Societal Intake of Death

This week, death was an overbearing force in pop culture. Which is odd, because death is around us constantly, but no one thinks about its true effect on society until a famous person dies. It's an all too alarming situation that's the only way we can cope with tragedy, though. If we give significance to every person that dies, how do we move on with our lives? It's cold and callous to view one death as more or less important than the other. But it's a reality in the world we live in. We live not to mourn, but to accomplish, I suppose. This is probably an obvious sentiment to everyone reading this.

The Bronx Saves Punk Rock

(More retroblogging here. This was from sometime in February destined to be posted on Distracted by Movement, but I just didn't post it. But now you kids get to read it here!)

Sometimes, punk is a hilarious and great genre of music. People claw and get mad whenever a band "sells out" or sounds like crap...which is pretty much determined by the fact that they sold out. In short, it's created a mess of a genre. Any band that sounds like old school punk is readily ignored, because old school punk is terribly crafted music. And pop-punk is plain annoying. But somehow, "hard punk" with pop sensibilities (i.e. catchy choruses and such mixed in with vocals that don't sound like a man's pants are on too tight) is exactly the perfect recipe to save the genre. The Clash, The Ramones, and etc. were poppy bands that managed to sort of rock while they also talked about rocking the casbah, blitzkrieg bopping, and being sedated.

But maybe one band called The Bronx figured out that silly simple rock is exactly what the genre needs. Now when someone says a band is simple, it's usually pejorative. They're trying to slam the band for making songs that are skin deep, that mean nothing deep in any sort of sense. And admittedly, nothing The Bronx talks about in a band is anything I can really legitimately relate to or are about anything particularly deep, not even the desire to kill one's friends is a sentiment that's really deep in any way, shape, or form.

But that's exactly what punk rock at its core should be. When Johnny Rotten acted like a blooming idiot in 1977, all while his bandmates praised the awesomeness of anarchy and even with the awareness that they really hated the Queen, they still were pretty intellectually voided. Even when Johnny Rotten made up for it with the inventive Public Image Ltd. later on, none of the Sex Pistols' sentiments were deep. No, they were simplistic, they had no subtext to them. They liked anarchy and hated the Queen of England. They wanted to be crazy and stupid and overthrow authority.

While I can't say The Bronx is all about anarchy, they relish in being "not deep." They are about laughing about silly things and laughing at the silly people in their silly town of Los Angeles because they can. Now you may say, "Isn't that like every other punk band?" Well, yeah. I guess so, in a way. Except Against Me's now being concerned about war, Green Day's being purely retarded about war, and most of The Bronx's contemporaries aren't nearly as charming at being stupid. They know how to play instruments, and they know how to hate a record label, and they sip cigars and smoke wine.

The band has released three full length albums, with only the second being a dalliance with a major label. (And while I don't believe that major labels always make a band suck, The Bronx (II) isn't as good as the other two. So maybe there's truth to this, in a way.) The first and the third record are almost complete soundalikes, which is also usually a pejorative comparison. But once again, this is exactly how it should sound. They should be a perfectly fine hour-long punk song that has very brief stopgaps. Almost all of the songs should be three minute blasts that bring on the same sort of subject matter, whether it be insecurity and anger on Bronx (I) or insecurity and anger on Bronx (III). The only difference between the first and the third record has to be that the third record is a huge rant on the music industry. "Digital Leash" from Bronx (III) doubles as a massive apology to those who hated the second record and as a great rockin' album closer that inexplicably has two minutes of silence on its end.

Me and My Rant-Filled Anger: Part I

(Originally Curated: April 22nd, 2009)

Welcome to my rant mode, it's nice to see you all again. I don't know what it is about this week that's suddenly had me driven up the wall, but eh, it happens. I don't hate life or anything of the sort, but shit pisses me off rather quickly, so there ya go. It'll be on general topical annoyances that will immediately date me, and with that in mind, I feel I should start writing and a making general point.

Annoyance:

- The media coverage of Susan Boyle.

There's great uplifting stories in the world that are supposed to remind us that superficiality shouldn't triumph over hard work. That "pretty" people don't rule the world and so on and so forth. That's why people are connecting with Ms. Susan Boyle, a YouTube sensation because she's a damn good singer and that's all she needs to be. So immediately the entertainment media talks about her looks and her jacket and her "not being kissed" (which was a kind of a self-humbling joke she made herself on the Britain's Got Talent show) again as if any of those things are issues that actually matter. I wouldn't buy a Susan Boyle CD or anything, but the woman can sing. But of course, talent is insignificant when looks are supposed to be front and center. Good one, guys.

(Two months later, of course, I am reminded that Boyle's slowly gone insane from the media heat and eh, I don't blame her. I would do much the same. Melt in the heat of "what's Susan doing" and whatnot. And yes, I'm only adding this as an excuse to post this.)