memorably in the classic film Bottle Rocket, yet it has failed to incite the passions of rock fans. I don't have anything witty to say about this, so if you need a laugh, just picture Keith Richards trying to speak Chinese.

"A Quick One, While He's Away" by The Who

Talk about a song succeeding in spite of itself; wacky lyrics, hasty tempo shifts...all the makings of a prog rock Hindenburg. Yet I don't know of another tune in The Who's catalogue where each member shines so equally. The version I've linked is so thrilling you'll even forgive Daltrey for dressing like Pocahontas: The Burlesque Years.