Under the Scalpel: Dissecting Pop Culture One Song at a Time

asimplecomplex · 02-11-2010, 05:56 AM

I write a music column that aims to help people discover good new music and laugh at bad music. It's written from a very personal perspective. It's heavily biased. And hopefully it's a little funny sometimes too.

Under the Scalpel 01.28.10: Dream Theater, BoB, Machine Head
Can Machine Head pull off a Pantera song with their long history of bad remakes? Can BoB make this metalhead swoon over a romantic club jam? And somebody please tell me when Air Supply started recording under the name Dream Theater!

excerpt:
Mars' romantic crooning is combined with BoB's singing and rapping, giving the song three distinct vocal performances like a classic Bell Biv Devoe track. Mars handles the Ricky Bell soul crooning, and BoB fills both the Biv-rapping and Devoe-singing roles.
The track features a groovy, 1970's-style walking bass line, subtle guitar stabs, tender piano, and dreamy new wave synthesizer melodies played over a hip-hop drum beat that brings classic Arrested Development to mind. These elements are a winning combination, giving the song a warm feel that helps it stand out above most of today's soulless dance pop hits.

I'll post a link to the article here after I've made 15 posts

Under the Scalpel 02.11.10: Avril Lavigne, Train, You Say Party! We Say Die!
Can Avril Lavigne write a decent song on her own? Does Train know when to abandon a terrible song? And why the hell would someone name a band "You Say Party! We Say Die!"?

excerpt:
Two words leap to mind when I think of Lavigne writing a song without having the hands of hitmaking outfit The Matrix shoved up her backside like a ventriloquist's puppet. The first is "uh" and the second is "oh".
As the song progresses, I'm strapped to a chair at a high school talent show, wincing as each note pierces my soul like a rusty machete. Windows begin breaking throughout the room. Cats run for shelter under couches. Dogs howl. Birds scatter from the branches of trees several yards away from my house. I'm being subjected to the wail fail from hell.

I'll post a link to the article here after I've made 15 posts

SATCHMO · 02-11-2010, 07:29 AM

Please note that if you post a link it will be deleted by a moderator as advertising and promotion is a violation of forum policy.

asimplecomplex · 02-18-2010, 01:21 PM

ok. no link. got it.

Under the Scalpel 02.18.10

On the eve of Valentine's Day, I was driving home listening to Sirius Love Channel 3 – just to get into the proper mood for the upcoming holiday – when Barry White's classic song "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe" began to play.

Immediately, I spun the volume knob clockwise and ripped it off the radio. The Sultan of Soul was in the house. And I was his backup. I then proceeded to belt lyrics out alongside Mr. White at eardrum-shattering volume, complete with random, poorly choreographed arm flailing. I'm quite certain the people in cars around me thought I was certifiably nuts.

After our fourth rehearsal, I was primed and ready to go. Oh, the off-key caterwauling my wife was soon to be subjected to was sure to be reasonable grounds for divorce.

Fortunately (for me), she's developed total immunity to my awful serenading, having mastered the art of completely tuning me out. And that's a good thing. Not only does my voice still crack sometimes like a teenager going through puberty, but when I've finally failed to hit enough correct notes, I succumb to a fiery falsetto so obnoxious any innocent bystander would assume my raisins had flown south for the winter.

But I digress.

Last week I heard songwriter-turned-artist Robin Thicke's "steamy-meets-raisinless" song "Sex Therapy" for the first time. Sadly, I did not get the urge to crank up the volume on this particular pop soul song for a number of reasons.

First, being a white R&B artist is a bit like being a white rapper. In the world of rap, for every Eminem there are a hundred cheesy Vanilla Ices. The same goes for blue-eyed soul. For every Teena Marie, there are a hundred Rick Astleys (on a totally unrelated note, click this link, I dare ya!) Choosing the career of being a Caucasian soul crooner is no easy feat. You have to be better than good; you have to be amazing. Thicke clearly is not.

Second, attempting to get into this song's groove is like trying to run in three feet of water. The beat sounds chopped and screwed like a 45 being played at 33 RPM. Plus it never changes. Not even slightly.

Third, Thicke's voice sounds like a 45 being played at 78 RPM. I can't help but feel I'm listening to Alvin Seville set the mood for a little "bow chicka wow wow".

Lastly, the lyrics are generic and trite. Even his pilfering of the Lesley Gore song "It's My Party" can't save this song.

It's your body, you can yell if you want to,
Loud if you want to, scream if you want to,
Just let me love you, lay right here,
Girl, don't be scared of me,
Give you sex therapy, give you sex therapy.

If I wanted to hear Marvin ***e's "Sexual Healing", I'd just cue it up on my music player. I don't need a helium-sucking George Michael look-alike to rewrite it.

Thicke's attempts at being romantic in this song fall completely flat. However, if he truly wants show his partner some romance, I have an idea. How about doing a little less bragging about his "super sperm" and a little more asking his dad to take down the naked poster of his wife hanging in the living room. Just a suggestion.

I prefer my soul the way my cousin Dan likes his coffee: black and strong. Spin me some Barry White, Marvin ***e, Anita Baker, Otis Redding, et al, and I'm a happy soul. Still, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy an occasional shrill R&B number like Michael Jackson's "Liberian Girl" or Prince's "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World". Hell, I can even stomach Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" once per decade.

But "Sex Therapy"? Sorry, I won't be busting this Thicke.

My wife got a chance to watch the song's video. She commented that Thicke may have nice teeth and eyes, but he sings higher than even she can – and "that is not a good thing". Hmm… I'm starting to think she'd almost prefer my singing over Thicke's.

Almost.

02-11-2010, 05:56 AM	#1 (permalink)
asimplecomplex Groupie Join Date: Feb 2010 Location: NH Posts: 14	Under the Scalpel: Dissecting Pop Culture One Song at a Time I write a music column that aims to help people discover good new music and laugh at bad music. It's written from a very personal perspective. It's heavily biased. And hopefully it's a little funny sometimes too. Under the Scalpel 01.28.10: Dream Theater, BoB, Machine Head Can Machine Head pull off a Pantera song with their long history of bad remakes? Can BoB make this metalhead swoon over a romantic club jam? And somebody please tell me when Air Supply started recording under the name Dream Theater! excerpt: Mars' romantic crooning is combined with BoB's singing and rapping, giving the song three distinct vocal performances like a classic Bell Biv Devoe track. Mars handles the Ricky Bell soul crooning, and BoB fills both the Biv-rapping and Devoe-singing roles. The track features a groovy, 1970's-style walking bass line, subtle guitar stabs, tender piano, and dreamy new wave synthesizer melodies played over a hip-hop drum beat that brings classic Arrested Development to mind. These elements are a winning combination, giving the song a warm feel that helps it stand out above most of today's soulless dance pop hits. I'll post a link to the article here after I've made 15 posts Under the Scalpel 02.11.10: Avril Lavigne, Train, You Say Party! We Say Die! Can Avril Lavigne write a decent song on her own? Does Train know when to abandon a terrible song? And why the hell would someone name a band "You Say Party! We Say Die!"? excerpt: Two words leap to mind when I think of Lavigne writing a song without having the hands of hitmaking outfit The Matrix shoved up her backside like a ventriloquist's puppet. The first is "uh" and the second is "oh". As the song progresses, I'm strapped to a chair at a high school talent show, wincing as each note pierces my soul like a rusty machete. Windows begin breaking throughout the room. Cats run for shelter under couches. Dogs howl. Birds scatter from the branches of trees several yards away from my house. I'm being subjected to the wail fail from hell. I'll post a link to the article here after I've made 15 posts

02-11-2010, 07:29 AM	#2 (permalink)
SATCHMO Al Dente Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: Texas Posts: 4,708	Please note that if you post a link it will be deleted by a moderator as advertising and promotion is a violation of forum policy.

02-18-2010, 01:21 PM	#3 (permalink)
asimplecomplex Groupie Join Date: Feb 2010 Location: NH Posts: 14	ok. no link. got it. Under the Scalpel 02.18.10 On the eve of Valentine's Day, I was driving home listening to Sirius Love Channel 3 – just to get into the proper mood for the upcoming holiday – when Barry White's classic song "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe" began to play. Immediately, I spun the volume knob clockwise and ripped it off the radio. The Sultan of Soul was in the house. And I was his backup. I then proceeded to belt lyrics out alongside Mr. White at eardrum-shattering volume, complete with random, poorly choreographed arm flailing. I'm quite certain the people in cars around me thought I was certifiably nuts. After our fourth rehearsal, I was primed and ready to go. Oh, the off-key caterwauling my wife was soon to be subjected to was sure to be reasonable grounds for divorce. Fortunately (for me), she's developed total immunity to my awful serenading, having mastered the art of completely tuning me out. And that's a good thing. Not only does my voice still crack sometimes like a teenager going through puberty, but when I've finally failed to hit enough correct notes, I succumb to a fiery falsetto so obnoxious any innocent bystander would assume my raisins had flown south for the winter. But I digress. Last week I heard songwriter-turned-artist Robin Thicke's "steamy-meets-raisinless" song "Sex Therapy" for the first time. Sadly, I did not get the urge to crank up the volume on this particular pop soul song for a number of reasons. First, being a white R&B artist is a bit like being a white rapper. In the world of rap, for every Eminem there are a hundred cheesy Vanilla Ices. The same goes for blue-eyed soul. For every Teena Marie, there are a hundred Rick Astleys (on a totally unrelated note, click this link, I dare ya!) Choosing the career of being a Caucasian soul crooner is no easy feat. You have to be better than good; you have to be amazing. Thicke clearly is not. Second, attempting to get into this song's groove is like trying to run in three feet of water. The beat sounds chopped and screwed like a 45 being played at 33 RPM. Plus it never changes. Not even slightly. Third, Thicke's voice sounds like a 45 being played at 78 RPM. I can't help but feel I'm listening to Alvin Seville set the mood for a little "bow chicka wow wow". Lastly, the lyrics are generic and trite. Even his pilfering of the Lesley Gore song "It's My Party" can't save this song. It's your body, you can yell if you want to, Loud if you want to, scream if you want to, Just let me love you, lay right here, Girl, don't be scared of me, Give you sex therapy, give you sex therapy. If I wanted to hear Marvin *e's "Sexual Healing", I'd just cue it up on my music player. I don't need a helium-sucking George Michael look-alike to rewrite it. Thicke's attempts at being romantic in this song fall completely flat. However, if he truly wants show his partner some romance, I have an idea. How about doing a little less bragging about his "super sperm" and a little more asking his dad to take down the naked poster of his wife hanging in the living room. Just a suggestion. I prefer my soul the way my cousin Dan likes his coffee: black and strong. Spin me some Barry White, Marvin *e, Anita Baker, Otis Redding, et al, and I'm a happy soul. Still, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy an occasional shrill R&B number like Michael Jackson's "Liberian Girl" or Prince's "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World". Hell, I can even stomach Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" once per decade. But "Sex Therapy"? Sorry, I won't be busting this Thicke. My wife got a chance to watch the song's video. She commented that Thicke may have nice teeth and eyes, but he sings higher than even she can – and "that is not a good thing". Hmm… I'm starting to think she'd almost prefer my singing over Thicke's. Almost.