Sinister: just a new genre to propose- date-rape rock

[Kevin Hyde]

Hi Sinister, 


Yup. That subject line is quite a doozy. But look here: my roommate and
I had been talking, some weeks back, about the sort of pseudo-academic
taxonomy that are genre names in music, and how it might be fun to just
try to come up with a few of our own to propagate. So, Stine's post
reminded me of one of the names we had tossed back and forth- date-rape
rock. And the main practitioner of said genre? John Mayer himself. It
works like this, I think (and, by the way, I just wanted to disclaim
about a few things here- I'm not intending this in any kind of elitist
condescending way. I enjoy JM, if mostly by merit of his insane vocal
similarity to Dave Matthews + looking like he could be Matthews' younger
and skinnier brother. Etc.)- Take your average frat-boy who likes JM a
whole pantload. He likes to play him both to chill and rock out. Also,
John Mayer can turn a phrase here and there, maybe at a level of
wordplay the frat-boy hasn't quite worked himself up to. Said F-B can
play John Mayer (or even some of the lighter Dave Matthews, see
"Crash"), and by doing so, show some proximal girlie that he is
sensitive enough to appreciate not only John Mayer and his gentle brand
of smooth rock, but also is savvy enough to exhibit his endorsement of
John Mayer by playing him in public, thereby somehow admitting his
allegiance to such sensitivity. Our little F-B is endorced by and
endorces John Mayer, and the barre-chord drunk chica has no choice but
to fall for this little trick. Or so me and my roommate would like to
think. I'm constantly on the lookout for some Post-Mayer practitioners
of Date-Rape Rock, so let me know if you all find any. 


Besides that, huh. I almost set fire to a large residential complex the
other day by trying to barbecue with charcoal for the first time in my
life. Before anyone starts questioning my manhood, let me just add that
I know how to work a *gas* grill as well as your average suburban
father. But charcoal- whole nother story. I had some trouble using the
matches that were provided, and it was almost scarily windy outside, so
I decided, heck, why not use my cigarette lighter to get these
briquettes in the mood. I picked one up in my hand, and had it cupped in
my hand off to my lee side, and had just gotten the lighter to spark
barely, when the thing was blazing, right there in my palm. Instead of
just letting it go, I kind of threw it. Unfortunately, I also managed to
adrenaline-propel that little sucker into a trashcan full of paper and
other crap, and, uh, that started to catch fire too. Luckily, one of the
girls who works for me was far less hypnotized by the flames (and is far
less prone to saying things like 'whoa, that's awesome' when things
break or are immolated, unlike myself), and grabbed some of the ice we
had handy for the picnic, which had melted, and put out my (if I may say
so) bitchin' refuse-fire. And for the rest of that night, I smelled like
a combination of charcoal powder and meat, which hey, I hear that's like
the equivalent of catnip to the ladies. 


Anyway, it's raining lightly here, and I'm listening to the new Ted Leo
disc. It's good. I needed to buy another guitar album after such a long
period with an aural diet of Matmos and Jan Jelinek. This is the last
day of classes at the college that I work for, and all the students are
wandering around drunk. I can't even begin to do it justice. 



Hope you're all well, 


Kevin




  

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