I dare you to contemplate this
Feb 072013
hrrundivbakshi
Jan 212013
Give this poster a number already.
Are you exhausted and emotionally drained by the constant, vaguely conversational obligations you face on today’s social media platforms? Are you searching for a mindless, interaction-free way to sort-of-but-not-really connect with fellow middle-aged rock and roll fans with whom you share only the loosest bonds of electronic “friendship”? You’re in luck!
Today, we introduce a new feature here on Rock Town Hall, where we purposely sidestep all the deep, meaningful analysis and thoughtful commentary, and just go for the kind of lazy, internet-age, lowest-common-denominator commentary the world craves. In this feature, thoughtlessly titled “1 to 10,” we ask you, the reader, to simply assess the excellence of a rock artist, performance or artifact on a — yes, you’ve guessed — scale of 1 to 10. You are being asked for a number — a digit, a figure; and that is all. Having delivered your numerical verdict, you are then free to wander back to your electronic treetop to munch on fleas gathered off the backs of other internet residents you barely know. What could be easier?
Today’s subject for “1 to 10” analysis: the poster created for Prince’s most recent concert series in Chicago earlier this year. A smaller image can be found at the top of this post; for a more detailed look, click here.
I for one think this is a “10,” but, as always, I look forward to your responses.
HVB
Loading ...Jan 112013
It’s a simple enough question: would you rather have all the dudes (and they are all dudes) from Hear’n Aid or all the men and women from The Cause (aka Christian Artists United to Save the Earth) staying at your house for a week? Remember, you’ll have to share the bathroom.
I look forward to your responses.
HVB
Jan 102013
Your personal workspace, ca. 1979.
The question is a simple one: What’s the best gatefold album cover for sorting weed? Be sure to think carefully before answering. You need something you can stare at, but not something that might, you know, totally freak you out. Something lifestyle-appropriate is a must, so: no Ella Fitzgerald compilations! Extra credit if you can think of a recent double-LP that would feel comfortable resting in your lap as you push the seeds to this side and the stems to that.
I look forward to your responses.
HVB
Jan 032013
All of these Cougar/Mellencamps is not like the other
In order to put as much distance as possible between our terrifyingly brilliant hive of Rock know-it-all brains and Mod’s latest, most incomprehensible post about Fonzie’s light blue windbreaker, I suggest we put the power of the RTH Hive to work on a project that’s really worthy of our unique skill set: determining, once and for all, which artist or band went through the greatest number of name changes over its history. Lurker Sgtpeppermintpatty suggested this thread idea when he said he was having trouble determining an answer to this question on his own. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, the Sergeant looked across the office divider that separates us and wondered aloud: “The way I see it, it’s a tie between John Cougar Mellencamp and Jefferson Airplane. Both went through three name changes.”
In a flash, I leapt across the office wall and grabbed him by the lapels. I slapped his cheek, as if to wake him from a deep sleep, and screamed, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Johnny Cougar has had FOUR names over his career!” I grabbed a handful of his hair and steadied myself to bash his forehead into his computer monitor — you know, to teach him a lesson about accuracy in rock trivia. It was then that I stopped, frozen. Frozen with shame. Frozen with confusion. I stopped myself because I had to admit: *I* didn’t know who really held the coveted band/artist name change title.
I released the Sarge from my kung-fu grip, and leaned back against the fabric wall that separates our workstations. Hands trembling, I fished in my breast pocket for a cigarette. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I felt vaguely sick. A hypocrite — that’s what I was. A know-nothing, an idiot. I had to make good on this situation. But I needed rules. It wouldn’t be good enough just to pick a band that had 15 different incarnations as unrecorded teenagers before hitting it big. No, rule number one had to be: your names don’t get counted when you’re not recording for a label you don’t own. Wiping the blood from his upper lip and spitting out busted teeth like corn niblets, SPP suggested that there’d have to be a maximal mathematical band member change percentage to ensure the band’s name wasn’t changing because the band itself really had changed. We decided on a maximal band member change percentage per name change of 25%.
With these rules in hand, we felt prepared to face this question head-on. But we still need your help. So pitch in. Muck in. Do your part. Help us unravel this mystery. Please.
I look forward to your responses.
HVB
Dec 032012
This ought to be easy. All you have to do is pick one of the two options laid out below, from one-time children’s action figure model and occasional televangelist MC Hammer.
As always, it helps your cause to list a reason or two for your preference.
Version A: Lots of gangsta ho’s eagerly shakin’ they booty — but be warned: the price of admission to Hammer’s pool party is never being able to un-see the MC’s wedding tackle, barely restrained by his tasteful, zebra-striped banana hammock. Believe me, he makes darn sure you never forget it.
Version B: No tits, no ass, and no Hammer-wang. But much better choreography!
So what’s it going to be? A or B?
I look forward to your responses.
HVB
Dec 022012
Any therapist will tell you that a necessary step in reducing psychic pain from a traumatic event is to confront it, head on — or at least to acknowledge it happened, by describing it if possible. That principle forms the root of this, the first of a series of posts in which we gather together in a healing circle to group-confront an egregious example of poor Rock behavior that might otherwise leave us scarred.
I am a huge Charlie Rich apologist. Like my fandom for Rory Gallagher, I admit my desire to like his music is almost greater than the amount I actually like it— so I am thrilled when I discover a bit of audio or video that bolsters my opinion that the Silver Fox was a true country music maverick, a magnificent pop songwriter, and a closet Southern soul master of the highest order. On the flip side… well, when I found the video clip you see here, I felt a new level of pit open up in the pit of my stomach. It did more than humanize Rich: it cast him out of the musical heavens at the white-hot burning end of God’s own flaming sword, branding him charlatan.
I have been transfixed by this video since discovering it. I know it captures a performance when Rich was at the pinnacle of his fame — also a time when he was least happy, and most prone to hitting the bottle. (Oh, how I wish there was a clip out there of the CMA awards ceremony when Charlie, presumably stoned out of his gourd, set John Denver’s award for country music male entertainer of the year on fire.) And, Charlie Rich fans, please spare me your explanations about how the Silver Fox was a balladeer, and not an uptempo performer. The plain and simple fact is that this video destroyed a part of my soul. I need your help confronting it. I need your help discovering all the ways I’ve been hurt by this performance of “The Dance of Love” from 1975. So, tell me: what’s hurtful; what’s painful; what’s just downright wrong about this performance?
I look forward to your responses, and I look forward to this opportunity to bond and heal together.
HVB
