Top Ten Musical Turn Offs…
nd so we come to the other side – the deal-breakers. Everything is falling into place and I can’t believe my luck when… my new accessory fumbles the pass at the touchline. He becomes no-longer knicker-wetting, but gut wrenching. If it was guy dreamland last week, it’s waking nightmare now. But, despite what you may think, I am not colder than a snowman’s nose. If my potential beloved had one of these in his collection and was able to defend his choice with style, grace and wit, then we may be able to nude-wrestle it out. And of course all this goes to out of the window if I feel fire down below when I kiss him. He could loathe all music and I wouldn’t care. Because some things are more important than good or bad taste. Like a great ass.
The chippy near my place is called Mr Fish after its owner. Mr Fish’s destiny was determined from a young age by his surname. I fear the same fate has befallen David Gray since his music couldn’t be more mid-level or colourless. A white tube sock has more personality. It’s music for people who don’t like music. This says vanilla, missionary position sex every other Tuesday night for the rest of my life.
While I have a sliver of time for The Grateful Dead, I draw the crunchy hippy-dippy music line at Phish. Inexorably jammy noodlers who couldn’t find a tune if it were hidden in an Eiffel Tower-sized bong. Anyone who is a big enough stoner to dig this would eat 16 bags of corn chips and screw his dealer for more gear before he even noticed I was in the room. Furthermore too much weed hits not only the brain cells – it hits the cajones. Two words: erectile dysfunction.
Now what we have here is a serious lapse in judgment. Earnest in all the wrongs ways, it’s the simpering syrupy musings of a dread-locked cheese ball. I can think of nothing that would crumple me faster than a guy using dramatis personae Adam Duritz’s words to express his love. This stuff screams “I am a shallow fool who sees profundity in the worst clichés.” Yeeesh.
Free Jazz – John Zorn et al
Did you ever wonder what the sound of pretentiousness is? Well here’s your answer. The most indulgent loosey-goosey wank-fest you could ever hope not to hear. People who think this is cool just because it’s esoteric are the same people who spend far too much time alone in their bedrooms debating the semiotics of the post-modern revolution. Steer clear, because these emperors have no clothes.
One of my old boyfriends used to refer to reggae as the “Paprika of music. A little bit for spice,” which isn't the right attitude to have. And I’m not talking about Marley in general here, but Legend in specific. It blows firstly because it doesn’t begin to touch the depth and breadth of Marley’s gifts, and secondly because it’s for lazy people who can’t be arsed to really investigate an artist. And lazy guys are the worst. These guys like the girl on top - not cause they want to empower you - but because they get to lie down and shag at the same time. The only upshot is that Marley’s family gets money from it. Plus my Dad owned this! How uncool do you feel now?
Steve Miller Band
Every frat Steve I have ever met owns something by him – more than likely it’s his Greatest Hits. Nuff said. You might as well chuck on a baseball cap with two beer cups attached to it and jump into your Dad’s 4x4 Canyonaro because running me over is the only way you will ever get near me.
Fact: guys who dig this never wash their sheets. If I dared enter their bedroom-cum-dungeon lair, their sheets would probably be able to get up and greet me. Insert shudder here. The decision to be the Bride of Satan will be made by me, not some smelly dude, thank you very much.
Matchbox Twenty, 3 Doors Down and assorted other American alterna-bands of their ilk…
A genre that needs to die a fast, painful death. Basically walking beer ads, this mall-rock is relentlessly mediocre in all respects. It’s not alternative. It’s not cool. It just sucks. And I don’t care how many quasi-rebellious yet generically good-looking guys you get to front these bands – it all adds up to super-shitty. Guys who like this also really like living in their parent’s basements, chasing jailbait and believe that high-fives are an acceptable form of greeting.
Any ‘Now that’s what I call…’ comp.
1 is forgivable. Hell, we’ve all gotten that dodgy Christmas gift. But more than 1 or horror – every one of them – I would be afraid to be alone in a room with him since that is surely a warning sign to a high-functioning psychotic. My Valentine’s Day presents from this guy would include a box of chocolates and a human head.
Sarah McLachlan /Norah Jones
Guys buy these for two reasons. One: they think chicks dig them (and to be fair – we do). Two: they want to look sensitive and quietly intelligent. Comparable to a Rimbaud or Flaubert novel casually tossed next to the bed. Calculating and nefarious to the nth degree. Instead of trying to appear intelligent and sensitive, why not be intelligent and sensitive? Besides, any lass who knows anything about French literature would be onto your sissy-ass scam in le heartbeat. Lads just stop it now. Think for a minute. If I am in your room, the probability is sky-high I like you for YOU, not for the façade you are trying to project. Believe it.
By: Lisa Oliver
Published on: 2003-09-26