Open Letter To Steve Stoute Regarding The Grammys

In a recent full-page advertisement, veteran music executive Steve Stoute lashed out at the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences (NARAS), the organization that oversees the Grammy awards and ceremony, saying that the organization has "clearly lost touch with contemporary popular culture".

He then goes on to opine that Eminem's landmark 2001 album, The Marshall Mathers LP, an album that sold millions, should have won Best Album over Steely Dan's Two Against Nature, an album that sold only a fraction of that amount.

Stoute then cites another supposed example of wrongdoing on behalf of the academy when Herbie Hancock beat out Kanye West for Best Album in 2008. Stoute coes on to say, "We must acknowledge the massive cultural impact of Eminem and Kanye West and how their music is shaping, influencing and defining the voice of a generation."

To prove his point further, he contends that Justin Bieber (who he calls "an artist that defines what it means to be a modern artist") should have won the Grammy award for Best New Artist because, in his words, Bieber's "cultural impact and success are even more quantifiable if you factor in his YouTube and Vevo viewership — the fact that he was a talent born entirely of the digital age whose story was crafted in the most humble method of being “discovered” purely for his singing ability (and it should be noted that Justin Bieber plays piano and guitar, as evidenced on his early viral videos)."

Dear Mr. Stoute,

You're kidding, right? When have the Grammy folks ever been in touch with what is hip and cool? Did you just fall to earth yesterday? For all the changes the music industry has undergone as of late, the one constant is that the Grammy ceremony remains a cavalcade of all the worst, most played-out aspects of the industry and stands as a shining monument to those whose own gluttonous self-adulation and blindness to the world around them has driven the industry into the ground.

Now, I don't mean to be a stickler, but your own claim of being a "music executive" with 20 years in the industry is just as much a stretch as Jethro Tull winning a Grammy for Best Hard Rock/Metal Performance in 1989. Near as I can tell, managing Nas since 1995, in between him firing you on repeated occasions, adds up to sixteen years tops.

Additionally, your bias toward rap is more than a little obvious, so much so that you addressed our suspicions before we even had them. If it ain't an issue, don't make it one. But, since you did, I will be more than happy to address it.

See, in the rap world, it's all about building a facade. In the rest of the world, a kid with a few beats is just a kid with a few beats, but, in the rap world, he's a "Producer". Pretty funny, if you ask me. Only by such cock-eyed logic could one possibly arrive at the conclusion that Justin Bieber an "Artist".

I will say that I do agree with you on two points. First, NARAS and The Grammys are out of touch, but the fact that you just now seem to have realized this would mean that you're just as out of touch as they are, if not more. I mean, who the fuck tunes into the fucking Grammy Awards to be turned on to something new? Dude, it's a celebration of all the crappiest crap from the year prior.

Secondly, Justin Bieber does define what it means to be a modern artist these days. When looking at those artists of the past who shaped not only their immediate musical landscape, but also that of an entire generation, it is immensely sad to see such assembly-line pop fodder as that with Bieber's name on it celebrated as "art".

Of course, style has been so celebrated over the past few years that there is an entire generation that has never known music or art with true substance to it. I suspect that you might very well be on the cusp of said generation, or are perhaps largely to blame for the purveyance of such trash as culture.

Lastly, if YouTube and Vevo hits are what constitute a "modern artist" deserving of Grammy attention, then I would suggest that rock band OK Go is owed a dozen or so Grammys for their legendary "treadmill video" alone.

Mr. Stoute, it does not surprise me to find out that you not only wrote your own Wikipedia page, but also bragged about doing so on the very same Wikipedia page. After all, every empire in your industry has been built upon a "fake it until you make it" business strategy more so than actual musical talent. I will also go so far as to say that you calling yourself a music executive is a belligerent slap in the face to every legitimate music executive whose legacy and impact remain long after their work is done. Does Suge Knight not also consider himself a music executive?

Sadly, yes.

By taking out a full-page ad to tell everyone how out-of-touch those darned Grammy folks are, you succeeded in revealing that you're just as clueless. What next, a full-page ad in USA Today declaring the sky "blue"?

Whatever Happened To...Amy Winehouse?

Remember those days when Amy Winehouse was getting the same buzz that Adele is getting these days? Sure, it could be argued that Adele owes her success to Winehouse first blazing the trail and making the world safe for torchy songstresses to again roam free.

While I was never a fan of her music, I did find Amy Winehouse's image strikingly endearing. She was a little pudgy, but cute and full of spunk. It was easy to root for her, as everything about her seemed to fly in the face of the UK music machine that had been, up to that point, hell bent on churning out one skinny and vacuous star after another.

For once, it was nice to see "one of us" up there getting the attention.

Then things went completely off the rails as Winehouse's obvious self-image problems crashed head-on into the pitfalls of sudden wealth and fame. Within months, she was a rail-thin crackhead whose daily (or nightly, as the case may be) train-wrecks were now tabloid fodder around the world. The spectacle of her personal collapse took precedence over her music, especially since her handlers insisted on continually booking tours and promotional appearances that served only to create the next potential new story/photo op.

During that time, I could not help but wonder who on earth considers attending an Amy Winehouse show when all the world knows she is no longer even physically capable of taking care of herself, much less perform? To answer my own question, people who attend shows by such artists are deplorable, hideous human beings who are either too delusional to admit that their idol is killing themselves in full view of the world, or they are enablers who get off on watching someone self-destruct.

That's why I was relieved to see that Amy Winehouse had retreated from the public eye somewhat and for long enough that I'd realized more than a year had passed since she'd last crossed my mind.

Of course, just because she's been out of my sight and/or mind, that doesn't mean there aren't 10,000 chuckleheads willing to pay $100 a ticket to witness a guaranteed trainwreck.



And thus it was on February 15 in, of all places, Dubai (UAE) that a capacity crowd gathered to watch Winehouse stammer, mumble, and slur her way through her set when she wasn't recoiling in obvious fear of her own microphone or picking her nails.

Reportedly, hundreds of concert-goers immediately asked for their money back. To such people, I would only ask, "What the fuck were you expecting?"

Seriously, every Amy Winehouse concert ticket should come with an explicit warning: "You pays your money, you takes your chances. NO REFUNDS!!"

First off, I find it hard to believe there are still 10,000 Amy Winehouse fans in England, much less on the Arabian Peninsula. That so many fans were still willing to pay $100 to see a fading starlet whose last album came out almost five years ago leads me to believe that money must grow on trees in Dubai.

Either that or there is a highly concentrated population of rich folks more than willing to pay top dollar to watch some chick play with her hair and chew her bubblegum instead of actually sing.

In viewing some of the footage, it's actually jarring to see how much of a shell of her former self Amy still is? She's completely emaciated and lethargic, with empty eyes that seem to no longer be screaming "Get me out of here!" as merely hoping the end is near.

Whoever her handlers are these days, they should be absolutely fucking ashamed of themselves. As for Amy, she too needs to take a good, hard look in the mirror and festering scab that she has become. It kills me a little bit to see someone who was once so vibrant and beautiful give in to a life of drugs and depravity when she could truly have had it all, done it all, and been happy.

Radiohead Singer Thom Yorke Seizure Caught On Video?

During a recent photo shoot, Radiohead singer Thom Yorke suffered what appears to be a very serious seizure. What makes this all the more stunning was that it was all caught on video. Whereas most other people would have put down the camera and come to the aid of a suffering individual, the fine folks within the Radiohead organization did the wise thing by rolling tape and staying the fuck out of Thom's way until his seizure subsided.

Sure, he might very well have died, but, apparently proper procedures within the Radiohead camp are such that when one has the opportunity to capture an epileptic fit on video, you fucking take it.

Of course, the groundbreaking band known for eschewing convention at every turn has gone one better by releasing the footage publicly via their own YouTube channel. Apparently, Yorke and the band feel quite strongly that the positive benefits of making such footage available outweigh any potential down-side.

We must tell you that the images of Yorke losing complete control of his limbs are, at best, striking, and, at other times, flat-out painful to watch. At several points, we see him almost on the verge of regaining control of his own movements, only to again fall victim to the violent involuntary movements ravaging his body.

It takes a brave, confident man to bear this side of his soul to the world, knowing all too well that there are some who prey upon such physical weakness.

We at Bitch-Ass Motherfucker admire Yorke for taking a stand and shedding light upon a very serious issue. Perhaps, through such effort, a higher level of tolerance can be achieved and more funding can be channeled into further medical research so that a cure can be found. Until that day comes, this footage will stand as a reminder of the immense level of physical suffering people such as Yorke and others must endure on a regular basis.

If we were to list any complaint at all about the footage, it would be the somewhat tedious and boring music that accompanies the footage.

Terence Trent D'Arby Come Back, All Is Forgiven!

Back in 1987, the UK press began lauding the talents of a U.S. singer by the name of Terence Trent D'Arby, whose debut album, Introducing the Hardline According To..., had just been released there. I, being an American who found myself quite enamored by Britain's ability to appreciate great artists that the American mainstream willfully ignored, grabbed a copy the minute I saw it in the local record store and was immediately floored by D'Arby's talents.

If it were possible to toss Prince, Al Green, Percy Sledge, and Little Richard into a blender, what you'd come up with would have been very much what you heard on D'Arby's debut. On songs like "Wishing Well", "If You Let Me Stay", and "Sign Your Name" (to name but a few), D'Arby's vocals were so evocative of the greats mentioned above, yet his vocal style was entirely his own. This was a cat in full control of his talents and able to sing the cover off a phone book at fifty feet.

With talent like that, the fact that he was a reasonably handsome dude and that this was the video age seemed to ensure that D'Arby's future looked bright. America did the unthinkable and actually paid attention - so much so that "Wishing Well" would become a #1 hit single here. The album too would crack the Top 5. I do still harbor a bit of confusion over the fact that "Dance Little Sister" cracked the Top 40, but "If You Let Me Stay" did not. Only America could pull such a stunt.

Regardless, America's love affair with D'Arby continued in to 1988, when he would win a Grammy. Amazingly, while nominated as Best New Artist (losing to Jodie Watley), he would only grab an award for Best Male R&B Vocal Performance.

Shortly after, the love affair would end, not so much by choice as by slow, festering neglect. D'Arby's follow-up, 1989's Neither Fish Nor Flesh, was eagerly anticipated. It's arrival, however, was more dull thud than smash hit.

The album itself was a huge step forward from his debut. D'Arby's songs were getting more mature, but that didn't mean the artist's genius didn't still scream forth from the speakers. Despite being a far superior album, Neither Fish, Nor Flesh was a massive commercial no-show here and missed going Top 10 in the UK.

While it is often an obvious scapegoat for under-selling albums, the old adage "the label refused to promote my album" became criminally true for D'Arby. Columbia Records, a label once known as a home for true artists such as Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel and others, now seemed actively disinterested in promoting the one guy on the label who embodied that same artistry and commercial appeal.

Having become slave to the commercial side of D'Arby, the label viewed the new album as the work of a "difficult artist" trying to sabotage the label's ability to make money off of him. To further prove their point, they refused to promote the album, thereby allowing it to die on the vine. D'Arby's inability to simply be "a black George Michael" for the label led to a period of deep introspection and a talented voice was silenced momentarily.

He would return four years later with his third album, Symphony Or Damn, which, believe it or not, actually manages to surpass the greatness of Neither Fish, Nor Flesh. While easily his most commercial material to date, D'Arby was not sacrificing one iota of quality in the process. In the UK, Columbia welcomed him back into their good graces and the charts were alive with the sound of Terence Trenty D'Arby once again. Over the next twelve months, the album launched four songs into the Top 20. Back here in America, though, the album reached a peak position of #119.

Can you fucking believe that?

I tell you, if I'd have been D'Arby, made that great an album, and watched the U.S. division of Columbia play dumb, I'd have ripped my dreads straight out of my head.

While D'Arby didn't resort to such measures, at least physically, he did undergo quite a drastic inner transformation, declaring "Terence Trent D'Arby" dead and re-christening himself Sananda Maitreya. What had initially been a bit of a career-killer for the likes of Cat Stevens, D'Arby's mid-career name-change caused his career to take a screaming nosedive as well.

While the label certainly played its part, the truth is that Terence Trent D'Arby was one kooky mofo to begin with and the addition of fame, money, and idolatry into the equation sent the poor guy right off the rails.

For some reason, back in those days, we were not at all tolerant of artists who seemed a little "out there" or said outrageously misguided things in the press. Hell, back then, we made Milli Vanilla give back their Grammy for not actually singing. These days, crikey, we are surrounded by dozens of absolute frauds who fake it without consequence.

What remains a constant, though, is the banishment from the kingdom of any artist who strays too far from the template or refuses to employ cookie-cutters in the making of their music. Quite frankly, this writer is personally stunned that Columbia gave him the opportunity to make a third album after they purposely sabotaged his work two years prior. The label "tolerated" him for long enough to have a suitable reason to get rid of him. It certainly wasn't because his albums sucked. He was just crazy before crazy was cool, I guess.

Fast forward sixteen years and crazy is almost mandatory. We find ourselves in a musical climate that is unlike anything any of us back then could have possibly imagined.

2011 was supposed to be "the future" of our dreams, of the advancement of the artistic muse into new territory beyond our wildest imagination, as if anyone in 1959 could have imagined the advancement of an entire generation compliments of four lads from Liverpool.

In the sixteen years since D'Arby had a career, if anything, artists have regressed. Instead of talent, what we seem to embrace is the equivalent of a temper tantrum at the Chucky Cheese set to "some beats". And who at the top isn't crazy? Kanye West, arguably the most inventive artist of the millennium, can't leave his house without sticking his foot in his mouth. Genius?! Idiot's nuttier than squirrel shit.

This, of course, is to say nothing of P. Diddy changing his name not once, but TWICE and still shifting millions anytime he decided to mumble into a microphone.

What the fuck, ya'll?

Why are you so into "the crazy" now? Why do you accept granola droppings as grandeur and hand out millions of your hard-earned dollars to the likes of these narcissistic gas-bags high on their own fumes? Sure, Terence Trent D'Arby was so cocky as to publicly admit that he believed his first album was as good as Sgt. Pepper, but maybe the crazy man knew what he was talking about. Hell, I know that I listen to Hardline a shit-ton more than Sgt. Pepper. If you have a problem with that, the exit is over there, bitch.

What we need to do - before taking this current path any further renders us incapable of not shitting our collective pants when he belch - is stop the madness. Stop slowing down to a complete stop to take in each musical train wreck that succeeds in worming its way into our anti-culture. You've seen a train wreck before, asshole. Now, either step on the fucking gas or pull the fuck over because I've actually got someplace to be.

Here D'Arby had a voice that embodied the spirit of greats like Stevie Wonder and James Brown amd we ignored him. By comparison, Kanye and Diddy's respective voices embody the dumb kid in the back of class who never talked because every time he did, people made fun of him. Rather then shun the mic, though, these cretins have somehow been led to believe that their absolute inability to carry a tune doesn't matter as long as they can grunt in time, yo. Just auto-tune that bitch and wait for the money to roll in so Diddy can buy his kid another $300k car for getting a C+ on his algebra quiz.

Fuck it. All o' ya'll are assholes taking shits in my vicinity and, quite frankly, I'm sick of smelling it. So is Terence, or whatever he calls himself these days. As far as I am concerned, he can call himself Jiminy Moonboots and you motherfuckers will clap like you mean it or else you'll the feel the full wrath of my moon boot being planted firmly up your ass.

Don't make me come back here if you guys refuse to at least run out and buy TTD's debut and remind yourself what actual fucking talent sounds like. I don't care if you're cursing my name while you do it, just as long as you do it.

Top 5 All-Female Bands Of All-Time!

You know, it wasn't so long ago that the world was virtually littered with chick bands. Every time we turned around, there seemed to be some new all-girl band trotting out their musical wares and. more times than not, they weren't half bad (to look at). It was an amazingly great time for music, now that we think about it.

That's why we've decided to compile the absolutely definitive list of the Top 10 All-Girl Bands Of All-Time!

5. L7

L7 are best known for the 90's semi-hit "Pretend We're Dead'. Anyone who made the effort to dig a little deeper would soon discover that these gals knew how to bring the rock. If it had not been for Redd Kross pulling out of an L.A. street fest gig at the last minute and L7 stepping in to fill their shoes, I would never know how truly bad-ass this band was. On that night, they not only hit the stage, they pulverized it with a steady stream of bulldozer riffs and heart-pounding drums. If that weren't enough, they looked like the kind of girls who ate heaping helpings of guys like Lyle Alzado and John Matuszak (uh...wtf?!) for breakfast. Heck, we've actually seen a member of notorious rap act N.W.A. turn tail and run at the mere sight of L7 walking in his direction. That alone earns them a place on this list.

4. The Bangles

Would there have been a Bangles without the Go-Go's first blazing the trail? Probably not. While that's reason enough for many to hate the Go-Go's, the simple truth is that it was nice having the Bangles around. They were the Rolling Stones to the Go'Go's Beatles. Plus, Susannah Hoffs was nice enough to look at and played a Rickenbacker. The fact that they covered "September Gurls" at a time when Alex Chilton probably really needed the money makes them forever cool in our book.

3. The Runaways

At the time, we kinda wrote them off as a faux-band concocted by evil rock mastermind Kim Fowley, but the truth of the matter is that The Runaways rocked like nobody's business and the fact that they languished in total obscurity during their brief time together makes me ashamed to be an American. Five hot chicks, tons of great songs - like "Cherry Bomb", "Born to Be Bad" (which was co-written by future Bangle bassist Michael Steele), and "Neon Angels" are just the tip of a very awesome rock & roll juggernaut. If you haven't taken the time to check this band out, do so. Now!

2. The Go-Go's (pictured at top)

Holy fuck, did we ever have the hots for Jane Wiedlin? Those huge, dark eyes, that mischievous smile, and a mouth that made our pants tighten whenever it sang the words "our lips are sealed". Many a sock was demolished at the thought of ravaging the diminutive guitarist, but we digress.

In all seriousness, "Beauty & The Beat" is a great album. In fact, song-for-song, we contend that it is one of the most consistently solid rock & roll records ever made. Every single song on that album could have been released as a single and been a Top 20 hit. The fact that Jane Weidlin, even in her fifties, is still hot enough to bring out "the good wood" has absolutely nothing to do with our decision.

1. Poison

Let's see, the singer's name is Brett, the guitarist is C.C. (which could very well stand for Christina Catherine for all we know), the bassist is Bobby (or is it Bobbi?), and the drummer goes by the name Rikki. They also wear more make-up than an entire high school cheer-leading squad. And get a load of those clothes. Fuck, it looks like somebody put Appolonia, Sheila E., and the Mary Jane Girls in a blender and hit "Dress Me". These girls weren't afraid to write from their hearts either. "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" is probably about getting boned in the back of a flat bed pick-up truck and having the antler from a dead deer poke you in the ear while the third-string Junior Varsity quarterback pokes you in the rear. Ah, leave it to Poison to have their finger on the pulse of what it's like to be a teenage chick. Sadly, like most women her age, Brett has had way too many botox injections and can no longer remember the original color of her hair. It'd be easier, of course, if she actually had any.

Two & A Half Men Producer Chuck Lorre Takes Stab At Charlie Sheen!

At the end of every episode of hit CBS sitcom "Two & A Half Men", the credits roll and then up pops a white screen with an odd observation, a few words of wisdom, or some other bit of jingo that is often very funny in and of itself. Heck, as someone who has watched the show from Day 1, on more than a few occasions, his parting words were funnier than the whole episode.

On this past Monday night's episode, though, I think Lorre topped himself, saying that he, himself, has gone to regular doctor check-ups, taken steps to live a healthy, stress-free lifestyle, etc.,

Then he ends it with "If Charlie Sheen outlives me, I'm gonna be really pissed."

As we go to press, word has it Sheen still has yet to get a clue and brother Emilio Estevez eagerly prays that Starbucks believes that it really is his name on that job application and that they're still hiring.

God, we love Hollywood.

Bitch-Ass Motherfucking News: February 15, 2011

We figured it might be fun to do our own daily run-down of today's headlines. Or not. Let's find out together, who don't we?

It's been at least five days since we last heard a peep from Sarah Palin. Somebody might wanna go check on her. She very well might have shot herself in the foot, which was more than likely in her mouth at the time.

Can you imagine being the guy in Egypt who stole the statue of King Tut? Has anybody checked to make sure the dope didn't already post it on eBay? Being that he's the kind of guy who would steal a statue of the most-renowned Egyptian king of ALL-TIME, he also more than likely has set some insanely high reserve price. Asshole.

Billy Ray Cyrus says in the latest issue of GQ that he's worried about Miley. Riiiight. Billy Ray being "worried about his kid" is the same as me worrying if my boss is gonna pay me for not doin' a damn thing at work. That dude has been leeching off his own kid ever since the world told him twenty years ago to go jump off a cliff and take his achy breaky heart with him. Seriously, ever notice how just about every damn Miley Cyrus record has a duet with dear ol' dad on it? Creepy to the max, yo! If you listen closely when he sings, you can actually hear him holding his hand out for money.

Seems Charlie Sheen has already proclaimed himself "cured" and ready to go back to work. Turns out he even thinks that it's cool to smoke crack if you can "handle it socially". What the fuck is he on? Let me be the first legendary journalist to go on-record by saying that, though I think the guy is talented, the rock bottom truth is that he's a drunken, delusional ass-hat who has yet to land in the kind of trouble he can't buy his way out off (which is why the fucker wants to go back to work, no doubt). Hell, if all I had to do is open my wallet any time I drunkenly clocked a hooker in one of NYC's better hotels, I'd be "fine" and "ready to work", too. I hate to say it, but my gut (and a Benjamin) says Charlie Sheen is dead by April.

Seriously, who the fuck votes for Esperanza Spalding as Best New Artist Of The Year except a bunch of old, out-of-touch geezers? Hell, even we hadn't heard of her and, well, we've heard of everybody. Chances are she wears all of her clothes when she performs, unlike all the female singers whose names we actually knew until the Grammy broadcast edjumicated us.

Anybody else realize that no restaurant or cruise line is using The Romantics' "What I Like About You?" in there commercials? Weeeeeeird.

Frankie Muniz (better known as Malcolm from "Malcolm In The Middle") got himself into some serious hot water. Turns out he reportedly cold-cocked his girlfriend while waving a gun around at his crib in Arizona. Looks like somebody has successfully sullied up their image for a major comeback. Props, bro.

Rocker Vince Neil of Motley Crue begins a 15-day jail sentence in Las Vegas for a recent drunk driving incident. Can you believe this fucker? The guy kills Razzle from Hanoi Rocks in a drunk driving incident years ago and has just kept right on drinking and driving to this day as if it's his god-given right to endanger the rest of us just so he can drive himself home from the Pussy Palace after a three-night bender. Dude will probably just film another sex video while he's in there and sell it on his website when he gets out. O.J., my man, you have our full permission to shiv this fucker.

The New Strokes Song Is A Fake?!

Like most everyone else on the planet, we have an opinion about the new song by The Strokes, called "Under Cover Of Darkness". Of course, a lot of people are of the opinion that it's a very cool return-to-form for the pride of Hipsterville, or, as we like to call them, the Jules 'Blanca & Silver Spoon Gang.

Others opine that the song (which you can listen to HERE) sucks various body parts, but mostly cock, it would seem.

Of course, our opinion, per usual, is the only right one out there. The truth of the matter is that we believe the new Strokes song is a fake.

That's right, a fake.

By the way, does anyone else think that the Strokes guy on the far left of the photo below looks like that James Bond villain known as Jaws because of his shiny metal teeth?

And here's a photo of Bond villain, Jaws:

Now, we can't for the life of us imagine any woman sleeping with a diabolical bad-guy like "Jaws", but, then again, we like to think there's at least one lid for every pot, so to speak. And that dude in the Strokes looks like his kid.

Anyhoo, back to the new Strokes song.

We swear that if you snort enough bath salts, when you listen to the song, the magical truth locked within the grooves of your imaginary vinyl reveal that the song is, in fact, a new Maroon 5 song being played on the wrong speed - like when you play a 33rpm album at 45rpm (sorry to anyone under the age of 30 who has no idea what we're talking about).

While we must say it makes for a shitty Strokes song, it's actually one of the better Maroon 5 songs we've heard.

Rock on, motherfuckers.

Lady Gaga Hates Gay People?! (Or Is She Just A Really, Really Shitty Lyricist?)

[Lady Gaga takes massive burrito dump in a gigantic egg shell mid-song. GENIUS!]

I dunno if you've heard Lady Gaga's latest joint, "Born This Way". If you have, my most heartfelt condolences to your ears, if you haven't, buy a lottery ticket because you are a lucky mofo.

[Intro]
It doesn't matter if you love him,
Or capital H-I-M
Just put your paws up
'cause you were born this way, baby

[Verse 1]
My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir

"There's nothin wrong with lovin who you are"
She said, 'cause he made you perfect, babe"

So hold your head up girl and you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say
I was born this way

Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be a drag - just be a queen
Don't be!

[Verse 2]
Give yourself prudence
And love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice your truth

In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth

A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital h-i-m (hey hey hey)
I love my life I love this record and
Mi amore vole fe yah (love needs faith)

[Chorus]
I'm beautiful in my way
'cause god makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born-
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[Bridge]
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're lebanese, you're orient
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied, or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'cause baby you were born this way

No matter gay, straight, or bi,
Lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to survive
No matter black, white or beige
Chola or orient made
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to be brave

[Chorus]
I'm beautiful in my way
'cause god makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[Outro]
I was born this way hey!
I was born this way hey!
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way hey!

I was born this way hey!
I was born this way hey!
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way hey!

[Chorus]
I'm beautiful in my way
'cause god makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[Post-chorus]
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born-
I'm on the right track baby

Eons ago in Twitter-land, Gaga got all hot and bothered over herself and posted the above lyrics to a song she referred to as her latest "masterpiece". As I read the words, I immediately thought, "How nice of you to print the poetry of a mentally-handicapped ten-year-old girl, but where the BLEEP are the lyrics you wrote, honey?"

Turns out those were her lyrics.

See, what a lot of folks forget is that all of the supposed musical genius that has made Lady Gaga a worldwide sensation comes from her ex-producer. Any Gaga song that the world knows and loves came from him. Sure, Gaga may have added a lyric or two, but without that producer, there is nobody covering up the black hole that is Lady Gaga's musical genius.

I mean, those lyrics ain't any kind of genius. And the actual melody, chord changes, etc. are straight from Madonna's "Express Yourself". Gaga is so delusional in regard to the belief in her own greatness that she thinks she can pull this kinda shit and none of her fans will know the difference.

Additionally, you gotta hand it to Gaga for being so open in her loathing of the gay community. I mean, nobody you loves gay people would humiliate them so boldly in song. Take for instance the very first part of the song where Gaga comes right out and accuses gay people of having paws instead of hands or feet. Yep, Lady Gaga officially thinks gay people are animals.

Later in the song, she goes so far as to call being gay one of "life's disabilities" along with being, to paraphrase her words, black, white, beige, Chola descent, Lebanese, or Orient.

Damn, Lady Gaga is one big ol' hater, ain't she?

That she presumes that a gay person would "hide yourself in regret" or "be a drag" says more about her than it does a larger portion of the gay community. We have many gay friends and every last one of them happens to be one of the most kind-hearted, outgoing, and extroverted people on the planet. Very few of them hide themselves in regret, and none of them are ever a drag. Nor are they drag queens. In fact, the only drag queen we know is as straight as the highway between Fort Worth and Dallas.

Is Gaga dissing drag queens too?

Lordy, add it to the list.

Thankfully, this song has not only revealed to all the world the musical fraud that is Lady Gaga, it also shows us all what a hateful fuck doll this chick is...glad we found out now, I guess.

Justin Bieber's FUTURE REVEALED!

I realize that a lot of girls out there today are suffering from Biebermania, for which there is currently no known cure. One of the recent side effects of this dreadful disease is violent Wiki-altering mood swings brought on by someone other than Justin Bieber winning the Grammy for Best New Artist.

What these poor girls don't realize is that if Justin Bieber had won the Grammy for Best New Artist, he would have joined an ever-growing list of artists who won the award and were then never heard from again. See, winning that award can be a stone-cold career killer. Just ask Milli Vanilli, Paula Cole, Lauryn Hill, Evanescence, and Arrested Development.

While my best wishes are with these young girls, I am reasonably sure most will grow up to be emotionally scarred adults who seek debauched solace in the arms of older men, of which I will be one. I look forward to a long and plentiful period of asking many of these women, in various states of undress, how ( hip thrust) you (hip thrust) like (hip thrust) Justin (hip thrust) Bieber (hip thrust) NOW?!

For now, I would simply suggest to these young girls that Bieber's Grammy hopes are not entirely over. I think if he were to release a full-length album with a picture of him on the cover playing a guitar, such as he did for the EP My Worlds Acoustic, it could surely be nominated as a comedy album and that, unless Esperanze Spaulding were to also release a comedy album during that same calendar year, he would win hands-down.

As for those who wonder what the future holds for Justin Bieber, we need only look to past artists who did not really sing on their albums, or in-concert, and who didn't come clean with the millions of female fans about the fact that none of them EVER had a fucking chance in hell.

I'm talking about guys like Lance Bass, Jonathan Knight, and Ricky Martin.

See, believe it or not gals, these guys were absolutely HUGE at one time, with millions of young girls fawning over them, worshipping the ground they walked upon, and one day dreaming of being Mrs. Lance Bass. In hindsight, that sounds pretty damn silly, right?

Mark my words, in a few short years, the fact that any of you ever scribbled "Cameron Bieber" on your grade school folder, only to see that your friend Meghan had just scribbled "Meghan Bieber" on hers, thereby forcing you to end your friendship with the dirty slut right then and there, will be cause for great embarrassment.

It isn't now, but it will be the day that your little hero with the bangs in his eyes gets hauled out of a nightclub frequented by gay Marines with the ass of his pants ripped out and a huge smile on his face.

On that day, you will suddenly remember for a brief, fleeting moment that you once thought Justin Bieber was the hottest thing since sliced milk, but that you'd forgotten all about him until now. Then the thought will dissipate like a cotton candy fart, you will snap back to the present day and resume fondling the latest old dude you met on Craiglist.

Crazy Question: When Did KISS Jump The Shark?!

Sure, it's no longer cool to dig KISS, but, let's face it, if you are a dude or dudette "of a certain age", you did at one time think KISS were pretty damn cool. You owned all the records, went to their shows, and, on at least one occasion, went as your favorite KISS member for Halloween.

Of course, like most bands, KISS made their share of mistakes and, at some point, they jumped the shark, thereby causing a great number of fans to fall off the KISS bandwagon. Of course, some of us have hopped on and off that very same bandwagon more than once. Come on, admit it, when the original line-up reunited in 1996, most of us got at least a little bit excited. Hey, I saw the lines outside Tower Records and other Ticketmaster outlets as fans waited for tickets to go on-sale (these being the "good ol' days" before online ticket sales even existed).

When exactly did KISS truly jump the shark, though?

Was it when the four members of the band each released their own solo album on the very same day in September of 1978, with each dedicating their album to the other three members of the band? Never mind the fact that Gene Simmons felt the need to record his own rendition of the schmaltzy standard "When You Wish Upon A Star", the very idea of the marketplace being flooded by the arrival of 20 million copies of brand new KISS solo albums is mind-boggling these days, considering that album sales of top-flight artists have dwindled so drastically.

Was it when they appeared on national television two days before Halloween 1978 (a mere month after their solo albums flooded the market) in the epic cheese-fest that was "KISS Meets The Phantom Of The Park"? This dreadful drama took place in an amusement park where evil scientist Abner Devereaux (played by Anthony Zerbe) turns Melissa's boyfriend Sam into a lifeless cyborg. After getting fired, he unleashes a robotic Gene Simmons that wreaks havoc upon the park, then neutralizes the band's super powers before capturing them in his underground lair. Sure, there were holes in the plot large enough to drive a dump truck through, but since most of us were quite young and had yet to fully develop our bullshit detectors, very few of us cared.

Was it when KISS went disco on 1979's Dynasty album, unleashing the craptastic single "I Was Made For Loving You"? Sure, the single was one of their highest sellers, going Top 10 in nine different countries (it peaked at #11 in the US), but at what expenses? To their fans, KISS embodied all that was great about rock & roll. For many, seeing their heroes embrace disco was a huge slap in the face.

Was it when they released the Unmasked album in 1980, but remained masked, merely hinting at the prospect of removing their make-up in order to sell more albums? It didn't work, as Unmasked was the first KISS album since Dressed To Kill not to go Platinum.

Was it when they finally appeared on MTV sans make-up a full three years after the last KISS fan stopped giving a damn? By then, of course, both Peter Criss and Ace Frehley had been kicked out of the band.

Was it when, after thirteen years of declining album sales and concert revenue that Gene Simmons begrudgingly brought Ace and Peter back into the fold for a full-fledged "make-up and all" reunion tour in 1996? I mean, let's face it, while many of us jumped at the chance to relive a part of our childhoods, the simple truth is that it was a calculated nostalgia-based cash-in, nothing more, nothing less.

Was it when Peter Criss left the band again in 2001 and was replaced by Eric Singer, who committed sacrilege by wearing the same "Cat man" make-up that Criss had made famous? Let's face it, this move was a new low for the band and basically exclaimed to all that Ace and Peter were expendable members of the band. Later Ace replacement Tommy Thayer went on to wear Ace's "Star man" make-up and continues to do so to this day when the band performs.

Was it when KISS took merchandising to new extremes that same year by debuting the KISS Kasket? Gene Simmons unveiled the ridiculous item, declaring "I love livin', but this makes the alternative look pretty damn good." Amazingly, the band expects to unveil a "new and improved" KISS Kasket this month. Don't hold your breath for too long, though, or you'll be buried in a regular casket before this one becomes available. In the meantime, perhaps you'll be interested in picking up a KISS golf club cover or, better yet, a KISS trailer hitch. Seriously, who the fuck decided the world needed KISS trailer hitches? We're amazed Gene didn't think of offering KISS truck balls (pictured above thanks to our trusty Photoshop skillz)

Or was it when Gene Simmons saw Ozzy Osbourne making crazy money off of his own TV reality show and decided to start his own, called "Gene Simmons' Family Jewels". Sigh.

Crikey, it's not a matter of when KISS jumped the shark, but how many times. That's quite the legacy, Gene.

Darren's Bitch-Ass Thoughts: Fall Out Boy, KISS, Aerosmith, Yuck and More!

We here at Bitch-Ass Motherfucker are proud to unveil a new weekly column that we call Darren's Bitch-Ass Thoughts. It is a random collection of brain droppings from the mind of someone who should probably keep his thoughts to himself, which pretty much makes him just like everyone else with a blog, so there.

Without further adieu, we now present the first installment of Darren's Bitch-Ass Thoughts.

Prince makes news for kicking one of the Kardashians off his stage. What the fuck was he doing inviting them onstage in the first place? Play "When Doves Cry" all the way through, motherfucker. Cut out the fucking hit medleys, and no more fucking Kardashian bullshit.

Chatter on the interweb is that Christina Aguilera intentionally goofed up the anthem in order to get publicity. If she'd have just done her usual "songbird having a seizure" schtick and not goofed up the words, the fact that she was even there would have been forgotten by kickoff. Part of me thinks that she wouldn't be the first person to fuck up just to make the news, but the other part of me thinks this chick ain't smart enough to tie her own shoes, much less pull a stunt like this.

You guys ain't gonna believe this one: American Idol producers are floating the idea of an "American Idol" summer tour, with headliners Aerosmith. Is that fucking hilarious, or what? Just don't let J. Lo anywhere near a live microphone, that's all we ask.

Is that KISS or Blue Man Group? Seems the band KISS will perform in 2012 with NO original members. It has long been Gene's dream to see KISS continue as an entity with the gradual replacement of all original members, with he and Paul Stanley overseeing the creative side. A long-term Las Vegas production is currently in the works, with the possible addition of other regional troupes, a la Blue Man Group. We can't help wonder if those interested in playing the role of Paul Stanley will be forced to have Star Man's butt hair grafted onto their chests.

Seriously, which one of you motherfuckers keeps telling Katy Perry that she's sexy? Or that she can sing? Cut it out. Fuck. If it's you, Butch Walker, so help me god I will sphincter bop your ol' lady while you're out schtupping some Canoga Park fuck doll with tits, tats and a demo tape.

Seriously, have all the good band names been taken? Cool new band from London that I've been digging...they're called Yuck. Sigh.

We read that Patrick Stump has a new solo album coming out. In reading the article (from the latest ish of Rolling Stone), we suddenly realized we had a king-size boner. Now, this wasn't because we've been looking forward to new music from Stump, or anything. What gave us the good wood was the fact that in the article he is referred to as "ex-Fall Out Boy singer" Patrick Stump. That means Fall Out Boy really have gone bye-bye! Praise dashboard Jesus!

B.A.M.F. Exclusive: Christina Aguilera Inner Dialogue WHILE She Was Singing The National Anthem!

If you didn't see it when it happened, you've no doubt heard about it by now. Christina Aguilera fucked up the anthem. I love the fact that she - I mean one of her PR people - tweets afterward that "I got caught up in the moment." Having exclusive access to Christina's innermost thoughts while she was singing, we at Bitch-Ass Motherfucker hope to shed further light upon Christina's "lyrical malfunction", if you will:

"Damn, I am singing the SHIT out of this song. I hope these motherfuckers are videotaping every fucking second of this because I'm a-gonna make people forget all about Whitney's Houston's version. Damn, I remember buying the cassingle of her rendition of the National Anthem when I was a kid, even though I knew she recorded it in advance and merely lip synced to it on game day. Fuck, they should put THIS rendition out on a cassingle. Yeah, I know cassingles are obsolete, but my version is so fucking BOMB that people would buy it anyway. Shit, cassette deck sales would go through da roof, holmes.

I rule.

Seriously, check me out, man. I am adding like three notes to every fucking syllable. I just spent five seconds singing the word "and", can you believe this? And, while I can't actually do sign language for the deaf people - oh, what they be missing - I do the next best thing and move my hand up and down depending on how high a note I'm hitting. See, right there? Raised my hand as high as it would go to accentuate the high note, which I then followed with a serious of lower, but damn respectable notes.

Did I mention how much I rule?

Plus, you know how when people say "She walks around like her shit don't stank"? I took a huge dump just before I came out here and my personal assistant agreed with me that it did not stink. At all.

Good thing I had my assistant scoop it up outta the toilet and put it in a baggie. The Smithsonian's gonna want to frame it. Should we gold plate it? Sprinkle some fuckin' rhinestones on it? Sho thang, but it'll cost 'em extra.

Oh hell no...wouldn't you know it? Here I am redesigning The National Anthem for the 21st century in front of BILLIONS and now my kootchie's fittin' ta be itchin'. Easy girl, we's almost home. HA! I just said 'easy girl'. That's what they used to call me back in grade school, yo, but who the fuck's laughing now?

Did I just see Cameron Diaz feed A-Rod some popcorn?

All that bitch is good for, from what I hear. Damn, bitch made me mess up the anthem.

No worries. I got this one covered, yo. It's what we "great ones" call improvisation. Now not only will I sell a gazillion cassingles of this bad boy, I can now take a co-writing credit and make me some BANK, motherfucker.

Peace out, bitches. I rule!"

Black Eyed Peas Halftime Show Was Global IQ Test

While we at Bitch-Ass Motherfucker HQ had really low expectations for the BEP Super Bowl halftime show, we must commend the Peas for really outdoing themselves and surpassing even our wildest expectations.

On one level, it's quite easy to say that the Peas had absolutely no business getting up on a worldwide concert stage to suck that hard, but that would be missing the point altogether.

See, the Black Eyed Peas didn't just suck, they created an IQ test so that those of us with any brain cells at all can determine the true idiots among us.

How can you tell an idiot based on the Peas' performance, you ask?

It's quite easy, actually. Anyone who saw that performance and didn't think it sucked is an idiot. They should have their driving, voting and, let's face it, breeding privileges revoked immediately.

As for the Peas, they officially have our permission to go away now and take that fucking annoying "Tonight's Gonna Be A Good Night" crap with them. Also, if they've got room on the BEP short bus, have them take Christina "Ramparts" Aguilera while they're at it.

Top 20 Non-Essential Band Members Of ALL-Time!

Let's face it, most bands have a weak link. Hell, more than a few great bands have included at least one member that was, to put it as kindly as possible, non-essential. We often refer to such members as "lucky SOB's" who who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, or had incriminating pictures of key band members in compromising positions. We at B.A.M.F. have taken it upon ourselves to craft the definitive list of the Top 25 Most Non-Essential band members of all time.

And, as always, our choices are in no particular order because, let's face it, non-essential is non-essential.

Sid Vicious of The Sex Pistols - Sid is the all-time poster child of non-essential band members. Hell, his bass guitar wasn't even plugged in. It may not have even had strings on it, now that we think about it. From the moment he replaced Glen Matlock (a guy who actually did know how to play bass but made the career-killing mistake of getting on Johnny Rotten's bad side) in the Pistols, Sid was there for one reason and one reason only: to look the part of a nihilistic punk rocker. Apparently, to do this and play bass at the same time was too much multi-tasking for dear Sid to master, bless his gacked-out heart.

Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy - If Sid Vicious had been born in 1984, he'd be Pete Wentz.

D'Arcy Wretsky of Smashing Pumpkins - Sure, she had a somewhat interesting look about her (which is something that most guys seem to say about any chick who plays in a rock band, know matter how weird she looks), but she brought absolutely nothing to the table creatively. On their records, Billy Corgan played most if not all of the bass lines. In concert, she merely replicated them in the most ham-fisted, sluggish way possible.

Linda McCartney of Wings - Sure, she had a decent rack, but was a bit of a butterface (not that she wasn't without a quiet, matronly appeal) and had no business playing keyboards and singing back-up in a band fronted by one of the freakin' Beatles. Anyone who has ever been unlucky enough to hear any of the isolated recordings of her vocals and/or keyboard playing knows what I'm talking about. Back then, Paul stuck her out there and let her plink and plunk away to her heart's content, but a smarter man would have had a real keyboardist "in the wings" (get it?) and out of view of the audience.

Nick Mason of Pink Floyd - Apparently, Roger Waters agrees with us on this one, having long been critical of Mason's lethargic playing. Sure, he's one of the founding members of one of the greatest bands in the world, but, as drummers go, he ranks as one of the luckiest SOB's on the planet. On a bit of a side note, can you imagine Keith Moon in Pink Floyd? That would have been AWESOME!

Fiona Russell-Powell (known as Eden) and David Yarritu of ABC - We have no idea what Martin Fry was thinking when he enlisted two non-performing members to join the band for 1985's album, How To Be A Zillionaire. Eden was eye candy, brought in to provide an appealing female visual element and, well, Yarritu was a diminutive Asian fellow with thick glasses and a shaved dome - a cartoon character come to life, it seemed. Thankfully, Martin canned these two shortly after the album was released. Our eyes are still trying to recover from the mockery that was ABC circa '85.

Janick Gers of Iron Maiden - Granted, Janick can actually play the guitar (very well, in fact), but, let's face it, he's one of like eighteen (okay, three) guys currently playing guitar in Iron Maiden. Plus, unlike the others, he isn't an original member of the band. We bet you five bucks he could stop playing altogether and nobody in the stadium would know or care. So, based on that criteria, he is hereby ruled non-essential.

Anybody in a rap group wearing an NFL jersey onstage - Generally speaking, these guys are there to energize the audience with constant hoops and hollering, saying shit like "Hey, Ho!" and "Get yo hands in the air!" in hopes of taking the audience's mind off of how insanely boring a rap concert can be. I mean, ten minutes of hearing some mealy-mouthed meat-head drop profanities over a beat is nobody's idea of a good time. While they try to help disguise the obvious soul-sucking boredom of such performances, these cats just make it worse!

The female guitarist in Paul Schaffer's "Late Show" Band - Seriously, what's her fucking deal? Paul Schaffer no doubt hired her for her singing skills as well as her guitar prowess, but, come on, Sid McGinnis is all this band ever needed. Her presence is smarmy and completely fucking unnecessary. And those fucking DSr. Seuss hats she insists on wearing...give it a rest, girl.

The chick who sang and "played percussion" in Kevin Eubanks "Tonight Show" band - Lordy, was that chick obnoxious. It got so you couldn't go to or come back from a commercial break without either hearing her incessant caterwauling or watching her tossing some lame-ass fucking gourd in the air under the guise of "playing percussion". We know Eubanks left, but have no idea if she's still there, as we haven't watched "The Tonight Show" in ages.

At least one of the Jonas Brothers - Seriously, near as we can tell, two of those cats are not pulling their weight (which can't be any more than 98 lbs), so of the two, one of them must be a total waste of space. I mean, Nick's the only Jonas that's really doing anything and, even then, that's being generous. The Jonas Brothers are like three really smudged photocopies of Pete Wentz.

Dizzy Reed of Guns 'n' Roses - Imagine being some Sunset Boulevard hair metal poser on the verge of going broke and getting kicked out of your apartment. Now imagine you also happen to be buds with Axl Rose. Not only does he loan you some cash to make rent, he makes you a fucking member of what was at the time one of fucking biggest and most dangerous bands on the planet. Only thing was, GNR needed a keyboard player like John F. Kennedy needed another hole in the head. That he is still with the band to this day is astounding. The dude must be one of the best ass-kissers in all of humanity not to get kicked out of the band by "Mr. Mood Swing" Axl Rose.

Andrew Ridgely of Wham! - To this day, we're still trying to figure out what Ridgely's purpose was in the band. I mean, near as we can tell, George Michael seemed to have all the bases covered. We still haven't laughed as hard as we did the day we walked into the local record store and saw, of all things, an Andrew Ridgely solo album. Thankfully, there would be only one.

John Oates of Hall & Oates - Sure, he plays the guitar and sings back-up. Okay, we aren't sure that the guitar is actually plugged in or the microphone is on, but we do know that even if they are, his contribution to the band is so minor. He's even less essential than that without the mustache. If he's going to insist on remaining part of the equation, he needs to re-grow the 'stache. Without one, he looks like a horse jockey going under-cover as a substitute teacher (or vice-versa). Dude's a punch line, for crissakes.

Any Bangle not named Susanna Hoffs - They like to hype the fact that they can sing three-and-four-part harmonies and shit, but the truth of the matter is that the only Bangle that ever mattered was Susanna Hoffs. Hell, their albums featured more session players than a Britney Spears joint.

Joe Leeway of the Thompson Twins - If you don't know who I'm talking about, Leeway was the "multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist" in the band. In other words, he tapped on a bongo that wasn't mic'ed and sang into a wireless headset plugged into his underwear, near as we can tell. His role in the band was to be the, uh, reggae-looking guy with the dreadlocks. Now, that we think about it, his actual role must have been to make Allanah Currie look good by comparison because we never quite figured out what she was doing in the band, either.

Siobhan Fahey of Bananarama - Seriously, for three gals, you'd think one of them would have tried to sing harmony or something. As it was, all three members of this British vocal trio sang the same exact vocal part over one another, making songs such as "Cruel Summer" and "Venus" sound like grade school sing-a-longs. Seeing as how the current version of Bananarama consists of the duo of Keren Woodward and Sara Dallin, looks like Fahey's presence was superfluous at best. She was married to Eurythmic Dave Stewart until 1996 when, one could surmise, he found her non-essential as well.

Patti Scialfa of the E Street Band - Do we even need to discuss this one? Didn't think so.

Fergie of Black Eyed Peas - From the minute we became aware of her existence, we've been trying to figure out how a gal this non-essential found herself in one of the most popular pop acts of the modern age. I mean, as far as gals go, Fergie's a C+ on her best day and a little long in the tooth to boot. Additionally, her vocal skills are "karaoke-level" at best and her butt-crack sweats a lot. So, what gives?

(thanks to my buddy Willard for reminding me of the Thompson Twins and Patti Scialfa.)

Juicy Melon Movie Review: The Company Men

From the previews of this flick starring Ben Affleck, Tommy Lee Jones, Kevin Costner and Chris Cooper, I remember making a mental note to check it out once it opened.

Like many of you, I'm a sucker for those Wall Street-type humanity stories where we watch a bunch of suits wrestle with the realities of an economy that's still trying to shake off the nosedive it took in 2008.

In this particular cinematic journey, Affleck portrays an exec making $160,000/yr who gets fired and, as a result, is forced to re-evaluate his life, his existence, heck, his whole universe.

Jones plays an executive - one of the company's first employees, as a matter of fact - who is best friends with the CEO (played ruthlessly by Craig T. Jones), but, thanks to his inability to not voice his ethical concerns, gets shit-canned anyway.

Chris Cooper figures his life is over when he gets pink-slipped. After all, who wants to hire a paper-pusher pushing 60?

Kevin Costner, almost unrecognizable these days, is Affleck's brother-in-law and a blue-collar guy who spars with Affleck over what constitutes an honest day's work.

While not the most creative movie on the subject ever made, much less made this year (it's a popular subject, it seems), it's hard not to like Affleck and Jones. That's why they're in the movie because, if there weren't two likable guys playing these roles, it would be near impossible to work up a whole lot of sympathy for watching some fat cat get the ax and having to sell his Porsche, give up the country club membership, and cut down to caviar only twice a week (that last one didn't actually happen, but I was on a roll).

Strangely, the only guy who still has a job seems to be Costner, who runs a construction business. Didn't the construction biz get hit pretty hard recently too? Granted, if this movie was to acknowledge this truth, then you wouldn't be able to have meat-and-potatoes Costner save the spoiled rich guy's ass.

While I certainly thought Rosemarie DeWitt's ass got better and better as the movie progressed (she plays Affleck's loving wife who seems to always be right, like most woman...in the movies...what's up with that?), I didn't find a whole lot else to hang my, er, hat on regarding "The Company Men".

Enjoyable enough if you turn your brain off. Chicks will like it because they'll think they'd look just as good in whatever jeans DeWitt wears in the movie.

I mean, the plot's been done before, the story's been told. Let's face it, this utter has been milked dry, baby. Rosemarie's scrumptious ass is great, but it isn't nearly enough to save this movie from itself. It is, however, more than enough for me to have enough wood at this very moment to carve Yngwie Malmsteen's name into, which would be a waste of good wood no matter which way you swing.

JUICY MELON RATING:
2.5 OUTTA 5 JUICY MELONS, BABY!

The White Stripes Have Left The Building

(White Stripes promo photo...or a bad day at couples counseling?)

After a lengthy hiatus, the White Stripes announced in a letter posted on their official website that they have formally disbanded.

Considering that their last studio album, Icky Thump, came out almost four years ago and that their 2007 tour ended with several cancellations (due to Meg's anxiety issues), the writing has long been on the wall, for me at least.

I remember watching the end of their 2009 DVD Under Great White Northern Lights where Meg breaks down in tears as Jack plays a touching rendition of "White Moon" on an old piano. I don't know what that scene was meant to convey, or why Meg was crying, but I walked away knowing that the White Stripes, as of that very moment, were toast.

At that moment, which took place almost a year to the date of this announcement, I remember being pretty moved and somewhat mournful, as something with real depth and flair, not to mention awesome marketing savvy, was now dead.

While I was never a huge fan of the band, I have always respected Jack White's skills as a modern-day snake oil salesman. Who better than he to take a ramshackle roots duo from the bowels of Detroit, Michigan to the motherfucking BIGTIME?

I mean, there are better bands out there, better songs floating in the air on a daily basis, but there was just something so inherently cool about the White Stripes. Somehow, the combination of Jack's "mad-man with a ratty guitar" and Meg's "ex-wife with a rudimentary understanding of percussion, but a damn fine rack" served only to heighten whatever shortcomings the material may have had.

That is not to say that Jack didn't unleash some stunners over the years. I just happened to find their first two albums pretty uneven affairs. In truth, I have Steven McDonald of Redd Kross to thank for getting be into White Blood Cells, as his Redd Blood Cells added some kick-ass bass lines and ended up helping the album achieve the proper greatness that the original fell short of reaching, sonically speaking.

Of course, Jack earned bonus points by not being a dick and demanding that McDonald remove the tracks from his website at once, but by going a step further and expressing his appreciation of the work. Considering that Jack was now part of the Warner Brothers machine, one can see how a lesser guy might have handled it differently.

Jack earned more bonus points from me when he beat the shit out of Jason from fellow Detroiters the Von Bondies; a band whose debut album he'd supposedly produced (although the band now says it was someone else...whatever). I know nothing about Jason, or whether he had it coming, but the way he played the event up in the press, releasing photos of the facial cuts and bruising he'd received, I was left with the feeling that there was no reason on the planet for someone at Jack White's stature circa 2003 to waste his time on some unappreciative punk unless he truly deserved a thrashing. Sure, when you're a rock star, you may have to suffer some fools, but you don't have to suffer them all. Occasionally, you gotta put one down just to send the proper message to the rest.

That's also how I came to view the band's next album, Get Behind Me Satan. They'd enjoyed four years of being the hip, new kid on the block, so to speak, and now they were starting to be seen as perhaps a one-trick pony that had perhaps overstayed their welcome. By upping the ante, recording the album in an actual recording studio rather than some garage in Detroit, writing some of the best, most soul-baring material of his life, he created an album that set all critics on their heels.

Sure, there were plenty of rootsy rave-up's for which they are best known, but the songs that make this album such a stunner are those that wear their proverbial hearts on their sleeve - songs like "White Moon" and "Forever For Her (Is Over For Me)". These were songs you were just never gonna hear from any band that, up until that point, may have viewed themselves as creative equals.

But for what, I ask, do you think the White Stripes will be most remembered?

Leave it to a band with no bass player to create the most-lauded bass line to come down the pike since "Another One Bites The Dust". Such was the opening line of "Seven Nation Army", a song that set off their Elephant album like a powder keg and, quite sadly, is currently being slaughtered by every collegiate marching band in the country. It's getting so I can't watch a college sporting event without wondering aloud if those fucking band nerds know any other song, for the love of Betsy.

Of course, Jack White is still making music. No matter what he does, though, he'll always be Jack White from the White Stripes and all else will be seen as a deviation from the "magnetic north" that was the White Stripes.