When I was in college, I had a friend who occasionally would write music reviews for the university newspaper. I was amazed at how brilliantly they were written. He was able to interpret the music, recognize how the songs fit in with the trends in the musical world, explore the deeper meanings behind the songs, and give his own intelligent personal reactions to the music. I must admit, I was a bit envious. I wished I could write like that. The best I was able to do when giving my own response to some music was to say, "It was good", "Blech", or to give a helpless shrug. The past few years, I decided to make up for my deficiency by studying the masters of musical critiques themselves: those lovely people who write reviews of Clay Aiken's concerts. After hours of analyzing the patterns, I think I have discovered all the elements necessary for published reviews. The following is a sample of my new found skill of writing a musical review. I think you will see that I have incorporated all the essential aspects of what our newspaper editors consider to be worthy for their distinguished publications. Oh, and I also decided to pretend to be a 30 year old male who does not like anything so the music world will take me seriously.
-Diane Sprague
I'm too Cool for Clay
8/09/05
by Some Idiot
I am not going to begin this article with any descriptions of my qualifications to write a music review or any kind of statements to establish the validity and intelligence of my opinions. You will soon discover the one and only reason for paying attention to my words is that I am one really cool dude and the rest of the article will give firm evidence which will prove this to all you doubters.
You can imagine my dismay when my boss came in to tell me I had the assignment of writing the review of the Clay Aiken concert. I did not even know who the guy was. Really. Nope, not a clue.
When my boss told me this dismal news, I objected that I did not want to write anything about an concert that was at all associated with anyone from American Idol. Not that I know what that show was. Never heard of it. I don't like singing contests. Not that I knew that it was one. I didn't even know it was a television show. I thought it was a new religious cult. And don't even get me started on the karaoke singer aspect of that show. I coined that phrase after the first episode which I did not watch because I did not know it existed. And that Simon guy was really annoying.
So I did not know who this Clay Aiken guy was and I don't like stalker songs like Invisible which I never heard because I would much rather listen to songs that demean women, are filled with violence, and use more four letter words than a grumpy sailor. And he is too skinny. Not that I have ever seen him. I know beyond a doubt he cannot sing. No one on that show could sing. They were all pitchy karaoke singers. I do intend to use that phrase a lot in this article because it is the first and only time it has been used since American Idol and I do like to be original. Not that I know what a karaoke singer is. Nope, never heard one.
When my boss suggested I do some research about the Clay Aiken phenomena, and I looked at him seriously for a few seconds before we broke into peals of laughter. Since when do us entertainment reviewers research anything? We would learn stuff and then we would not be able to brag about how little we knew. No, I insist on remaining clueless. That way you will be impressed by how cool I am that I don't know anything about someone as uncool as Clay Aiken. I am using the word cool too much. That's cool. And didn't he come in second afterall? What a loser. Not that I was paying attention. I don't even vote for the president let alone vote for contestants in a silly song contest. Anyways Clay botched that last note in Bridge over Troubled Water and I know nobody else heard it but I did. That just shows how much higher and more sensitive my tastes are than the rest of the world's.
Not that I watched the show mind you.
So anyways, I went to the Clay Aiken show bracing for the worse. You know what I was expecting. I dreaded this with my whole being. I was shaking and my hands were sweating. I only had to walk through the crown for five minutes before I spotted them. Yes, there they were: two middle-aged women. Egads! Beasts from hell! I had to brush myself off to keep myself from being infected with their bad taste cooties. The place was swarming with them. A couple of them bit me. Nasty creatures.
I decided to speak to a crowd of people to get my quote. You have to get a quote to do these things. A good quote. One that captures the phenomena. A tall, elderly man spoke to me of his love for singers whose voice would capture his emotions thoroughout the song. He was around to see the legends...Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosy, Elvis. He was feeling the same connection with Clay. Yawn. Some teenage girls spoke about the range of the many types of songs Clay could sing. No good. A young man spoke about how he was here with his girlfriend but he actually really enjoyed hearing Clay too. Pansy. A elderly woman spoke about how Clay song's meant so much to her when she was going through some rough times after losing her husband. Useless crap. Come on...somebody give me something good. A young woman told me about how much joy Clay shows when he sings, how entertaining the concerts are, and how interesting it was to watch Clay grow and develop as an singer. Idiocy. Another young woman talked to me about the Internet, the message boards, the groups that have formed because of Clay, the friendships, the connections, the fun. Give me a break. A middle-aged man talked about how incredible Clay's voice was. He told me to just listen. Like heck I will. A little child shouted out that Clay is cute. There. I had it. My quote! The words to summarize everything.
So here is my obligatory quote, "Clay is cute."
And it wasn't a child who said it. It was a middle-aged woman because that is all there was at that concert. Just middle-aged woman.
The concert was soon to begin and I worked my way to my seat. I proceeded to stuff some cotton balls into my ears. I tapped the shoulder of the man sitting in front of me. "I don't like karaoke so I am stuffing cotton into my ears and I want you to see this." I made sure the people next to me saw this too. I turned around to let the people behind me notice too, but they just ignored me. Well, not completely, someone threw a peanut at me. I think it was that elderly man I interviewed. Most people just gave me strange looks, but as long as they knew I was cool, I was okay. I am proud to say that I did not hear a thing when the concerts started. With all the wild cheers filling the place, the cotton balls, and my determination to block out the music, I blissfully remained in my unblemished world. Not succumbing to the mob mentality, I remained untouched in my world of good taste and sanity.
There was this strange voice coming from that skinny guy who kept trying to dance on the stage that broke through now and then. Not that he could dance, except that the woman were going crazy every time he did. I don't know why. I am a clueless male and proud of it. I haven't had a date in years and I am proud of it. I am not sure why I just said that. Just ignore me. I dug up my book of vocabulary words for cool entertainment writers to describe singers, and of course, ignored the entranced looks of the woman behind me because the reaction of the crowd means nothing. Ah, here are the words...vapid, flat, and karaoke. Vapid, flat, and karaoke. There that is what his singing was like. And because I didn't listen to any of his songs, I am going to make up the songs he sang. He sang, On the top of Old Smoky, Like a Virgin, and Jumping Jack Flash. See, it's really, really cool to get it wrong. It shows your disinterest. It shows your arrogance. It show your stupidity.
And stupid equals clueless and clueless equals cool. And what the heck is making these middle-aged woman scream so much? And that noise...that noise...it can't be him singing because it kind of, sort of, a little bit of it sounds good. But I didn't say that. Vapid, flat, and karaoke. That's what I said. And what is making that old man smile? Why are those kids dancing so gleefully? Why is that woman crying? Shoot, now I am getting near the end and I have to summarize this. What's this? Am I hearing Clay singing a Barry Manilow song? Not that I know who Barry Manilow is or know any of the songs he sang. Nope, I don't have a clue. But it was a Barry Manilow song! I got it!
He is a Barry Manilow wannabe! One Barry Manilow song doth a summer make or something like that. I am brilliant! I have described the whole essence of what this Clay Aiken guy is all about. That and karaoke. I had to get that word in one more time. I like being original. It is all about middle-aged women, Barry Manilow, and karaoke singing! And you thought I was just some hack writer who could not find a real job.
But really, as you have discovered, this whole article really is all about just how tasteful I am. Now as I am sitting in front of my computer in my underwear, looking at dirty pictures on the Internet, and listening to the only real good music that exists because it is so obscure you never heard it, I can rest content that I have established the undisputed reality of my coolness. Hopefully, I am contributing to the demise of this Clay Aiken character. Bringing joy, music, and entertainment to a mob of screaming middle-aged woman is nothing to be proud of. Writing an article to let the world how indifferent and ignorant, and thereby tasteful, I am. Now that is an accomplishment.
And just to let you know, I have completely forgotten who this Clay Aiken character is. Yup, don't remember a thing. Except that this strange tune with the words "coming back for more" keeps running through my head. Go figure.
SirLinksalot: Clay Aiken Links
SirLinksalot: American Idol Links
