When I got home from work today, the house was empty but the radio was on. I assumed that Graham had forgotten it before he went to his face checkup (functionally-speaking the doctor is happy with the face, cosmetically-speaking the doctor is not happy with the giant, rope-like scar under Graham’s nose), but the show was The Big Bang, so I wasn’t displeased. I turned it off, though, because it’s difficult to spend 9 hours in the epicenter of noise without wanting things to be quiet when I get home.
Graham got home and said he’d kept the radio on for the cats. Which is probably true, as I find him considering them in weird and unexpected ways sometimes. Mostly because he’s allergic to cats and has never really liked them, so hearing him ask them questions and wonder if they’re okay when they act strange(r than usual) is funny.
He wanted to turn the music back on while he did the dishes. I would have been fine with more Big Bang, but Graham asked if I wanted to hear something else.
“Want to listen to Skrillex?” he said.
I didn’t know anything about Skrillex other than it was something Graham liked and it ended in an X, which immediately made me nervous because he also likes Aphex Twin and that sounds like stabbing myself in the ears but being really bored while doing it. So I said no. He compromised with whatever Pandora (or something on his iPhone, I don’t know how to work that thing) played according to the Detroit Cobras. And that was fine.
But he’s at the cigar store now, and we’re not going to some benefit* until later, so I opened Spotify to find out what Skrillex was and why I didn’t like it. And I guess this is dubstep? I’ve been hearing about dubstep for awhile now and chalked it up to those things I’ve never heard (includes Nicki Minaj, Bruno Mars, and “Moves Like Jagger”…jealous?). But my passing interest in Skrillex opened Pandora’s Box, so to speak, and now I know what it sounds like.
It. Is. Awful.
People. Seriously. The fuck is wrong with you. Dubstep sounds like seizures. It sounds like industrial accident lawsuits. It sounds like being roasted out of my mind on a cocktail of cheap Midwestern meth-laced pharmaceuticals with that annoying friend who always wants to go to another party regardless of how far away it is or how long you’ve been at the present one. Dubstep is noise made by untalented, barely conscious, mental midgets with too much money and electronic equipment. Dubstep is ass. It is dirty, soggy, ass. And as long as I am inside of it, it will not be played in my house.
In other news, Spotify reminded me about CooleyHighHarmony the other day, so I’ll be good for the next few weeks.
Dubstep. The Fuck.
Street Fighting Sun, Blitzen Trapper
Sleep of the Just, Elvis Costello
The Breeze, Dr. Dog
Unchained Melody, Lykke Li
Somebody To Love, Queen
Crying, Roy Orbison
Crimson and Clover, Tommy James and the Shondells
My Favorite Thing, The Replacements
I’m In Love With a Girl, Big Star
Drunk On Me, The Twerps
Let’s Forget About the Past, Detroit Cobras
Possibilities, Hurricane Bells
She’s Too Hot To Take the Bus, Trophy Wife
My Black Pearl, The Vatican Cellars
Please Don’t Leave, The Drums
In the Room Where You Sleep, Dead Man’s Bones
Punching in a Dream, The Naked and Famous
He Would Make Her Like Winter, Redondo Beach
Quiet Ghosts, Black Hills
You Know What I Mean, Cults
Coming Down, Dum Dum Girls
Seventeen, Youth Lagoon
Still New, Smith Westerns
Dykula, Sleepy Kitty
What Is Life, George Harrison
Who’s Making Love, The Commodores
I’m Gonna Leave You, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears
Bad As Me, Tom Waits
*Some friend’s uncle got the shit beat out of him by some punks playing Knockout King. For anyone not in St. Louis (and possibly other urban areas), Knockout King is a thing where young-ish people travel in packs and picks someone at random. Anyone. Could be a teenager, could be an elderly passer-by. One person from the pack punches this chosen one as hard as they can, and then everyone jumps in until the victim passes out. Some assholes playing Knockout King managed to kill an elderly man just blocks from my old apartment. In front of his wife, I might add, while the couple was out for a walk. Cops claim to be powerless to do anything about it, so they’ve advised that if you think you’re on the receiving end of a Knockout King beating, just lay down and pretend to pass out. You might not die that way. Anyway, this friend’s uncle is in the hospital after being randomly chosen as a victim of Knockout King, so we’re going to spend some money on his behalf.