Music

The Inherent Confusingness of Fergie Ferg

In Santa Barbara, in a car with a Country music loving lady friend, my Risky Business sunglasses on blast and the windows rolled down like whoa, the radio set to Top 40 pop per my request (natch) (obvs). And this song comes on:

Friend: Man, Rihanna does, like, EVERY song now! What’s that about?

The Jay: Now that Beyonce has transcended this plane of existence, and only resides in one of those of those futuristic life bubbles Hugh Jackman did yoga in from The Fountain, Rihanna is the go to hot girl singer for hooky-pop choruses. But also, and more importantly, this isn’t Rihanna.

Friend: It’s not?!

The Jay: No, it’s Fergie. This is the Black Eyed Peas.

Friend: Hold hold hold hold hold up, check it out. Like, Fergie Ferg?

The Jay: As in Fergalicious.

Friend: Up in the gym, just workin on her fitness?

The Jay: But with a methed up tranny manface, yeah.

Friend: Why does she sound like Rihanna?

The Jay: As opposed to all her other songs, where she sounds like a dying smelly cat version of Madonna, Britney, Missy Elliot, Xtina and/or Nicki Minaj, where approps, but with more wicked oblique muscles?

Friend: Yes.

The Jay: It’s a mystery!

Friend: That makes me kinda hate Rihanna.

The Jay: Makes me kinda hate my oblique muscles.

/listening to the song

/singing along to the Fergie part

BOTH OF US: Boy, I think about it every night and day…

Friend: …I’m addicted, wanna germ you like a bug.

The Jay: …I’m addicted, wanna jam it up with love.

Friend: Jam it up with love? That’s not what she’s saying!

The Jay: Why would she be trying to germ you up like a bug?

Friend: Who can ever know what these idiots are saying!

The Jay: True. Most of the time I just hear the bleep bloop sounds of IBM computer keys getting clicked and low-fi ADR of knock off 80’s robot voices.

Friend: Fucking, Rihanna. This song sucks!

The Jay: I know. I love it, too.

Switch up!

(Follow me on Twitter @jasonamatthews.)

Every Little Grape He Grows Is Magic

sting-wine

You may not know this by reading my blog, but I’m actually a wine enthusiast. And I don’t just mean I like to drink a glass of Blackstone or Charles Shaw on a Friday Night. I’ve studied wine, worked in the wine industry, spoken about wine at venues and large-scale events, traveled to Wine Valleys across California, and have drunken every varietal you can think of, at prices ranging from $3 to $300. I can tell you which areas of the New World are better for which type of grape. I can wow you with useless wine trivia, like how the wineries in Hawaii grow their grapes under clay, not soil, and that within the next five years there will be a working winery in every zip code in California.

I can tell you that the difference in you buying a $20 Cabernet and a $50 Cabernet is that you paid an extra $30 for a boost in quality level that you won’t be able to taste or appreciate. But hey, that’s a nice label you bought there.

I know enough about wine even to tell you that the climactic scene in Sideways is a secret insult to Miles, as the prized bottle of wine he sneaks into the fast food chain, the ‘61 Cheval Blanc, the bottle he bonded with Maya over, the bottle that he based his wine love around, is in part made up of the one grape he despises. That’s right, fucking Merlot.

So it’s with great interest (and a piqued eyebrow) that I read about Sting releasing his own wine label. Many celebrities have dabbled in wine – it’s the Silver Medal winner for obnoxious celebrity hobbies that shouldn’t be dabbled in – and while some pull it off, notably Francis Ford Coppola, Paul Newman and golfer Greg Norman, most just whore out their name to add some bucks to their bank account. Ahem GFY Paris Hilton ahem! But what should I make of Sting’s attempt at fostering his very own Good Life?

THIS article seems to be a mixed bag. The wine is from Tuscany, which is good, but it was grown on an organic farm, which is bad, as no organic wine can truly be any good because it has no way of sustaining itself over a long period of time. The as yet unnamed wine is a Sangiovese, a grape I love with a fierceness, but the vintage is 2007, so it’s not going to be drinkable for at least 3-4 years. Bottom line is that the 30,000 bottles he’s producing will sell out in a matter of months, on name recognition alone. But I doubt it’s going to be any good.

Sting’s attempt at winemaking draws five burning questions.

1. Will the wine be able to do yoga on a mountain side?
2. Will Sting call his label “Tantric Wine”?
3. If so, will it need to decant for seven hours but result in the most amazing explosion of strawberry and spice you’ve ever had in your entire life?
4. Will it be a classic rock vintage when bought in a case, but transform into new age pop rock when bought by the bottle?
5. And most importantly, will it walk in Fields of Gold?

And because I never ask a question I don’t already know the answer to, cause what, like I’m asking you for your opinion, here are the big answers to those burning questions.

1. Yes, but it only really does the lotus pose. And then grows a beard.
2. Undoubtedly, because wine, not unlike Sting, is inherently pretentious.
3. No, and most definitely no. But it will pair well with roast chicken.
4. You’ll buy it cheap by the bottle and enjoy its simplicity, but shill out hundreds of dollars for an overrated case that doesn’t even end up playing “Spirits in the Material World” like you want them to.
5. It won’t, but when you drink it, you will see a Moon over Bourbon Street.

Bangarang!

A Quick Kelly Clarkson Equation

good

Pink

Bull

Class dismissed.

Bangarang!

Her Morning Elegance, Your Morning Awesome

Remember when I promised to start sharing with you things that are awesome?

PROMISE? FULFILLED!

Put some eyes on the uh…may..ZING “Her Morning Elegance” video from Oren Lavie. I don’t know if it was done through Peter Gabriel Sledgehammer-style stop motion, good old-fashioned movie trickery, or some generous sprinkles of fairy dust but Bangarang is this a joy to watch!

While you’re probably mesmerized by the moving image, specifically how it is an insanely accurate representation of exactly the kind of day you want to have in bed but never do, take a second viewing to listen to the song. A soulful, lyrical piece of music that reminds me a lot of Jack Johnson, but with less B.O. When I’m listening to female solo artists I want big pop melodies, crazy dance beats and a sense of total desperation to be loved. But from male solo artists (who are not rappers), all I’m looking for is something low-key I can play for a girl that will kick in her total desperation to be loved, nahwhatI’msayin? Matt Nathanson, Paolo Nutini, Matt Kearney, Jonah Smith, hell, even Guster, any of those guys will do. Now I’m adding Oren Lavie to that list. Girls with Daddy issues, be forewarned.

I’m not one to openly quote Garden State, cause my soul-stomping late-adolescent love for that movie has been tempered over time by Zach Braff’s continued douchetude and inability to make any art that isn’t a slow pan back from a white dude with minor emotional damage (though have you been watching the new Scrubs on ABC? Some dark, funny stuff. Swaa!), but seriously? You gotta watch this video, it’ll change your life I swear.

Bangarang!

A Message From Britney Spears’ Abs


OMG, ya’ll, we are so hungry!

We don’t even what happened. One day we were in hog heaven. Literal “hog” “heaven”, she used to feed us a whole pig once every Saturday (we called it “Hogurday”). And then the next day this green mulch was being dropped on us. We didn’t even know what it was! For a second we thought it might be some new kind of eco-friendly Twizzler, but Colon said no.

It took us a month to digest that veggie crap.

And it just… keeps… coming. Wait! What is this bullshit coming down now…? Chicken and Brown Rice. Chicken and BROWN Rice!

Did we do something wrong? Do you hate us? You didn’t hate us when we were adolescent, taut, tan, and being a slave 4 u. Why would you hate us now? Do you blame us for those nasty bikini thong pictures last year? Talk to the cottage cheese ass about that. It’s doing squats right now.

Sure, we know we got all big and gross and poor-looking for a while, but that’s not our fault! We were just trying to make our poor off-meds girl feel better. Blame Red Dye #5, Monosodium Glutmate, and that sweet bitch of a couple: Fructose and Lard. Don’t blame us!

But we can be good, honest! We’ll crunch. We’ll twist. We’ll shrink. PROMISE, ya’ll! Just give us one whiff of cheeto dust. Please! It’s what we run on, baby! It’s how we get the juices flowing. And by “juices” we do mean “turkey broth”. We’ll put it another way… if we don’t start getting some simple carbohydrates up in this bitch, we’re initiating adult on-set diabetes. Try If You Seek Amy-ing her when she’s missing a foot!

Start making with the junk food and no one gets maimed.

Bangarang!

I Will Now Sell Three Copies of the Mad Men Original Score

In the best piece of music news since Britney Spears went to the Circus, Mad Men, the absolute, no-questions-asked, don’t you DARE say “The Wire” is better cause NO, one day I will marry January Jones, kids named Glenn are not to be trusted, don’t EVER mess with Joan Halloway, BEST show on television, is FINALLY releasing a CD of Original Score. Composed by David Carbonara, releasing on the 13th, the haunting melodies that underscore the haunting Don Draper middlle distance monologues can be yours to keep.

Do I even need to tell you why you should own this? Didn’t think so.

But in case you have massive, detrimental indecisiveness, let me learn you an education: there are only 4 reasons why someone would not purchase this album IMMETES:

1. You are hearing-impaired.

2. You are dead.

3. You have never seen or heard of Mad Men, which, in that case, get the hell off my website. I don’t even want to KNOW you.

4. You are the ACTUAL FICTIONAL CHARACTERS in Mad Men, hear the music over your daily lives, and thus, have no use for the score. Also, CD’s don’t exist in 1962.

For EVERYone else, get to it.

Bangarang!

A Quick Conversation About Beyonce