Dear P!nk,
I've been hearing a lot of your music lately. I wouldn't ordinarily, but whoever is in charge of the audio system of my gym is a bit of a fan of yours and, against the odds, that hasn't yet annoyed me enough to stop working out there.
P!nk you are clearly a very confused individual. You want to make the shift from pop tart to rockstar and I for one couldn't be happier to see that happen, but it seems you have no idea how to go about it.
You see, rock and roll is about music. You can warble "I'm a rockstar" as loudly and as long as you like, but nobody who has listened to even one Led Zeppelin song (clearly you are not one among their number) is going to actually believe you. Pop music, like yours, is engineered in a studio by a producer (that's the fat guy in the headphones who thinks he's cool because he dresses like a teenager). Rock music is written by musicians.
If you want to be a rockstar, you need to be in a rock band, with ugly people who smell bad and who play instruments and who like music more than shopping and cosmetics endorsements. If you want to be in a rock band you need to get rid of the dance troupe and the 'backing track' that plays loud and hire some people with guitars. You need to learn how to share a small van with a bassplayer who doesn't need weed to get high, a drummer who doesn't understand what soap is for, and at least one condescending guitarist with an ego that is five times as big as yours and a sense of self esteem that is five times more pathetic (yes, these people do exist--stop into any Guitar Center and you'll find a dozen of them at any given time). (Guitar Center is a kind of shop that doesn't sell clothes or perfume).
What I'm saying, P!nk, is that you need to put up or shut up. If you're a rockstar, tell your manager and your publicist and your team of dieticians and personal trainers to go fuck themselves and record some actual music. Otherwise, please stop pretending... or, better yet, stop recording altogether and retire. You're embarrassing yourself and you're irritating me, and we both know that won't do at all.
Your friend,
-- Jason Franks
PS One last thing: you need to change your name. I'm afraid that pink is the colour of My Little Ponies and strawberry sherbet--it is not an appropriate choice for rock'n'roll. If you're keen to keep up this colour thing, 'Black' is is the only choice. You could try using your actual name: the fact that your parents were too ignorant to spell 'Alicia' correctly is very rock'n'roll. Or, heaven forbid, you could use the name of your purported band (that means they get some of the royalties. Sorry 'bout that). But Pink is utterly incorrect. Likewise, the exclamation mark has to go: the only acceptable typographical symbol in the name of a rock'n'roll act is the umlaut. -- JF
- An Umlaut for P!nk
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jasonfranks- September 7th, 18:54
- Ten Songs #10: "Aenema"
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- jasonfranks
- September 9th, 2008
10 SONGS #10 "Aenema" by Tool, AENIMA 1996
Well, there we have it: the last of my ten songs, another demand for the obliteration of Los Angeles.
Where to begin? Tool is one band that I definitely discovered well before they became the juggernaut they are today. Like the boy of the song "Hooker With a Penis", I go back to their OPIATE EP--although I don't think I picked it up until 1994, once UNDERTOW was out. I picked up UNDERTOW the following year, during my first trip to the United States.
When AENIMA dropped in 1996 Tool were vaguely popular, but I was already a big fan. My friend Pete picked up the album as soon as it came out and I heard it for the first time in his car on the way to University. It blew my mind. One listen and I knew that Tool were going to be huge.
A concert was announced and the album began its slow burn up to success. Pete and I bought tickets immediately. About 5 months later they were the hottest tickets in town and Tool were huge--they're almost a subculture of their own here in Australia. When casual aquaintences discovered that I had tickets they called me a Tool Slut. But I didn't fucking care.
Tool played the Offshore Festival at Bell's Beach in 1997, which was a week before the main gig. I went to that show, too. Maynard painted himself blue. And yea, verily, THEY WERE LIKE UNTO GODS.
"Aenema" isn't really the title track of the album: take a look, the song title is spelled differently. Funky spelling aside, the album is 'anima' and the song is 'enema'. It's this latter that I'm going to focus on, although the album itself warrants an essay.
"Aenema" is pretty much exactly that: Maynard Keenan venting his frustration at his home. He chants a litany of everything that pisses him off: gangsters, celebrities, religious cults, and junkies-- and he wishes apocalypse upon it: eteor showers, tidal waves, earthquakes, whatever it takes. "The only way to fix it is to flush it all away," he sings. "Learn to swim, see you down in Arizona Bay." Maynard's voice is as much an instrument it is about the lyrics: you can prominently hear him rhythmically choking back the bile throughout the song.
Eventually Maynard relents. "Try and read ebtween the lines," he demands, weariness in his voice. "I can't imagine why you wouldn't welcome any change, my friend."
Adam Jones' guitar is sinewy and brutal; his leads slash spasmodically against Justin Chancellor's sinuous bass. Danny Carey's drumming is as thunderous and complex and nuanced--nobody in this band plays like anybody else and their sound is unimistakable, and that is what I like best about them. They're utterly unique, they're visceral and complex and challenging and obtuse and sensitive. Even when they make a misstep, it's always an interesting one.
-- Tool Slut #666
