Lullabies – Creepier than Clowns

January 2nd, 2009 | by | old season

Jan
02

Far be it from me to tell people how to bring up their infant children. I must freely admit that never having spawned myself, it’s difficult for me to understand the levels of illogic that new parents can descend to in the face of chronic sleep deprivation and a detailed understanding of the digestion of lactose.

I do know some stuff about music, though, and also a bit about logic. I believe, therefore, that I can say for certain that you should not buy this for your kids:

You see, I found this in Musica, South Africa’s favourite CD and DVD monopoly. They didn’t have any Manu Chao or Mazzy Star, but they had this. They had more too!

In fact, there is an entire catalogue of these things that you can see here. Evidently, this line of products have won several awards and become quite popular among new parents.

My problem is that I cannot understand why anyone would buy this. I’ve listened to some of the sample tracks on the Web site and they are downright creepy. While there are certainly some nice tunes in popular music, the artists covered in this line include Metallica, Radiohead, Nirvana, Nine Inch Names (including the track Closer), The Ramones and AC/DC. Also, Tool. That’s right. Tool. The bind that brought out an album called Ænima that includes a track named Hooker with a Penis.

There are three possible reasons that I can see for buying these CDs:

1. You are a young parent that is an avid U2 fan. You decide to buy Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of U2 in an attempt to instil a love of your favourite band in your child. You have forgotten that you didn’t rock up at school on your thirteenth birthday with a tape in your new walkman that contained the theme tune from Noddy, or a complete recording of Sparky and the Magic Piano. I’m guessing that you had a bit of The Cure, perhaps some Ultavox, and some Sigue Sigue Sputnik. You have also not asked yourself the question of whether or not you will like U2 after you have spent hours listening to it being mangled by the Bhuddist Iraq Veteran’s Xylophone Band of South Tennessee. Fail!

2. You are an older parent who feels their youth slipping away. You desperately want to do something to appear hip and progressive, and perhaps encourage someone to sleep with you – even your spouse. You are an idiot. Fail!

3. You are a single thirty-something that has been invited for Christmas dinner by one of your married couple friends. You desperately cast around for a gift of their new “arrival”. You realise that there will be no heavy drinking, no prospect of encountering interesting new people that might sleep with you, and no waking up in another city on the 27th in someone else’s clothes. Deprived if your normal Christmas festivities, you are smitten by a bolt of fear. Perhaps you will land up like them on day. Perhaps you secretly want to land up like them, and fear that you will be left behind to grow old and die alone. The dichotomy paralyses you. You stare aimlessly at the shelves until, suddenly, you see it. The gift that says it all, puts the “U” in the four-letter explative and ensures that if your buddy can’t enjoy Led Zepplin while getting wasted with you anymore, he won’t enjoy Led Zepplin ever! Like a drunk uncle arriving at a childrens birthday party, you defiantly present the wee sprog with the gift, secure in the knowledge that it won’t be an item of contention in the divorce that happens in a few years time. Win? No. Dignity fail!

Unless, of course, you are willing to take that extra step, to embrace the giving of a gift that stacks lameness upon lameness – the gift that you know has no purpose other than gifting itself, the true embodiment of the 21st century Spirit of Chirstmas, that which was presented to the infant Jesus by the forth wise man that nobody likes to talk about. Mysterious, pointless, and Lucifer’s own contribution of the festive season. Behold! The sound track of Hell itself!

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The Music of Today

November 26th, 2008 | by | old season

Nov
26

Last weekend, I bought myself two new CDs. One of them was The Essential Collection – The Fureys and Davey Arthur, which I encountered in the bargain shelf for under R40. I bought the CD because I remembered a favourite old LP record from my youth, which I loved for its haunting, raw, Waits-esqe tunes and its ability to make me believe quite genuinely (and mistakenly) that Sunday nights could be a lot worst than they were.

My new CD seems to have many of the same songs, although even this is hard to tell for certain. All Irish music is essentially similar – variations of themes that are easy to play on a violin when you are drunk, with permutations of the words, “We drink, drink, drink while the English kill our sons, HEY!” superimposed by a chorus of Aran sweater clad homeless people. Nevertheless, I usually enjoy it, but my new CD is… different.

If I were actually Irish, I would call it shyte.

It’s the sort of thing that former tourists, fresh home from the shores of the Emerald Isle, have picked up from the A Gift From Ireland store in Dublin airport departures as a present for their 13 year-old nephew who “loves music, you know”, based on the fact that he plays guitar in a highschool metal band. And the music… Oh, God! The music… It’s soppy Europop tripe with a vauge hint of traditional Irish synth sounds, and the singers actually sound sober.

This will not do at all. I have not even ripped it to my iTunes yet, and I actually have a Worsie Visser album in my iTunes. I don’t know what happened. Perhaps the LP that I remember was by a band other than the Fureys, or perhaps they sold out to The Man in an effort to win Eurovision fame. Either way, it was a decidedly depressing purchase.

The other CD that I bought is, by contrast, Absolute Garbage.

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