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Dial O for Over-rated

In this new segment, writers take a stab at the easily-deflatable, first attack by Alan Jacobson.


A brief solo retrospective...
English is ever-changing. The OED and Sniglets as testament, new words are added rapid-fire. Submitted for your approval: "bjorking", a new verb for what one does when forced by someone whose normally trustworthy taste has gone deeply southern to endure the most boring, yet ostensibly-intriguing-due-to-questionable-pixieish-qualities nonsense you've ever heard ironically masquerading as innovative, fresh, and "new". Sadly, the most interesting thing about the Ice Queen's post-Sugarcubes output has been the packaging. Now more "quirky," bjoring, bjelabored, bjut, bjetcha-bjankable product than ever...Bjork, darling, it's time to retire, or rehire your old sub-Fred Schneider humanoid bandmate because the tension in, and the NEED for, your music has gone, uh...bjye-bye.

Franz Ferdinand
This Gang-of-however-many released the catchiest single of the year. And honestly, I have never heard this much filler...well, except for when I recently scored Ratt's Out of the Cellar cassette at the Salvation Army. I mean, that tape was sparkly pristine, except for "Round and Round", which had been played endlessly to where that hit single, and that song alone, was warped. Too bad long after FF has edged out the Spin Doctors as former flavor of the month turned most ubiquitous used CD, some nostalgic schlub will pick it up because he kinda remembers digging that "Take Me Out" song when he was in college twenty years ago. Unless this brilliantly titled (s/t) and somehow simultaneously boring and irritating disc was given the frisbee treatment it deserves, it will not hold the honesty of a used copy of Out of the Cellar. Will this person be fooled like the AAA stations and the countless trustingly hopeful others, into trying to like this (can you believe fuckinf David Byrne produced this?) crap all over again?


Dead Kennedys
Everything except Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables
A legend as punk icon, record label pioneer, and all-around storied bastard, Jello Biafra has built a career on being an arrogantly cheap man. Or is that cheaply arrogant? No, he's dispensed arrogance generously over his overlong career. Biafra's also been thrifty with his talent. The perfect example of a band (and man) that should have given up after its masterstroke (and first LP), The Dead Kennedys neatly symbolize the wretchedness that follows when greatness looks in the mirror, likes what it sees a bit too much, and rather than expending energy on creating something new, rehashes, rehashes, and then rehashes some more. Hey Jello, how about trying on this drone from one of your substandard followups: "I'm working at my job/I'm so ha-a-ppy?"
Biafra became such a ridiculous imitation of himself, that when you hear his trademark cartoonish howl on the nauseatingly naval-gazing "Life Sentence" condemning the rest of his old high school class with: "are you really youyouyou...Huie!", it's not even as funny as it should be. Just sad. And annoying...and I haven't even approached his retarded spoken word ramblings.


Alan Jacobson is the Devilís Advocate.  Maybe the only one.  Try your hand, why don't you?.

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