bring the noyz

My 9th grade American History, and (much to my surprise following a Google search) published author, Stanley Oberst had a theory. I'm sure he had lots of them, afterall, he is a high school history teacher.

But he had one theory that I remember over twenty years later. So, it must have been pretty darn good, right?

I googled "Stanley Oberst" and came up with several hundred hits. I find no shame in confessing that I neither read nor even bothered to look at more than the first few. So, I may be incorrect. Given that. . .

I here now proudly present Mr. Oberst's theory (and one of the few things from high school) that I remember after twentysome years:

Country music is twenty years behind Rock-n-Roll music.

Mr. Oberst, you are dead on correct, sir.

My dear readers, if you doubt me, sit down one night and instead of passing time with a book (sorry Fang, but it's 2004, books are so fifteenth century) or squandering your time reading somebody's semi-coherent ramblings, watch an hour or two (or four if you got the beer to keep you going) of GAC or CMT.

What? You don't have cable or satellite television? Um, excuse me, I think we've already covered this. What year is it again? Lame-ass! Go get it now or jump in your car and drive to bar that has it on. The crowd might be a little scary but I promise the beer will be cheap, and there will be a shot special or two.

What will you see?

Scantily clad women, lots of them, in damn near every video, dancing and gyrating while men in sleeveless t-shirts and ultra tight pants play electic guitars; "live" videos in big arena settings with mega spectacular light shows; William Shatner; motorcycles; people actually playing guitars, not a DJ in sight; scenes with a "once good girl now bad girl but gonna be a good girl again" set in a strip club; mullets; did I mention William Shatner. . .

Hell, a coupla times I've even seen a commercial for a Van Halen Greatest Hits CD. Heart is the featured artist this month on a show called "Crossroads". Crossroads? As in "went down to the. . ."?

What year is it again? Is it ninteen eighty-four? No dickweed! It's two thousand and fucking four!

Read the following lyrics from a song by Julie Roberts:

"I'd sure hate to break down here
Nothin up ahead or in the rearview mirror
Out in the middle of nowhere knowin
I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin
So God help me keep me movin somehow
Dont let me start wishin I was with him now
I made it this far without cryin a single tear
And I'd sure hate to break down here

Change the "him" to a "her" (or not). Can't you just close your eyes and see Joe Elliot or Brett Michaels singing the same song? In spandex pants?

And don't get me started on Shania Twain.
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