Sunday, November 9, 2008

tiny fists of fury

Sunday mornings I have a highly predictable routine. I get up. Shower... or not. Stop by the Main St. Publix & pick up my Sunday edition of the NYT. I then spend the next few hours at 2nd Street sipping coffee, that I sometimes neglect to pay for, and enjoy the company of wonderful people.

While today lacked Mr. Clark, who I usually shoot the shit with, I had a wonderful time. A happy accident of running into Faryn and catching up with her. 

NYT left me without much rage or strong feelings of any sort. But the Satellite... oh the Satellite fueled some fury. 

Review of Jenny Lewis' new CD, Acid Tongue, made me snarl through gritted teeth: "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Now I'm not really a Jenny Lewis fan. I like some of her stuff, and back in the day loved Rilo Kiley. Not so much now, I've grown out of it so to speak. But I would never wish this upon ANY artist.

Below is the first line of the review:

"I was primed to take pleasure in this album; I enjoyed Jenny Lewis' last CD, I really am fond of Rilo Kiley, and to be honest, big breasts turn me on a lot."

Excuse me J. Maggio, but what the hell do big breasts have to do with her CD? What do they have to do with Lewis' music? Is there some correlation to the quality of music by a female artist and her breast size? Can we make similar judgements about penis size and quality of music by male artists? Has anyone made such a claim about a male artists? 'So and so has a tiny penis therefore his music is very thoughtful' or 'He's got quite the package, totally making up for his lack of musical talent.' NO self respecting journalist or writer would even think about publishing such a statement. The shear fact that J. Maggio had the audacity to MENTION Lewis' breasts when talking about her music was enough to set me off. 

So, naturally I had to read more:

"But this is a horrible CD only somewhat redeemed by the presence of Elvis Costello - who must also like big boobies, too - on its best track, "Carpetbaggers." Gone are the insightful lyrics of previous Jenny Lewis output, only to be replaced with hackneyed and banal lines like "our love is thicker than angel wings" and "nobody believes a liar." Wow! Like Sarah Palin, even Lewis' "hotness" cannot redeem the complete lack of substance. Some songs - like the horrifying "The Next Messiah" - even sound like they are based around the first riff the guitarist played at practice. Even Lewis' voice takes a nice timbre in the Dusty Springfield tradition, the lyrics are so hideous, and the melody so bland that one cannot help but press "skip" on the iPod. The title track and the Elvis Costello duo are about the only two songs of value on this ghastly CD. I think I will stick with Lewis' older work, and looking at pictures of her best "features" - ironically knowing that I'm not sexist at all." - J. Maggio

No Maggio... you're just Gainesville's tool of the month.