If you missed out on this show, be sad.
Not as sad as if you missed out on their show at Trees almost 3 years ago, when they gave a seriously unbeatable performance, but be sad.
It is my personal, factual, undisputed, universally-accepted-as-truth belief that BRMC is incapable of giving a bad performance. The night of April 27th was no exception.
Just in case you’re in the 10% of the world’s population that has yet to see the travesty that is “Friday” by Rebecca Black, allow me to educate you.
If you thought that song “Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend” was bad, just wait until you see this—er, the thing you already watched at the top of the page. “Friday” is a song that gives old folks in their 20s like me insight into what the kids are up to these days, and apparently, 13-year-olds are up to no damn good, especially on Fridays, which, according to Rebecca, come after Thursdays (even though we all know that Thursday is actually in between Monday and Brednesday).
BRMC no longer stands for “Black Rebel Motorcycle Club”. After their amazing show at Trees in Dallas, TX, last Sunday night, it now stands for “Badass Rockin’ Mind-Blowing Concert”. In other words, my new drug. Their concert was so good, it felt like what I imagine cult members think they’re gonna feel like after they drink the Kool-Aid.
When I woke up on Monday morning, the whole night felt really surreal, like a meth-head dream. I’ve never smoked meth though, so I have no idea what that feels like. The surrealism of the night before makes me think BRMC concerts are drugs in and of themselves, only better since they’re less likely to kill you. I’ve only been to two of their shows, and now attending more is an absolute necessity. In March earlier this year, they came to the House of Blues in Dallas, and the show was good, but Sunday night’s was way better. This was either because Robert Levon Been was on fire, or because this time around, there weren’t any douchebags asking for a tangerine to the face.
Update: I am a douchebag. The Pretty Black Chains did not open for BRMC at the Dallas HOB show. They don’t have 15 guitarists that whip people with their Rapunzel-length hair, and from the sampler I heard on their Myspace, they’re pretty good– the opposite of the band I was originally referring to. I don’t know who the band was that opened for BRMC in Dallas this past March, and it seems no one on the internet knows either. They’re ghosts, maybe? Anyway, The Pretty Black Chains, please accept my sincerest apology for my inaccurate and rude blog post. You guys are definitely not the band I was thinking of. Again, I’m sorry.
I’ve compiled a list of disgusting band names. Keep in mind that this list is not a reflection on the quality of the band’s music, just their horrible names.
Limp Bizkit: First of all, what does a correctly spelled “limp biscuit” even mean? If you don’t know, consult Urban Dictionary and prepare to barf out all your innards. Seriously, why would anyone name anything after that?! “Hey, we’re so badass that we’re gonna name our band after a super gay ‘game’, even though we’re sort of homophobes. And we’re gonna spell ‘biscuit’ wrong! Awesome.”
I wrote this, most likely on some kind of sugar high the day before it was due, for part of a writing “packet” I had to turn in as my final when I took a creative writing class. It’s loaded with marching band references most people won’t understand, and if some people with marching band experience read this, they might not find it terribly accurate.
The bus pulled into the Canon ISD Stadium at 8:00 am for the Canon Marching Band Festival, but Mr. Avery wasn’t letting us get off yet. Most kids were asleep. Megan and Adair were sitting behind Chase and me. They were both listening to Megan’s pink iPod and they kept kicking the back of our seat to the beat. I knew they were listening to “Party in the USA” because I could hear it. I wished they would quit it; my back was staring to hurt.
“Miley Cyrus sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Chase, “but she’s kinda hot.”
I frowned. To me, Miley Cyrus looked like she was ten. “Gross.”
“Charlie, did you just say Miley Cyrus was gross?” Megan gasped, poked her little black-haired head up over our seat and yanked the headphones out of her ears.
“What about Miley?” Adair shouted over the music only she could hear.
“Miley Cyrus is a famous singer and actress. She even has her own clothing line. I’m pretty sure that makes her cooler than you two losers.” Megan stuck out her tongue at us through her purplish lips.
“Not for long!” Chase got excited. “Not when our band gets discovered!”
It wasn’t much of a band. It was Chase, our Mexican pal, Ricky Martinez (Ricky Martin when we felt like being mean), and some guy named Jed he met at the bowling alley who was like thirty years old. One day Chase told me I was the manager and since then I’d been going to his house every Sunday night for band practice. So during every practice, I ate my weight in Cheetos while sitting on Chase’s couch and watching the band, or “Attack of the Weasels,” play Guitar Hero, the real instruments lying in the background untouched. I’d stopped going recently, though, because Jed was starting to creep me out. I thought he’d been going to Chase’s house to hit on his mom, but it was starting to seem like he was more interested in Chase.
I don’t care much for top 40 music, but the other day I was listening to the radio and heard this brilliant, ethereal melody pumping through my car speakers*. The song I heard is “Power” by Kanye West, an artist I truly admire for his creativity and humility*. He seems to stay humble above all else*. Yet “Power” delves into the arrogant depths of his psyche, revealing personal secrets and thoughts of sexual deviancy.
Many of you have already heard this song, but have you truly analyzed its message? You can find the lyrics here, and you can listen to the song here, but only my blog has broken down this artistic piece, line by line, with a literary analysis. In my analysis, which I researched thoroughly, I provide a stanza of “Power” followed by analysis.