The Record Crate

To start off on the right foot, I am not bashing Dave Matthews for dedicating his band’s latest effort “Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King” to their late sax player LeRoi Moore. Actually, this fact alone makes it hard for me to write this post, as I feel like I’m metaphorically severely anally discharging all over this artistic tribute. However, here’s where you wet the bed, Dave. Students-please open your Rolling Stone Magazine textbooks and open them to the 22nd page of volume 1076. Everyone there? Awesome. Check the lower left hand corner of the page. You will find this quote:

“This is a good record…even people who don’t like Dave Matthews Band are going to like this record - and if they dont, then they just don’t like music.”

Alright, Dave. I tell you what. Go outside. Practice falling down. I’ll be out in a few seconds. I am terribly insulted. I hate your band. I hate everything your music stands for. I am so incredibly sick of this hippy mentality of “live for today because tomorrow’s not promised” and all that nonsense. Yeah. We get it. I’ve lost people close to me too. I talked to one of my closest friends hours before he died. I know that tomorrow’s not promised. Why spend the majority of your waking hours singing about what you’re afraid of? Take a cue from Roy Orbison, homie. Forget the fact that he might have been the ugliest dude with the most horrific looking shades ever, but he LOVED women. He didn’t care what he looked like. He was in love with the snatch. Grow up dude, and have some cough drops. Your voice is as raspy as a whore who hasn’t made a dollar in a month. Moving on.

I’ll be the first to admit it. Unless I’m strapped down to a table in Gitmo and given a choice to listen to your album and live, or get waterboarded until I’m dead, I’ll choose the latter. So I guess that makes me someone that “doesn’t like music.” I’m going to take a cue from the immortal Hunter S. Thompson. A man who was never short on his opinion, though he rarely ever swore. So feel me real quick. I wish I could tie to the back of my car and drive up and down a dirt road in your home country of South Africa until your head bounces off of a sharp rock and it explodes. Only then will the world be rid of the terrible excuse for art that is every song you’ve ever released.

Answer me this, Mr. Matthews. If I don’t like music, then I couldn’t possibly enjoy the Beach Boys and I most certainly couldn’t sit through The Who’s “Tommy.” I guess what you’re saying is that your new album is the epitome of music…The Ten Commandments of all that could be considered musical works of art. So basically you’re Moses, your new album is the Ten Commandments and anyone who doesn’t follow your way of thinking is not a fan of music and henceforth condemned to hell? Alright Moses. You want to play that game. Go tell St. Peter to open the Pearly gates. Waiting there will be a large brown paper bag, with the biggest dog poop you’ve ever seen. That bag will be set on fire courtesy of the fire I have found in my new home “Hell.” Try putting the fire out with one of your new albums then try playing it on a record player. They say two wrongs don’t make a right. I bet two kinds of dog droppings doesn’t make anything better either.

Candy ass.