Sunday, October 28, 2007

Things I discovered/thought/mused on during the ARIAs.

-I really hate (or cannot fathom) 90% of Australian music. For all the industry’s talk of tyring to move from the Australian Idol effect, tonight felt the total opposite.

-Although I don’t care for them, Powderfinger looked badass in that opening sweep on their song. I’ve always wondered what would happened if the bloated corpses of the Eagles were dug up, given botox and made metro sexual. Now I know the answer.

-I was kind of happy that John Butler won that first award instead of gimmicky/quirky/ just plain fucking obtuse band of the week. This quickly changed once he opened his smug, condescending mouth to boast about how everyone was going to Conservative hell except for him.

-Missy Higgins looks more and more like Peter Petrelli every day. This may or may not be a bad thing for her career, depending if Peter joins a cross-dressing Irish cabaret during the second season of Heroes. Fingers crossed.

-Rove: You are simply not funny, and for once I think that the audience agrees with me. I mean, did anyone laugh at his joke? Outsourcing to India? That doesn’t even make sense!

-Dave Hughes: Ditto, but I have the number for a dentist you may want. Oh, and why the fuck are you recycling unfunny Tic-Tac jokes from two ago.

-‘Good Luck Chuck’ is rated MA15+, yet (to the best of my very limited knowledge) Jessica Alba shows nothing. Why is this?

-I do not care who Darren ‘is that an Asian in the audience?’ Hayes has a gay crush on. I do not care about him period. Why is he annoying and me and trying to reinvigorate his backyard abortion of a career.

- James Mathison is a dreamboat.

-Veronica with the Guitar: Yes. Veronica without the guitar: Oh Dear God Yes.

-Sneaky Sound System: You are the most fucking annoying anything in Australia. You are not clever, you are at best, Rogue Traders light. Funny, since I’d think that should make you a good thing, as it ought to mean less of what makes them bad.

Why do the two men do nothing on stage? Why is one of them like 50 years old? I’m going to assume that that they are however, the ‘brains of the organization considering the difficulty the woman has in difficulty stringing a word together.

-Fans of Sneaky Sound System: Fuck you and your stupid clubs. You are listening to the musical equivalent of the dumbest, most untalented, fattest Baldwin brother. You could be watching 30 Rock, yet you do not. You rent Stephen Baldwin’s direct to DVD shit fest.

-Fleetwood Mac is now my favorite band. It’s perhaps a disturbing trait that I get the same feeling realizing I love a band that I do when I realize I like a girl.

Is that wrong? If so, I don’t care, Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar and Stevie Nick’s voice are like cocaine for the ears (perhaps a particularly apt analogy given the things I hear about Ms Nicks). Vocals on Little Lies? Guitar on Go Insane? Tusk or Rumors in general? Fuck Yes.

-That being to said to need to be a real asshole to break up with a girl and then make girl sing backup vocals on a song about said breakup. Ice Cold shit.

-I have no realized that I will never be able to play Clap one millionth as well as Steve Howe does. My hat is to you, and your acoustic awesomeness. I will now go back to crying about my incredible ineptitude. That is 100% serious. I will.

-Bigstar? Most underrated band ever. Velvet Underground and their transvestite of a singer can fuck back to Transylvania (yes, I realize what’s wrong with everything in that statement). Alex Chilton really deserves his dues as a songwriter. If Elliott Smith covered something you’d written, then you have my undying love. Yes, he did also cover a Nico song, but that was written by Jackson Browne, so I’m safe, if loving Jackson Browne can be classified as safe.

-I now love Gossip Girl. I enjoyed it before, but only because it was OC Lite, and Blair was perhaps the hottest thing on TV (perhaps). After getting totally up to date, I’m really enjoying it. Funnily enough, the more I say that the less secure I am about my sexuality.

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