with DeadSun
You've seen him in Fan Speak all around
the antiMUSIC network, now DeadSun gets his big show as the host of his
very own talk show, The Not Quite-So DeadShow ! Forget Oprah and
Dr. Phil, DeadSun knows how to liven up a talk show.
 .
.
Redneck
Chic
"Just take the damned cowboy hat off, Tex."
If there's one rising trend in American
popular-music culture that destroys my sanity--- perhaps even above the
mindlessness of "gangsta" rap--- it is what I call the countrification
of the United States. Country music, and all of its accompanying behavioral
quirks, has seemingly and officially fulfilled its quest to permeate the
fabric of our society. I would love to know which bright think-tank coordinated
this effort, and WHY. Now, I can accept this sort of thing going on in
the southern and mid-western United States (in fact, I expect it), but
I live in the northeast--- Massachusetts, to be precise--- and I simply
cannot, WILL NOT, sit idly by as one of the last places in the country
which was traditionally free of this "Ahm-a goin' c-UH-ntry" nonsense succumbs
to the onset of Redneck Chic.
As a guideline (though with exceptions)---
country music is the very height of mundane sappiness. There's nothing
particularly exciting about some drawling, genetically dubious twat butchering
the life out of a pentatonic scale with a twangy guitar.
Perhaps if it were just a "music thing",
it wouldn't be such a bane of my existence, but more often than not, I
find that it comes down to being a behavioral mindset with these c-UH-ntry
clowns. I do not understand why someone not born into the redneck way of
life would find it fashionable to the point that they would voluntarily
impart it upon themself. What's the attraction? I wish that somebody who
could give me a sound explanation would step forward. What makes a person
wake up one day, and think to themself: "you know, it might do me good
to dress up like a third-rate John Wayne, and take on the personality of
a belligerent dullard."?
Again, there are eerie parallels with our
endearing culture of "ghetto chic". Whatever the reason, it has become
"hip" to walk and talk as if one has a sixth-grade education. I hope that
no one finds this to be a startling revelation. Ever notice that every
jackass who gets propped up in front of some daytime talk-show camera either
speaks like Forrest Gump or 50 Cent? Our lives have been overtaken by "Bubbas"
and "Lil' Dre Doggy Doggz". I can only hope that it isn't contagious, though
it seems that it is.
What's the story with this pandemic, "ruff-n-tuff"
cowboy fantasy that goes on in this country? How many real cowboys, by
trade, do we have left? A few hundred? So what about all of these other
ass punchers, for Christ's sake? Where's the costume party, cowboy?
Perhaps they're Trick-or-Treating--- for
chewing tobacco, six packs of Old Milwaukee, and second cousins to pork
when the sun goes down. I don't know. I'm just as confused as you are.
Maybe where some of you come from, some
damned "bubba" in a pick-up truck and a cowboy hat is (at least) somewhat
appropriate, but in eastern Massachusetts, it's nothing short of f*cking
imbecilic. What's the pick-up truck for--- the rugged terrain of the greater
Boston area? To navigate through the treacherous, mud-strewn trails down
at the mall and the local burger joint? I encounter these douchebags when
I am in line for my morning coffee at the drive-through. Sure enough, there's
the stupid cowboy hat, and the ear drum-sodomizing sounds of Garth Brooks
pouring forth from the 7,000,000 ton, dual rear wheeled, extended cab deluxe,
Rodeo-Edition Limited pick-up truck. Of course, if I'm really in luck,
I'll get to pass the time examining all of its proudly displayed stickers
for NASCAR, six-shooters, high-performance automotive parts, Confederate
flags (always doubly amusing in the northern US), and Harley Davidson (usually,
these are the same halfwits who are also "bikers" in their spare time).
Of course the most bitter of all realizations,
is that "ol' Jim Bob" in front me is typically something in the way of
a f*cking shoe salesman, and the closest that he's ever come to a-ropin'-and-a-brandin'
a herd of cattle, was yesterday when he went to Subway and ordered a large
steak and god damned cheese with everything on it. An applicable word leaps
to mind: "delusional".
Also; when I inquire as to what the possible
allure of listening to country music could be, I fail to acknowledge the
veracity of these conclusions:
1.) Random male: "Like, Faith Hill is hot.
And you know it."
2.) Random male: "Like, Shania Twain is
hot. And you know it."
3.) Random female: "Like, Toby Keith is
hot. You wouldn't understand."
4.) Random female: "Like, Vince Gill is
hot. You wouldn't understand."
Incredible. Grown up persons--- all of
whom presumably underwent some form of schooling during the course of their
lives--- predicating their musical preferences upon the physical looks
of the performer. I expect this rationale from 12 year-olds, not adults.
I also tend to shy away from the assertion
that "c-UH-ntry" music is the spirit of America, "and if'n ya'll don't
listen to it, then ya'll are kinda like America-haters and communists."
--- and this is AFTER informing the mouth-breather that my voting record
HARDLY makes me a left-leaning utopian.
This does very little in the way of accrediting
the image of a musical style which already induces auto-associations to
other grand cultural achievements such as steer wrestling, calf roping,
bull riding, "coon" hunting, calf dressing (yes, that's putting
a calf into human clothes--- don't forget to bring grandma along), and
line dancing. In other words--- "grand cultural achievements" should be
taken to mean "insensately dumb hick activities". Where do they come up
with this garbage? What's next--- banjo f*cking?
As for the poseurs in the northeastern
United State--- just take the damned cowboy hat off, Tex.
True to life cowboys are few and far between,
and our modern-day, suburban lifestyles cannot be toughened by the dull-witted,
nasal twang of a country song, a comically large belt buckle, and a homely
plaid shirt. Donkey.
It's all Billy-Ray Cyrus' fault. He brought
it to the rest of the country in the 1990s, and this is one moronic storm
that I'll just have to wait out. In the meantime, I'll be the guy behind
the "NASCAR-hero" sitting in the Ford F350, at the drive through window,
consumed by both irrepressible laughter and rage.
I hope that I'm not alone.
See you next month, kiddies.
DS
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