Sunday, May 07, 2006

Bad Blues

Once, many moons ago, I had a funny post in my head about bad blues (or maybe it was incisive, or biting, or lyrical, or revelatory - I just don't remember), but now it's gone forever (or at least until I get a good smack on the head), dead and rusting in a dingy corner of my cortex right next to the design for a perpetual motion machine that was going to save the world and make me fabulously wealthy.

And besides, Ashley preemptively out-funnied me with his "white guys with dreadlocks clapping on 1 and 3" comment (damn you, infernal readers, with your free wills and cheeky senses of humor - this is my show, my show!).

So, um, I got nothin'. Uh, bad blues - discuss amongst yourselves. I'll be back in five to see how things are coming along.

Ask, and ye shall receive. Kind of. Not really.

2 comments:

  1. Alright, I'll kick it off. It is one of the cruel vagaries of language and musical history that "blues" is applied to two very different things, one of which I love, and one of which I hate.

    The thing I love - that old ch-chomp-chomp, gutbucket stuff full of tension, wry humor and barely restrained anguish.

    The thing I hate - that latter day stuff with over-saturated guitar heroics, busy drums, and emotional clowning.

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  2. When it comes to blues, technical prowess must take a back seat to feel.

    Yngwie Malmsteen, or John Lee Hooker. You decide.

    And I think Yngwie used to have dreadlocks...

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