The Super Bowl, as per usual, was a bust. At least for everyone not living in Boston, which is now probably on fire. Actually, Philly is probably burning right about now also.
But for once, the halftime show didn't make me want to shave my head with a rusty cheese grater. In fact, I'm astounded to hear myself admit that I was completely transfixed. Not a whole lot to say really, other than Sir Paul continues to update the book (which he helped write) on songwriting and classy performance. "Drive My Car" never sounded so good. Paul was always my least favorite Beatle demeanor-wise, George being my favorite. But his performance made all others look like kids. No cheezy-ass choreography, actual singing (!!!!), super world-class band. Justin Timberwho?
Wendo has suggested that I am a music snob, and she's completely right. I am a total snob. Poor girl; I try not to vent too much.
But, goddamnit, I decry and bemoan in the loudest possible voice the utter absence of actual musicianship and theoretical savvy in most of today's popular music. If that makes me a snob, fine. Paul's performance completely validates me. One of my New Year's resolutions was to be more open-minded and less venomous in my appraisals of modern music. I want so much to find some hip hop that doesn't piss me off, or at least bore me stupid, something that upholds what the form really can be and doesn't just bitch at me. I'm positively parched for a really, really great pop band that doesn't stare at their shoes and sing about how miserable everything is. Would it kill you to write a non 1-7-6 chord progression? Have you absolutely no imagination?
I'm determined to find new music I like this year. Until I do, Sir Paul and The Beatles remain untouchable, 41 years after they stormed the Ed Sullivan Show. The very highest of watermarks for what we do, fellow victims of the terpsichorian muse. There he was with the old Hofner bass, as good as ever in his 60s, making everyone else look like rank amateurs including Earth, Wind, & Fire. It begs the question; what if John and George were still here? Sheesh, how I miss that band.
And it kills me that a knighted Brit is called upon to play at the greatest and most shamelessly flamboyant of American sporting events, just to thwart the danger of any televised boobs a-flyin'. What better way to give it a spot of dignity and taste?
Posted by eric at February 7, 2005 02:14 AM