Wednesday, February 9, 2011

What The Hell Was That?


or, if you prefer,
  


Okay, let's not mince words: This year's Super Bowl Halftime show was a travesty.

There's really not a whole lot more to say but I will, for your sake Dear Readers, press onward. I know that lots of you are probably hoping that I take a few swipes at the National Anthem debacle but, seriously guys, it's been done.

No. This hasn't been done before. No one in America has complained about the Halftime show until this very moment!

Right from the get go I should tell you that I'm a mild fan of The Black Eyed Peas. Some of their songs are actually pleasing to my delicate ears and, I have to admit, that Fergie Fergie is quite the looker. So I was a little bit excited to see what they could offer. I would now, very much so, like to rescind that excitement. Also, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to replace it with dread.

Watching this year's Halftime Show was sort of like what would happen if you'd dropped a hit of acid, watched both Tron movies, then driven your car of a cliff. Just trust me, it would have been exactly the same thing. I guess I always knew that The Peas were seriously polished up after recording by a studio producer but never has that been more apparent in any other performing artist in history than it was that fateful Sunday evening. Let's talk about the Peas themselves for a second; everyone knows who Will.I.Am is, and Fergie is practically a household name. Who are the other two guys, and what do they offer? Do they sing? Are they back up dancers (Sacred Heart of Jesus I hope not)? What are their names? I have no idea.

Next, what the hell was that clear helmet/lid thing on Will.I.Am's head? Is that what protected him from having a seizure halfway through the performance? I could have used one of those (Mrs. Attack Resistance says we'll never get the smell of man pee out of the couch). When I saw Usher drop from the sky I thought maybe it was for protection from falling R&B singers, but that just doesn't seem like something anyone would plan for. Not really.

Then there's the one thing that really made me sick. The one thing, ladies and gentlemen, that just made me wish I was back in the Great White North watching hockey instead of football. I heard the first few chords to one of the greatest guitar riffs of all time. I thought to myself, "No way is Slash there." I said to Mrs. Attack Resistance, "No way is Slash there." Sure enough, there he was. In all his Slash glory. No snake though. Pity. Anyhow, I was stoked. If Slash was there and playing his guitar maybe they were really going to pull a rabbit out of a hat and have Axl Rose show up to belt out a verse or two! Nope. What happened instead was that Fergie decided to butcher one of my all time favorite songs, effectively finishing the job of destroying my childhood that George Lucas started. Maybe for an encore, someone could make a bunch of shitty Incredible Hulk movies. Wait... Sonuvabitch!

I've said it before and I'll say it again: My kingdom to the first artist that gets out there with just a guitar, a stool, one microphone & one spotlight and gives me something worth watching.

Go wipe this from your memory. Now.

2 comments:

  1. I am pooping and reading your blog at the same time. My poop smells like a musty attic.

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  2. Can we be honest here? I will probably never get a better comment on this blog.

    What have you been eating slash who are you?

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