10th Avenue Sell Out

I have no idea what the fuck is going on inside my body, but I began vomiting like a champion about thirty minutes after the Super Bowl ended on Sunday. And then, when there was nothing left to vomit, my body advised me that I needed to vomit some more. How strange it is when you can literally make the most unholy of noises and have nothing to show for it. One could theoretically walk down the street dry-heaving and have your clothes remain dutifully in tact and soil free.
Not that I was in any shape to walk around, mind you.
The next morning I called in sick…puke free, thank God…but with the soreness of Apollo Creed after facing the Rocky Balboa.
“Hit ‘em with the body punches, Rock!” said Mick.
And my body felt like it had witnessed a flurry of body punches per Mick’s grizzled yells from the corner, as it hurt to laugh, cough, or sneeze.
“Ain’t gonna be no rematch!” said
Don’t want one. But then the poopsy daises stopped by which led me to begin reading a book about The Night Stalker. After chapter seven, things had calmed downstairs enough for me to crawl to bed, secretly wishing that I was old enough to get a Depends “undergarment” and have someone else deal with my exploding diarrhea.
Too much information?
It’s a great Police song!
I recently did a review of the new Bruce Springsteen album and then checked out some of the other reviews of it. I don’t like reading reviews of albums before I start writing one of my own. Typically, I’ll wait until afterwards and then I’ll get paranoid that what I’ve written is too similar to what I’ve read, forcing me to contemplate a re-write. Fuck it though, if what I’ve written is fresh and what I feel then it should stay, no matter if someone else feels the same way or sites similar passages.
The new Bruce album sucks balls. It’s really bad, trust me. Not awful, but piss poor in a “what the fuck were you thinking” kind of way for someone like Bruce Springsteen. Anyone who feels that his best work is behind him need only listen to Working On A Dream once to determine that it’s true.
I see that Rolling Stone magazine gave the album five stars. I know it’s funny that something from Rolling Stone would work me up to a lather, but I have to tell you that there has to be some kind of shenanigans afoot here because, unless there’s something wrong with your auditory functions, there is nothing on this album that would warrant a five-star rating.
Nothing.
The only thing I can figure is that the editors of Rolling Stone don’t want to offend the boss to the point where he won’t speak to them any more, which is hilarious because the magazine’s teen base doesn’t give a fuck that Bruce Springsteen is anyway.
I began reading the review to get some kind of insight into what could possibly warrant such a great rating. I mean, there is a ton of what I would consider “five-star” albums out there, but I have to acknowledge that some of them are great because I think they are. It doesn’t mean that it is something that has to be in your collection, unconditionally. Those are the undisputed ones…the Pet Sounds or Never Mind The Bullocks…the ones that you have to have. The ones that I think are vital, but aren’t universally necessary, I’m going to give 4.5 stars.
And believe me, Working On A Dream is nowhere fucking near a 4.5 star album.
On top of all this, I was genuinely excited about the Boss performing at halftime at the Super Bowl. True to form, Bruce gave a capable performance that, like the new album, was far from fucking memorable.
Do I remember the songs?
Some kind of truncated medley, wasnit?
Freeze Out>Born To Run>Shitty New Song>Glory Days? Right?
Maybe it was my fever dream, but I can’t remember shit about the actual quality of the songs other that Bruce shoved his wing-wang towards the camera, told me to put down the guacamole, and shot the shit with Little Steven at the end.
Oh yeah, and he’s going to Disneyland. Like anyone goes to Disneyland. It’s Disneyworld boss, and you made enough to pay for the upgrade.
And they didn’t even have to really work at it.
Yes, apparently performing live at the Super Bowl is such a chore now that they essentially had the band play along to a backing track with the only “live” part of the festivities being Bruce’s vocals. That’s fine, I suppose, but don’t advertise it at “Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band performing live at halftime.” Call it “Bruce Springsteen singing live at halftime with the E Street Band on stage, acting like they’re playing but not really.”
More distressing than a by-the-numbers performance where most of the band wasn’t even really playing or than an overly-hyped shitty album is Springsteen’s recent transformation into a money-grubbing caricature of his former self. He’s made more than enough from album sales and successful touring to secure himself and his children. Why the need to secure a deal with Wal-Mart for yet another greatest hits compilation? Why alienate your fan base…the same ones that will be forking over large sums of money on nonsensical convenience fee and service charges…by letting them flounder in shady Ticketmaster offshoots that require even more money?
This isn’t the Bruce I remember.
This won’t be the Bruce that I support.