Month: May 2004 (Page 2 of 2)

Dumb

Now I remember why I didn’t watch American Idol for the first two seasons. Tonight was sheer lunacy. The two best singers, by far, get the least votes. The most consistent performer of the competition gets the heave ho. Stupid. Idiotic. Borderline criminal. The only saving grace was the last note LaToya belted out during her goodbye song was better than anything the other three contestants will sing in the remaining weeks, so I don’t have to watch any more episodes this year. Plus, she can sign her record contract sooner. Go get yours, LaToya! An extra special thanks to Fox for finding new and exciting ways to stretch what should be a 30 minute show at most into 65 minutes.
I think I need to boil myself to get rid of this reality TV stench.

 

American Idol

First a note about comments. It was pointed out to me that you’re asked to register. I guess that’s ok; it’s fee and then the system remembers who you are, tracks all your comments, etc. But you can just as easily select the Anonymous option and include your name in your post. So don’t let that registering option scare you away from sharing your thoughts.

A couple of people have asked me for my thoughts on American Idol. Silly me, I was contemplating finally finishing up my Rwanda post, or some discussion on the events in Iraq. I keep forgetting about the “Important” issues! My bad.

OK, last night was Disco Night, featuring guest judge Donna Summer. Why do they call them judges if they’re not voting, just commenting? Anyway, props to Donna for actually being mildly critical of a couple performances. There’s nothing better than bringing Gloria Estefan, or some other hack singer on to basically promote their tired, washed up careers for an hour then they say nothing more striking than “I love your dress!” when it’s time for them to provide input. Come on, you had some measure of success in the music industry. You don’t need to rip these kids apart, but at least give them some honest, critical feedback that will help them improve their performances.

Jasmine Trias: Gone. Unless the dam breaking after her second song generates enough sympathy votes to save her. For someone who showed so much promise early, she’s really crumbled recently. It’s been at least four weeks since she performed a song well from start to finish. I even turned away during “It’s Raining Men” I was so disillusioned with her performance. Jennifer Hudson really should be here in her place.

Diana DeGarmo. She continues to be a total enigma to me. She sounds like someone you’d go see at a state fair (commenting on the looks of a 16 year old just isn’t fair, so I’ll leave that one alone). There isn’t an ounce of subtlety in her performances. In the middle of every song she sounds like she’s going to bust into some country tune. Listen, she’s got a decent enough voice, and in ten years when she learns how to control it, she might become a fine singer. But if she’s in the final, something is very wrong. My conspiracy theory on why Simon pimps her so much is that he’s pushing Fantasia and LaToya to stretch themselves in the final weeks.

Fantasia Barrino. “I’m Holding Out for a Hero” is disco? Here’s an idea: how about an all Footloose week? I liked the way she mixed it up a little, but agreed with all the judges who questioned the song choice. Gave her typical performance, full of uniqueness and flair. “Knock on Wood” was well done, but not a show stopper. Safe for another week.

LaToya London. I started loving LaToya when she performed one of my all time favorite R&B songs, Rufus and Chaka Khan’s “Ain’t Nobody”. While her first song last night was ok, she just shredded Thelma Houston’s classic “Don’t Leave Me This Way”, probably my favorite disco song ever. An absolutely awesome performance (in my unbiased opinion). Cruising to the final.

After 500 words on American Idol, and my excitement about seeing the Trish thing play out on The Bachelor tonight, I will be taking at least 20 showers today in a feeble effort to cleanse myself.

 

Gifts

I like gifts. I received two outstanding gifts over the past week. Last Friday, the mailman delivered a package from the delightful Mandi R. of Denver, CO. I wondered, “What have I done to deserve this?” Once the wrapping paper was removed, it was clear what I had done to deserve it: I knocked up my wife. You might think Mandi purchased some cute little animal gear, since she’s down with animal rights. Or, you might have wondered, did she purchase my daughter her first political piece of clothing, since Mandi and I have similar political views? No on both counts; Mandi did much better than that. In the package was a tiny black t-shirt, with the cover of the first Clash album screened onto it. That’s right, my daughter will be the proud owner of a Clash shirt the moment she exits the womb! I can’t wait for the day when our girl is old enough to wear her shirt. We’ll sit in her rocker together and sing “Bankrobber.” “My daddy was a bank robber/But he never hurt nobody/He just loved to live that way/And he loved to steal your money.” Perfect for teaching your young ones about the ways of the world! Outstanding job, Miss R.!
Second, over March and April, I covered for a coworker while she was away on her maternity leave. It was really pretty easy, as the ten or so clients I covered for were quiet almost the entire time she was away. When she returned two weeks ago, she asked for my address, so I figured she send me a thank you card. Monday, the FedEx man rang the doorbell and left a package from the Kansas Sampler store. Inside, a bottle of Gates barbecue sauce, a bottle of Bryant’s barbecue sauce, and a bottle of Hayward’s barbecue sauce, along with a bottle of Gates dry rub. Two outstanding ladies have graced me with the most excellent of gifts.
Two quick notes. 1) This isn’t a contest, so no need to send in competing gifts just to get props on the blog. 2) Our daughter is going to have more clothes than she knows what to do with, so this shouldn’t serve as notice to flood us with additional clothes. The grandparents are going to have that covered.

 

TV

It’s been a busy TV week. Let’s jump right in.

American Idol. I didn’t watch Tuesday’s show, but I can’t say I’m disappointed George Huff got the boot. He’s got a tremendous voice, but he’s a one trick pony. For about the first four weeks, you think, “This guy is awesome!” After that, though, you realize he sings every song exactly the same way. Good guy, nice singer, but not finalist material. I’m troubled by the teens. I didn’t like anything about Diana DeGarmo at the beginning. I thought she was a screamer, a glorified high school talent show act, and was perpetually annoyed by her insistence on starting each song with an exhortation to the audience, “Come on y’all!” Jasmine Trias, on the other hand, was my dark horse to win it all. Little and young, but with a big voice that was properly restrained, I thought she had the right combination of goods to sneak into the finals then get an upset win. Over the last three weeks, however, something weird has happened. I haven’t hated Diana’s performances. It seems like she’s picked up some of Jasmine’s restraint. As a visual performer, I still have issues with her overselling the songs, but I can’t deny she’s been singing much better recently. Jasmine, on the other hand, has had cracks in her smooth veneer show. She’s chosen some songs that just don’t fit her voice. She’s seemed nervous at times. She’s lacked the effortless quality she had early on. Not that it matters, it’s all about LaToya and Fantasia anyway.

The Bachelor. All right, any doubt that Trish is an ABC plant now? Seriously, they’re letting her come back next week and walk in during Jesse’s dinner with someone else? Just ABC trying to force some drama into a tired concept. My official handicapping is as follows:
Jessica B: 2-1. Gorgeous, smart, grounded, and seems to be taking everything in stride. She didn’t ask Jesse “Will you love me?” she asked him, “Are you open to something happening?” This girl understands the game and isn’t going on about falling for someone she barely knows. At least not yet. I like her family’s healthy skepticism as well. She also seemed to remain largely silent when the other girls were being openly catty about Trish.
Tara: 8-1. Would be higher, but I think her psycho dad seriously impacts her chances. The middle class buyer’s version of Jessica. She’s got a lot going on for her; she’s just not the luxury model. Too much of an instigator in the anti-Trish conversations.
Trish: 10-1. Hey, she’s hot and she knows how to work it. You can’t completely rule her out. Especially when all of ABC is pushing to get her into the final week. I think my favorite moment of this week’s episode was when she was talking privately with her sister about all the drama she faces from the other girls. The unstated message I picked up was “Sister, you don’t understand what it’s like. You’re not filthy and hot, you don’t sleep with married men (allegedly) and you haven’t lost track of how many people you’ve slept with.” A touching moment between two sisters.
Mandy J: 20-1. I’m sure she’s a good person but the beauty pageant stuff is just too weird. Especially when that’s all her family can talk about! I’m sure it’s difficult to have a normal conversation with someone courting your daughter with cameras in your face. But that was ridiculous.

I feel dirtier about writing almost 600 words on reality TV (Another sure sign we’ll be walking the minivan lots in 2 ½ years when it’s time to turn in S’s Passat) than I did paying to download music, so let’s move on to Friends. I thought the final episode was quite good. Nobody could have been fooled with how it ended, so there was no real drama in getting there. But they also didn’t try to do anything the show hasn’t done for ten years, which was nice. It was enjoyable, I laughed, and I didn’t wonder what I thought about it after the final credits rolled (See, 1998, Seinfeld). I think Friends was a vastly overrated show. I watch reruns quite often, and have mostly enjoyed the show over its run, but to say it’s one of the top ten comedies of all time would be a lie. It got attention for creating six funny characters, lasting for so long, and for being the first show about our generation as adults. It was better than 98% of the comedies, but never in the class of Seinfeld, MASH, Cheers, etc. Joey Tribiani will always make me laugh, but let’s not kid ourselves, he was no George Costanza. It’s a little disappointing that Fraser is going out with such a comparative whimper, as it was a much better show over its 11 years, even if its ratings have fallen from the top five slot it claimed for so many years. Friends was a nice show with memorable characters that made you laugh more often than not, but the biggest disappointment about it ending is there will now be one less decent show on network TV. I would put the odds of Joey enjoying the success Fraser had after Cheers ended just on this side of me ever buying my daughter a Missouri cheerleading outfit.

ER. I don’t want to speak for the other prospective parents out there, but I’ll just share that in this household, watching the dramatization of a woman miscarry her seven month fetus wasn’t exactly the most popular ER plot development ever. Fortunately, when I leaned over during a commercial and told the Little Girlfriend she needs to stay in for at least 10 more weeks and make sure she doesn’t get tangled in the umbilical cord, she responded with an immediate and resounding kick. Good to know she’s already paying attention to Big Poppa.

 

 

His Name Is Prince

We’re honored to have the following dispatch from blog correspondent Mike “Punkmaster Flex” A., who attended the Prince concert in Kansas City Tuesday night. I’m officially green, or whatever color jealousy is colored these days.

Arguably the most talented musician alive hit the stage Tuesday night in Kansas City’s rickety Kemper arena. Buoyed on by 15,000+ screaming Princeaholics (my ears are literally still ringing), Mr. Rogers Nelson and his ultra-tight New Power Generation band did not disappoint.

Before I break down the festivities diary style, I need to point out that attending a Prince concert was somewhat of a 20-year “holy grail” quest for me. On two different occasions in the past, I had Prince tickets in my hand only to have something come up causing me to eat those tickets. For the 1985 Purple Rain tour, I was slated to be in Row 10 at the San Francisco leg of the tour. I should have checked with Coach Lualhati, my JuCo track coach, before purchasing because the night of the concert conflicted with a major meet. Coach L basically told me I was free to enjoy “that little purple freak”, but not to bother to show up for practice the following Monday. Clearly, Coach L didn’t appreciate fine music.

I looked to catch other Prince tours, Sign O’ the Times, Hit and Run, etc., but living abroad and grad school took precedence. Finally, a couple years, back Mrs. A. surprised me with great tix for Prince’s “One Night Only” at the Midtown. The day of the show arrives and we were hyped to attend. The sitter is lined up, I am sporting the cuff links, and we are ready to roll. Four hours before Prince takes stage, my lovely wife slips and injures her back in a parking lot. We end up all dressed up with only the ER to visit.

10:00 a.m.
I navigate to the Kemper Arena Will Call to pick up my tickets. I joined the Prince/NPG fan club a while back for this very moment. You see, fan club members get to purchase Prince tickets for any show before Ticketron sells them and are guaranteed seats up front. Just how close was a mystery. There is a small line of fan club members and I hear their seating discussions as they leave the window: Row 12, Row 9, Row 14, etc. I anxiously hand the Kemper worker my driver’s license and receive back a white envelope. Row 3, Section G, front left/center floor seats – right in the nook of the cross-shaped stage. One fan congratulates me, another calls me a female dog.

3:00 p.m.
I am having trouble focusing at work and keep thinking something will happen to disrupt my plans: one of the three A. giblets will fall ill, my boss will order me on a plane to North Dakota, a cube wall will cave in and crush me.

6:30 p.m.
After a romantic dinner in the lobby of my work building, Mrs. A. and I are about to arrive at Kemper when an interesting conversation breaks out:

Mrs. A: With Prince all religious now is he going to play any of his down-and-dirty stuff? The naughty ones are his best songs.
Mr. A: Umm…no dear
Mrs. A: No Erotic City? Get Off? Sexy M.F.? Le Grind?
Mr. A: No, but I promise it will still be funky.
Mrs. A: Let’s go home.

6:45 p.m.
After navigating through the scenic Kemper parking lots, we find a spot and begin walking the grounds which featured tents set up by several KC-based radio stations. As I looked around at the eclectic crowd, I was reminded of a line from “Controversy”: Am I black or white, am I straight or gay? The crowd was all that with folks from every walk of life – black, white, Asian, Hispanic, gay, young, old, and very old. They were all on display.

6:50 p.m.
Mrs. A and I had a wonderful time people watching outside the arena. You had the uber-fan artist in one area giving out Prince prints. You had the “purple hat club” of women in another area sporting bright purple “Kangol styled” berretta hats (think Samuel L or Quentin T). You had a cross-dressed man in a purple boa. You had an All-Star “victory for the common man” moment with a 5’6″ average Joe wearing cowboy boots walking hand-in-hand with a 5’10” silicon-enhanced Hawaiian Tropics looking girl. You had skank, conservative, redneck, pimped-out, and everything in between. It was beautiful.

7:10 p.m.
We entered the arena, were handed free Musicology CDs (nice touch), and started toward the floor. I admit feeling pretty fresh in my all black gear being escorted by security down toward the stage. Once in our section, we immediately bonded with fellow fan club members. The folks we stood next to were a mid-40ish couple from Eureka Springs, Arkansas. He owns a restaurant and she is his companion and pastry chef. They are following Prince around on this tour and plan to hit five total concerts. How would it be to have no financial worries and follow your favorite musician from city to city….

8:00 p.m.
House lights go off and the crowd starts buzzing. The band takes the stage and begins to jam. A spotlight shines in the middle of the stage and Prince does the old rise up out of the ground stunt. He is fully tricked out in his black three-quarter length, one side longer than the other, coat and sparkly studded boots. He merely stands center stage for a few moments, with his fedora pulled down and that patented smirk on his face, and the crowd goes ballistic – louder than a crying baby (you will see soon DDB just how loud that can be), louder than a jet overhead, and even louder than Arrowhead during a Chiefs/Raider game.

8:05 p.m.
Prince and the NPG are fiercely tearing through Musicology’s title track to open the set. Any song shouting out Chuck D, Jam Master Jay, James Brown, and Sly Stone is destined for greatness and Musicology is no exception – funky horns, slappin’ base, and Prince vocalizing like only he can. “Don’t you hear this old-school joint?” Yes Prince, I do and I like it.

8:30 p.m.
The artist formerly known as a symbol is in the midst of whipping the crowd into the proverbial frenzy by belting out the classic Purple Rain era hits: Let’s Go Crazy (complete with confetti streaming into the crowd, I Would Die 4 U, When Doves Cry, Baby I’m a Star, etc. All the classic hits are on display including 1999 and a couple singles he wrote: Sheila E’s “A Glamorous Life” and Chaka Khan’s “I Feel 4 U”. Just after deftly performing the overlooked gem “Shhh”, Prince playfully does a bit of “Crazy in Love” and busts out the Beyonce’ dance moves. He does these surprisingly well and throughout the evening shows some incredibly nimble dance moves.

Prince closes the first act with searing versions of DMSR and Controversy. During this fifteen-minute jam, the crowd is allowed to marvel at the brilliance of the band: Candy Dulfer and Maceo Parker on sax, Renato on keyboard, Rhonda on bass, and the sensational John Blackwell Jr. on drums. I have never seen such fine musicianship….as Prince said repeatedly during the show, “we play real music here”.

I hadn’t mentioned it yet, but when Prince ventured to the portion of the stage nearest our section he was literally six-feet away. The lovely Candy spent most of the night there as well blowin’ that sax. At 45-years old, Prince looks amazing…no wrinkles at all. He clearly doesn’t use Jacko’s plastic surgery team.

8:55 p.m.
After a short break, Prince goes solo on an acoustic set for 45 minutes. Just the man, a swivel chair, and a pitch-perfect purple acoustic guitar. It is during this session that you appreciate Prince’s songwriting ability. Little Red Corvette, Nothing Compares 2 U, Sometimes it Snows in April, Alphabet Street, and Sweet Thing are all lyrically strong and catchy as hell. All of the women in the crowd sang along during Sweet Thing. For a spell, he let the crowd go at it without him…very cool.

At this point I need to mention the guy with the easiest job on tour: “The Ax Man”. This nappily dressed Asian fellow magically appeared on stage throughout the night for the sole purpose of providing Prince with an array of guitars. Once Prince finished with one, Ax Man would stoically grab it and disappear below stage until Prince was ready for a new one. How does one apply for a job like that? With everything else he does so well, it is easy to forget that Prince can indeed really shred on guitar. He had several solos during the evening that had the house quaking.

9:30 p.m.
The acoustic set is over and its time to bring the band back and turn the mutha’ out during the third act. My favorite Prince ditty, “Sign of the Times”, is done to perfection and is followed by a rump-shakin’ rendition of “U Got That Look”. I took a few minutes to survey the crowd during that song and let me tell you, there is something surreal about 15,000 diverse individuals swaying to a beat. Up in the balcony, folks were silhouetted and dancing in unison – just like in the club scene from Purple Rain. That moment alone was worth the $76 ticket.

Boys and girls, here is a tidbit. Even if you are consuming beverages at a concert, under no circumstances should you decide to arbitrarily remove clothing. Clearly bested by a tall can of Bud, a 50ish gentlemen near us figured it would be nice to share his flesh with everyone and “strip right down to his underwear”. To say he had body odor would be a disservice to body odor. Needless to say, his concert neighbors were not impressed with his stench, body hair, or beer gut.

10:00 p.m.
The highlight of the evening commences with “Let’s Work”, yet another funkalicious Prince classic (by this time, Mrs. A. is deliriously shaking her bon bon for all its worth and forgetting about our car conversation). Prince brings at least 15 women on stage and two men. They all gyrate while the band blends “Let’s Work” into “Soul Man” into “Kiss” into “Take Me With U”. I must say that of the women on stage, the sistas definitely shook it like a Polaroid picture much better than the soccer moms.

In the middle of this final jam, Prince calls on stage an eight-year girl and dances with her. I figured she would be scared to death, but she more than held her own even playing Candy’s tambourine in perfect rhythm.

10:15 p.m
After deafening applause for ten minutes, Prince and the NPG return to perform the full version of Purple Rain. Out come the lighters and the entire crowd is singing. While I can’t say PR is one of my favorite Prince songs, the moment was undeniably magic. After the song, Prince flipped a couple of guitar picks to the crowd and Blackwell tossed out his drum sticks.

10:30 p.m.
With smiles we couldn’t quite shake, we left the arena with Musicology blaring on the car stereo. For one night in the Heartland, school was definitely in session and conducted by a musician’s musician. Play on Prince, play on.

 

 

I’m Part Of The System Now

I just made my first legal download. I dropped 99 cents to grab The Thrills’ “One Horse Town” off of Musicmatch. I feel dirty. I feel like a sell out. I feel disappointed I didn’t thumb my nose at the recording industry giants and continue to grab tracks for free off the file sharing services that are still out there. Now I’m just another consumer who’s taken what the powers that be want me to take.

I never felt guilty about the file sharing I participated in over the years. I was depriving the major labels of money, not the artists. I own a couple hundred CDs, a couple hundred cassettes, and a few dozen albums. I’ve definitely paid my share over the years. Heck, some of the tracks I downloaded were ones I owned in a non-CD form but wanted to have digitally as well. Sure, I downloaded a ton of stuff I wouldn’t possess if I had to purchase each track. But when you take a look through the box of CDs I never, ever listen to, you can see the recording industry has profited nicely off me over the years. Even at my downloading worst, if I really, really liked an act, I would still go buy the CD. In June, I’ll march out and buy the new Wilco CD even if I can get every track for free.

In a perfect world, here’s how my system would work. First, free, disposable, single format downloads. Say you hear a song by Franz Ferdinand and you really want to hear more of their songs. I think you should be able to go out and grab as many tracks as are available, download in format X for free, and be able to listen to them only on your PC for a week. After that, poof, they go away. They would be encoded so you couldn’t share them with other users, a portable device, or burn them to CD. (It’s up to the recording industry to keep ahead of the game with new encoding formats that keep their product secure.) Say you love five tracks, but don’t want to go buy the whole CD. 99 cents seems a little high to me, so I’d set 50 cents as the Ownership Download figure. For that price, you can download an unlimited use track. You can burn it, share it, transfer it to every digital device you own. This gives the user a chance to preview the goods before they purchase, gives the industry both a marketing tool and control over their product, and a middle ground for distributing music that benefits both parties. As music moves to predominantly digital distribution, the industry makes back that 49 cents in reduced costs for packaging, artwork, shipping of product, and so on. But that makes too much sense so it will never happen across the board. Sooner or later, though, there’s going to have to be some kind of industry-wide system for previewing tracks, purchasing on-line, and giving control of the purchased product to the consumer or the music industry really will die.

In a totally unrelated note, I’ve removed the What I’m Listening To section of the blog temporarily as it’s undergoing some reworking. In its place, the contents of my beer fridge have been posted and will be posted upon each trip to the liquor store. Please join me in enjoying some of the world’s finest beers!

 

Warm The Hell Up

First, it’s far too cold for May 3. I hate that one last cold snap that just ruins some weekend in the spring. Not sure how cold it actually got here last night, but we flipped the heat on at 5:00 yesterday afternoon. So much for thinking the gas bills wouldn’t be something we had to worry about until November.

Friday night, we watched a birthing video. I can’t claim I learned much because I was busy ridiculing the fashion of the people in the video, which was filmed in 1987. One mom clearly put on mascara before she started 18 hours of labor. In the post-birth scenes, she had bright red hair that scrapped the ceiling and hung like a mullet around her shoulders. Plus, it was clearly filmed at some “alternative” birthing center as the delivering moms were doing all kinds of crazy things. When a pediatrician who works with kids straight out of the womb says, “What the hell are they doing?!?!” I think it’s safe to assume the video didn’t share the experience we’re going to go through.

We did some shopping over the weekend. S. made the observation that when we were in stores like Banana Republic, J Crew, etc. the hired help doesn’t ask her if she needs any help any more. They just smile and ask her how she’s doing. A pretty clear sign she’s obviously pregnant now.

Saturday we went to the Circle Center Mall in downtown Indy. We stopped in for dinner at PF Chang’s and settled at the bar for the obligatory 45 minute wait. Looking around, there were numerous tables set for rather large groups. Around 6:00, groups of fancily dressed teenagers began pouring in. Yep, it was a prom night. I understand kids aren’t always flush with money on prom night, especially after buying a dress/renting a tux, arranging for transportation, paying some 25 year old a 30% tax to have him buy you three cases of the cheapest beer possible. But PF Chang’s? We went to Plaza III for our prom night dinner. I love the Chang’s, and I know it’s not exactly cheap, but it seems pretty informal for something as special as prom. I imagine these are the same people who get engaged at sporting events.

Coral was clearly a popular color in prom dresses this year. And it’s always funny to watch 16 year old girls try to walk in formal dresses and heels. Can I also say the way some of these girls look is completely ridiculous? No daughter of mine is leaving the house looking like that!

After dinner, we walked around the mall, which like most malls in the US is a big cruising ground for teenagers on weekend nights. So in addition to all the promsters, the mall was loaded with regular kids out for a cruise. I decided the retro jersey craze has gotten completely out of control. I saw jerseys for players I barely knew, and I’m sure 15 year olds had no clue who they were. I think I liked it better when you saw 1000 Deion Sanders and Michael Jordan jerseys. Not to mention jerseys that went for $75 when we were in college now run for $275. Where are these kids getting this kind of money for a 1971 Dallas Chaparrals Ron Boone jersey?

The Royals are totally disheartening. Even when they play well, they can’t get a win. I fear Carlos Beltran was looking at condos in Manhattan this weekend. The five year window that began with Sweeney, Beltran, Febles, etc. coming up is sliding shut.

It was criminal that I didn’t include Echo and the Bunnymen’s “Lips Like Sugar” in my top 20 songs of the 80s list I put together back in ’99. Funny how songs that are so old and you barely knew can rocket to the top of your list years later.

We’re in the market for a good camcorder. Sony seems to be the brand of choice among other recent/prospective parents I’ve talked to. Any other recommendations?

Book of the weekend: John Lydon’s Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs. It’s the memoir of Lydon’s youth and his time as lead singer for the Sex Pistols. An interesting read for anyone that’s into music history. I tend to think many of his criticisms of Joe Strummer and the Clash were based on jealousy rather than legitimate critiques, but it was still worth the read to get Lydon’s perspective on things. He has some very interesting views on the state of the world at the time he wrote the book (1994). What I enjoyed most was the title, which was taken from the postings at many bars, hotels, and houses for rent in England back in the day. Lydon, who was Irish by ethnicity by English by birth, rails on the class system of England throughout the book. What a beautiful statement on the ridiculous nature of racism. Not only are you lesser if you happen to be from Ireland or Africa (or your parents are) but you’re no better than a dog. God Save the Queen!

 

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