by Steph Hamill, 19th April 2010...
Mazzy Star
Let's be honest now, we all think we've got great taste in music. Am I wrong? So, if Joe of uncultured Blogs at desk five doesn't appreciate the finer workings of Pat Benatar, then I (quite rightly) feel it my duty to school him in all classical musical matters, a la School of Rock. Jack Black, I salute you!
This afternoon I have had the misfortune of attempting to guide the musical tastes of Joe Blogs* (fake name, for his protection), a die hard and seasoned techno head (I kid you not). We began the 'lesson' through the sharing of a couple of Spotify playlists. Ease him in, or so I thought. Well, I was somewhat surprised to hear all manner of huffs, puffs and other unintelligible sounds I cared not decypher. Now, these songs weren't just any old bit of filler, but tried and tested classics ranging from Kate Bush, The Beatles (they got a gaffaw; seriously, I almost swung), Joni Mitchell was skipped and The Cure... (Well, I'd rather not discuss it. Let's just say it brought a tear to my Cure loving eyes).
Ignoring the purely shocking lack of regard for raw talent, I perservered and invited a mutual playoff session, ending in an equally shocking manner. Essentially, the guy doesn't get guitars. Or bass (guitar, he certainly gets the computer generated kind). Or piano. Or a voice without autotune. A voice at all for that matter. Unfortunately, I could go on. Bearing in mind, I pulled out some big guns; Janis Joplin, The Pretenders, Heart, Patti Smith, Mamas and the Papas, Salt N Pepa, Aretha Franklin, PJ Harvey, Bjork, Tori Amos, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Mazzy Star, Madonna, Blondie, Garbage, Fiona Apple, Kylie even. No joy, whatsoever. He simply looked pissed off.
The best comment was, however, saved for last; "women are crap musicians." Let the musical work placed battles begin. I'm also going to lend him my copy of School of Rock.
This afternoon I have had the misfortune of attempting to guide the musical tastes of Joe Blogs* (fake name, for his protection), a die hard and seasoned techno head (I kid you not). We began the 'lesson' through the sharing of a couple of Spotify playlists. Ease him in, or so I thought. Well, I was somewhat surprised to hear all manner of huffs, puffs and other unintelligible sounds I cared not decypher. Now, these songs weren't just any old bit of filler, but tried and tested classics ranging from Kate Bush, The Beatles (they got a gaffaw; seriously, I almost swung), Joni Mitchell was skipped and The Cure... (Well, I'd rather not discuss it. Let's just say it brought a tear to my Cure loving eyes).
Ignoring the purely shocking lack of regard for raw talent, I perservered and invited a mutual playoff session, ending in an equally shocking manner. Essentially, the guy doesn't get guitars. Or bass (guitar, he certainly gets the computer generated kind). Or piano. Or a voice without autotune. A voice at all for that matter. Unfortunately, I could go on. Bearing in mind, I pulled out some big guns; Janis Joplin, The Pretenders, Heart, Patti Smith, Mamas and the Papas, Salt N Pepa, Aretha Franklin, PJ Harvey, Bjork, Tori Amos, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Mazzy Star, Madonna, Blondie, Garbage, Fiona Apple, Kylie even. No joy, whatsoever. He simply looked pissed off.
The best comment was, however, saved for last; "women are crap musicians." Let the musical work placed battles begin. I'm also going to lend him my copy of School of Rock.
