Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Interview with Two Tone Wolf Pack (The singer at least.)

When I saw Two Tone Wolf Pack play the other week at the Hi Dive (Denver) I knew immediately that they were hot. Not just hot, but they could sing well too! What with the singer's low manly grumble to the bass player's "fuck me" falsetto. And don't get me started on their accordion player! HOLY HELL!
When I'm not dreaming of being gang banged by these guys, I also find the time to appreciate their dark and haunting atmosphere of their amazing music.
And here's a pretty picture of the awesome dudes *via my friend Lisa Cooke's Truly Rejected magazine*


And now for the inappropriate (and sometimes racist) questions!
Enjoy! :-D

1: Well... So here we are... Any last requests before I swing you from a dead tree?
Look! Over there! It's a diversion!....
2: I just saved you. What kind of pants would you buy me for saving your life?
Easy. Filson Double Tin Cloth Pants... Wind,Water,&Fire Resistant, and Guaranteed for life as long as you don't put them in the washing machine.
3: Let's talk about your bass player. Does he get a lot of groupies? I'm sure you all do, but what about him?
To help keep his anonymity, we'll call him Danathan Evanderfield Garzan. He's more or less knee deep in groupies, and can't hardly do anything but beat them off with a stick.
4: Let's just get this out of the way... Show me your feet!
He misread my request. No one should have to look at shoes covering wonderfully wonderful bare feet! GRRR!!!

5: By the way, who are you and what do you do in the band? For anonymity's sake I'll go by Johnald, and I play Vocals and Sing Guitar.
6: Why Americana / Folk instead of hardcore metal or pop punk or hardcore pop punk? Americana/Folk is the people's music, and has been for way longer than any of those others..... also it's cheaper gear.
7: If I'm talking to the right person, show me your beard!
Ladies, he has manliness to spare! Seriously, this doesn't make you wet?

8: How did you guys meet up and make such wonderful music?
it's called dating. you mean when&how did we start going steady? Mainly online dating websites is how we met.
9: What brand of guitar do you have? (or bass, drums, accordion, whomever may be answering this)
I try and play my '51 Stella Harmony when ever I can.
10: What is your take on Obamacare? Shouldn't we all be denied healthcare just because it makes Republicans upset? Or if you are a Republican then, why?
Well if we're gonna be taxes to a Government, and a government is supposed to ensure our well being why wouldn't that include being allocated heavily towards health? I'd rather spend that money on health than on some vauge terms like "the fight against terrorism" or "the war on drugs."
11: What sort of influences influenced you guys? I mean musically, not your sexy pants.
I would point you towards reading the Introduction to Alan Lomax's Prison Songs Volume 1 "Murderous Home" Also a lot of Pop Music.
12: While we're on the subject, what kind of pants do you prefer?
I prefer pants that fit well. You know 30"x34" is Slim Fit.
13: If you could only save two people in the world and transport them to safety on a NASA rocket thingy, what kind of ice cream would you eat?
Little Man's Salted Oreo Ice Cream. Easiest question yet.
14: I'm sitting here drinking a diet soda. Entertain me!
Look! Over there! It's that Diversion again!
15: What is your name? And why should I capitalize it? Are you really that primpy and such that you can't stand to have your name un-capitalized?
You're not my real Dad!
16: If you could eat any fish, which one would most likely get blood thrown on you from PETA
Orca's? I think that's a mammal? Baby Dolphin? no, that's a mammal too... This one's too hard. Can we skip?.... Nope, I've got it! Fish sticks! But more because of the industries they're made by that what kind of fish it is.
17: What is your take on cows? Should we eat them? They are pretty stupid creatures. One time I punched a cow and it just sort of looked at me. I mean... What the fuck man!?
Hey man Cows and Dads are Cops too ya know.
18: Do you guys have a website or something you'd like me to post?
Plus you can get their facebook stuff here!
And listen to their darkly sweet take on... You know what? They are sort of a punk Munly.
19: When you sweat on stage, are you thinking of mass genocide?
not regularly.
20: Why the name “Two Tone Wolf Pack?” I mean, does it have significant attachment or did it just sort of came about as a way to book shows? Personally I think you guys should be called “Those sexy guys in that band that does the music and such!”
Two Tone Wolf Pack was originally a gang name. A gang for kids who only want to wear Wolf T-shirts. I think we just admired that audacity.
Also, Thanks. You're pretty cute yourself.

And now for a picture of a pug being all pug and shit. :-D

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Two Tone Wolf Pack and Reverend Deadeye 10/02/13 Hi Dive

Two Tone Wolf Pack and Reverend Deadeye 10/02/13 Hi Dive
By: Dave McGhee

Honestly, I came into this show not even certain which genre of music I'd be hearing that night. I decided to meet up with my friend and local music scene icon “Lisa Cook” (The Emmas / Turbo Knife Fight). She said that it would be awesome to see each other again so I had agreed to come to the show. Anyways, thing being, I was there. With two of my trusty Ativan I entered the Hi Dive and, quite frankly, got my ass handed to me by Satan himself.
The first band was a lovely trio of fine young men (not to be confused with fine young cannibals). They were normally a foursome. The accordion player filled in for drums and did a fantastic job! They called themselves “Two Tone Wolf Pack.” The singer sounded like he had chugged on moonshine and smoked free leaf tobacco for seventy years nonstop, despite his young age. His growl is comparable to that of local scary Americana band man Munly. Plus the entire time I kept thinking to myself “This is what it would sound like if Munly did Soundgarden covers!” And immediately I had the wind knocked out of me. Not because of the music, but because tall people be bumping into me.
Stupid tall people...
Anyways, the bass player had to be the most talented of the bunch. He sang very high and very soulful for a white dude. At least I think he was white? It's really dark in the Hi Dive. Leave me alone!
That being said, he made me wish I had a vagina so I could have throw my panties at him. What a passionate performer! His bass lines were bouncy yet driving and the music kind of rolled forward with the rhythm of a broken down steam engine on its last legs. The last minute lineup thingy resulted in the drummer not being there and the accordion player had to fill in on the drums. And to be honest, he wasn't that bad. Even my partner Frank, who was with me, who is a drummer and even he thought the guy gave his all during the show. He did a fantastic job of singing and playing, and not just simple harmonies – quality stuff.
I didn't see the Reverend Deadeye set up. But once I had come back inside after a quick smoke break with Lisa, the whole stage was set up with an instrument case and a metal washtub with a tambourine inside, a hi-hat with a black rubber hand sticking upward and a few other seemingly random objects . His microphone was obviously his since we can assume that the Hi Dive doesn't have such scratchy sounding microphones just lying around. Maybe if the band had a rider they could request one? Riders are cool. You should join a band and get to the point where you can get a rider. Then you can request nachos!
The whole set began with the setting off of a delay/looping pedal, which through the awesomeness of modern technology, started blasting through the P.A.a prayers and revelations that a mad old church tent revival preacher would shout to his congregation whilst breaking and cracking his voice from his own passion.
While this was going on the Reverend went from his set up to the button up shirt and tie hanging on the back wall of the stage. I was wondering why someone would put their laundry there and just leave it. I mean, who's on that friendly of terms with the Hi Dive where they can stash things like a personal self storage? I mean... Yeah. What? Of course.
Once he started up I swear I went through three stages of disbelief. First was the “What the hell?” Then came “Oh my God!” Then that segued finally into “Praise God!” I swear I was a believer that night. Lisa and I raised our hands to the sky with glory as the faithful reverend preached his own brand of Kentucky fried revival stuffamajiggers!
As much as I loved the guy both onstage and off, he did seem to go on a little longer than one would think was appropriate. My partner felt the same way. It just got grating after a while. I loved his music but it was just like listening to death metal, there is a limit to the amount of energy spent on keeping up the energy. Great, great show though! I am certainly a huge fan of both bands now.
Or should I say, a betwotonewolfpackandreveranddeadeyever?
Plus I just want to hand it to everyone who supported the show. Nice people are a rarity and except for a few people, my eccentricities were well tolerated. I just have to warn you people. If you bump into me, common courtesy dictates that you bump me on the opposite side. Only when things are symmetrical then one can achieve oneness with the one while being one with the zero. Then you get into binary and honestly I suck at numbers.
But the funnest and most notable song had to be "Fuck the Devil!"
Seriously, check it out! Ha ha!
Just thank God I didn't drink that night. I might of taken off my shirt and wailed like a mad man to the awesomely high energy local openers! Then again the people who know me probably wouldn't of thought all that that much odd about it. I'm just sort of like that.

Gotta love me!

Listen to Two Tone Wolf Pack here!
And become a believe with the Reverend Deadeye here!

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Untitled and Undressed

Untitled and Undressed
By: David McGhee

So by the time I wake up this morning, Frank is all like, “Hey!” and he then pulls the blanket off of my body. “We's gots to go to human services today. For our food stamps.” Yeah, we take food stamps. Let me reiterate a little here... I'm disabled due to kidney function problems and my Asperger's. Drew has Crohn's disease and probably a steroid induced case of acute autism. Frank is the only able bodied / sane person amongst us. But his job, as they tend to do, they laid him off. At first when he filed for unemployment they were all like “Nuh uh!” And gave him the raspberry. Then he came into human services with me this morning and they were all like “Denied unemployment? Approved food stamps!” And I celebrated with a Diet Coke. Because I'm cool like that.
I can party with the best of them yo. The first desk jockey to interview us before the real interview at human services was a big handsome hulking man of a man. I asked him if he was a man whore and he told me that he used to be. But now he has his girlfriend. So I imagine them fucking like rabbits now when I masturbate.
For what ever odd reason. Be it the pot, be it the psychoactive medication I take, be it tulips and ham. But I feel pretty damn good today. I threw up a little this morning but that's a normal thing for me. You see I have Hep C. I got it using a dirty needle that the person explicitly told me that he and she and he and he and she and he and he had it, but I didn't listen. I thought if you run scolding water through it then you can kill the virus. Boy was I ignorant. Next thing they're going to be saying is that the pull out method is around 96% effective if performed properly. Wait? That is a fact? Really? Wow... Huh.
So I'm sick all the time now. I smoke pot to give me an appetite. I used to look like this

But now I'm at a healthier weight.

Not necessarily being healthy though... But yeah. What's cool is that the marijuana, more specifically CBDs, help so much with my nausea and it even helps me act more normal in social situations. It calms me down. Plus I suffer from horrible depression. Dysthymia is a low to mid grade depression for every day of your life. It's caused by a chemical imbalance. Yeah. I bet you're saying “Unbalanced? Not David!” But it's true. I do have a few screws loose in the old noggin. One day I wonder if they'll ever come out with a drug or a procedure that could cure my brain.
I hate being so weird. I wish I was a normal five foot ten one hundred and sixty pound brown eyed brown haired man who likes pussy and football. But instead I turned out an autistic gay who can color coordinate. If there is a God then he obviously made us to amuse himself. What a dick.
People always ask me, me being an atheist and all, what will I say if I die and there is a God. Well to that I reply that if he truly is omniscient then he'd know how much I've suffered in life and that I have never wished anything bad on anyone other than myself. I'm the kind of guy that would push a kitten out of the way in front of a speeding zeppelin so that it might hit me instead. He should know that. Plus I have never been able to hate anyone. I have a predisposition that mandates I treat everyone as a friend instead of the constant threats they are.
Let's talk about Gary. I was doing great before I met him. Then I am spending all of my money on crack. Probably around five thousand dollars worth to be exact. The thing is is that I'm an extremely poor person, so me thinking back now on how I was that resourceful without stealing... Man it blows my mind. Like this one time I was two weeks away from getting my financial aid and I panhandled in the student complex (the one where all the schools have their shops and clubs) and got the forty five dollar (plus tax) writing book for creative writing.
Man did I bomb that class... I was writing a lot but I had no voice or direction. It was only in the end after I had suffered through so much during the semester that I found that I actually can write funny stories that make people laugh. All this time I was thinking I'd be a horror writer or a serious nihilist like Chuck Palahniuk. No. My voice is that of the fart noise.
Perhaps I could be a comedy writer? That would be cool. I'm basically just making this up as I go along. Aren't I pretty?
*David*
Everyone knows that the butt is where the doodie comes out. Right? Well I'm gay, so that's where the penis goes! Hey yo!
*rim shot*
But seriously. I took it upon myself to picture and critique my butt along with those of my roommates.

As you can see hear, Frank has a strong back side with muscular features just under his tight, manly shirt. His butt rarely sees things entering it, making him the opposite of a power bottom (which I am) and more of a “I'MA GONNA MOUNT YA!” kind of take charge man.
Notice how the pants extenuate his personality. That's called surrealism. Or at least it was back in my day. What do kids do now for fun anyways? Crack probably. Or at least that's what I would do if I had my whole life in front of me.

This butt belongs to my other roommate, Drew. Drew is a tightly wound person. So much so that if you gave him enough lip his eyes would probably pop out of their sockets. I've actually seen it happen on some medical shows. I shit you not.
See how his khakis scream out for reassurance? How the boot cut fit is a commentary on our shitty, shitty foreign policy? I'm just jacking you off, we have a pretty good thing going now that Obama is in office. Imagine what would of happened if Romney won? They're already cutting food stamp benefits! Which sucks because we like to eat food. It sort of makes us live.
Frowny face.
No el, oh, el.

And now for my butt. As you can see it has a worn out look to it. Probably should bring it in for a servicing. They say you should do that after every three thousand miles. It just keeps things in the right place and they make sure it's all working correctly.
Many notable penises have crossed over to my colon over the course of my brief but prolific sexual life. You see, I think anyone over five nine and skinny is cute. So I've invited many a tall man to my rear. I never got word on whether or not my milkshakes would bring the boys to the yard, but freely offering it up online certainly helps you stay not lonely.
Which comes to the other part of this erotic friend fiction. After the handsome man would fuck me he'd cuddle (sometimes) then leave in the morning or right after. I could never make a connection and when I try to bring up the idea of us two being friends they are always like “What? You mean you want more than my cock? Fuck off you damn Yankee!” Well... Not in so many words. They normally just stop responding to my calls and texts.
Man I've done a lot of horrible things in my life. Ever steal from your parents? Like a lot? I've done it. And now I feel like shit because I'm so much better now and my mom is dead and I can't show her that I'm not a filthy smack shooting creep anymore. I wish I could. People say that I'll get my chance in heaven but for the last time, there is no heaven. All make believe. I've been in a week long coma before and it felt like a blink. I closed my eyes and opened them and a week had passed.
Albeit that was enough time to kick my smack addiction, but not long enough for the habit to break. So I was back on heroin highway.
I remember meeting a lot of strange and interesting people during my drug days. Like the guy who was snorting coke off of his coffee table shouting at me to never do heroin because it would fuck my life up. Or the homeless guy with AIDS who shares needles. Thank God I never contracted that shit.
I have a friend whom I've lost contact with and I just found out recently that he got bad blood from a transfusion and he got the virus. I mean the bad one. As if the others are good? What a bummer... And he has such a huge dick too! I mean it's like ten inches! And he's handsome as all fuck! He had a kid before this happened. A boy. And that boy is going to grow up to be handsome and have a big dick just like his father. Yes. If you hate / accept / love your penis size then you can thank your father.
I believe black men have bigger dicks on average here in America because back in their tribal days the people would wear little to no clothing. So of course the females could see what the other guy was packing and of course, they chose bigger dicks. It's a fact of life. Big dicks rock! They are things of beauty! But you know what else is a thing of beauty? Normal cocks. Ever have ten inches up your rectum? It's not a nice feeling. I imagine a woman has the same feeling. So after all the huge cock I've gotten in my life I'm happy to be with a (mostly) normal sized man.
Who am I kidding? Dude is hung! What the fuck!? Why does everyone else have a huge fucking penis!? Sure girls say it's good enough but I know their really thinking that they want to fuck Collin Farrel. Dude had a nude scene in “Home at the End of the World” and they had to cut it because the audience couldn't concentrate after seeing his massive man Wii remote. So yeah. To all those who have big dicks out there, I have one thing to say...
Oh wait... Frank advised me that asking for naked pictures of my readers would be in bad taste. See. It's things like that that I have no clue on whether or not it's truly an appropriate thing to say. I swear I can recall everything I learned in psychology but I simply refused to step on cracks. Oh man...
*sigh*
And if you ever wanted to see band photos from Ginkins then here you go!
And

Man these are old... I miss Mike King. He was such a cool guy. He had a similar sense of humor to me and never got mad when I would say or do something stupid. He just stood by me and I accused him of not caring about me. I put him through a lot. I'm sorry Mike... At least we have the music still.
Man. I'm going to go watch Frank and Drew play Mario Kart now. See ya nerds!
But before I go... Artsy photo time!!!

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Pretty Fly for a White Guy - A Psycoanalysis


Pretty Fly For a White Guy – A Psychoanalysis
By: David McGhee

First off I would like to set the tone of character for our subject, Bryan “Dexter” Holland, of the acclaimed punk rock combo “The Offspring.” The name itself rife with meaning and does suggest a sense of superiority towards his elders. But we are here today to discuss the band's most popular song. Which if you take a closer look, you see a cascade of racism and pity for the lesser endowed man.
Dexter grew up in Garden Grove, Orange County, California, which was at the time and still is, a high rent area. So we know that Dexter had means during his young and adolescent years. During puberty he attained what only 3.9 percent of American men will be at full height. Standing at 6'2” he automatically exudes authority and could have possibly been self entitled. Though it is rare to have a tall person without an equally endowed temperment


it can probably be said that all in all, he is probably a nice guy. We have witnesses Seth Green, who worked with the band in the movie “Idle Hands.” He said that they were really cool guys. Guys as in two or more or as in all? The world may never know. But for the sake of this argument say he is of the average male variety with an average height / temper ratio.
He has admitted in the press that not attaining success until he was nearly thirty has made him appreciate his wealth and social standing. But as said, he grew up with means and was in a family that actively encouraged academia and he has a degree in molecular biology. So he's an intelligent man. Which, you guessed it. Is common in men of higher altitude


And before you start judging this man, remember that taller men also get more poon tang.

*Look up citation for taller men more sex*

“Gunter glieben glauchen globan”

This sample (from Def Leppard's “Rock of Ages,” a song presumably about the history of rock and roll, from it's blues inspired roots up to the eighties “cock rock,” or “Hair Metal”) has no actual meaning in the words themselves. But the vein in which it proceeds is very German in sound. More Austrian maybe? Perhaps this is a shout out to the great Austrian physician, a one “Dr. Sigmund Freud,” most famous for being the father of analytical psychoanalysis. Perhaps this song has great historical context and has, in facto, opened itself to evaluation by even the most amateurish of thinkers.

“Give it to me baby
Ah ha, ah ha
Give it to me baby
Ah ha, ah ha”

The female voice is not that of his sexual partner. It was a session artist. And one of that nature can be told what to say and how to say it. The fact that Dexter had her say sexually suggestive lyrics in a Hispanic accent is perhaps a euphemism on the subject's choice of quality in girls. The “Ah ha's” can very well be coming from a deep lingering for attractive Hispanic females. Or if one was to play Devil's advocate you could say that he is, in that way that rich people seem to be, just a little bit racist.
He has already said “Niggers” twice in the deceptively catchy little diddy titled LAPD. Although you could put it in context as an allegory for the oppressive LAPD and their arresting methods. He also calls out his own race when he says “Beat all the white trash” during the same song. But it does not seem to have the impact that the other word did.
So with that in mind and from reading the lyrics ahead of time (pardon me for that) it is probably more in the vein of one mocking Latino's and their dialect. Dexter uses a lot of Spanish influence his music. Their fourth album was titled “Ixnay on the Hombre” and had matching Spanish inspired album art with references to Day of the Dead. So there is a chance he does not see just how racist he is being and is just portraying them as he accurately sees and hears them, you know, like in cartoons, specifically Speedy Gonzales.

“And all the girlies say I'm pretty fly, for a white guy”

Is this a declaration or a presumption? It has to be assured that a female has said this to the song's subject at least once during his life time. A man of his height, attractiveness, intelligence, and money can easily get any girl to say positive things about your esteem. Which may be the case here. After all, women be hookers and stuff.

“Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco cinco, seis”

The use of Spanish in this song signifies the racial boundaries Brian Holland will cross. For he knows no limit to his mockery. Undoubtedly suffering from self esteem of the positive variety. Brian is confident enough in his standing to pronounce his personal ideals on those within ear shot of this song's lyrics. Pushing an agenda maybe? Let's look further.

“You know it's kind of hard
Just to get along today
Our subject isn't cool
But he fakes it anyway”

Dexter incites observations here that he would not know unless the subject was he himself. Dexter's Latino fetish can be observed on two other tracks “Original Prankster” and “OC Guns” which makes one to think that he possibly has lower self esteem than he puts out? Perhaps this song was written in order for him to come to terms with his longing to be a wigger. Oh Dexter, if only you had the money and means to seek therapy, it could help you with your identity crisis (another example of this aforementioned identity crisis: “Days Go By”)

“He may not have a clue
He may not have style”

Dexter sings this, yet is continually seen wearing T-Shirts of a more humorous, and juvenile, nature. Making one wonder what his standards for the appropriate dress just might be. Perhaps he is a shirt and jeans man, like so many others. He lacks the sense of pride that would prevent him from wearing such ill advised attire.

“But every he lacks
Well he makes up in denial”

But Dexter, aren't you aware that you yourself may be in denial. Perhaps about you may believe that the high notes you normally hit are in fact that, normal. But typical for most males over the age of thirteen, such pitches are well out of range. Although I would go as far as saying that singing in that high of a key is effeminate, but, come on, Sting!
*It is also to my knowledge that The Offspring have in fact covered The Police record “Next to You.” which sits perfectly well in Dexter's range. So... Like, come on, Sting!

“So don't debate
A player straight
You know he doesn't get it anyway”

Perhaps Dexter's assessment of this man's place in society has been askewed. For everyone has their own uniqueness to them. Who is to say that he in fact does have style, perhaps one that will be fashionable in the coming years. This is a narrow remark that would be common amongst men of his height, temperament, and upbringing. To him he sees what many people have been dubbed “Wiggers.” A combination of both “White” and the highly negative word “Nigger,” this term can given to anyone of limited means who may enjoy that recordings from rap artists and DJ masters and acts in mannerisms and speaks in dialect as such as the widely accepted and popularized persona of the ignorant male or female of African descent. It is considered a racist term for having both the root word being racist and the word itself being a blatant bigotry against white Americans. Wigger's British counterpart is the word, slang “Chav.” Leave it to the British to make racism sound refined.

“He's gonna play the field
And keep it real
For you no way, for you no way”

This seems to be confusing on some aspects. Seeing as Dexter clearly states that the subject in question will, in fact, play the field and keep it real. But for you no way? It appears that the man in question will revert from his lifestyle and music of choice back into his original personality if another human being is present. Confusing matters is that when does the subject display his ebonic vernacular or his jeans that fall to the bottom of his glutes, he is immediately dismissed as a “poser.” Which I believe constitutes posing of some kind. I don't know, kids today say a lot of mean things about each other.

“So if you don't rate, just overcompensate
At least you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake”

Assuming the subject of the song is still “posing” at this point, it is suggested that if he does not meet up to the strict codes of the commercialized African American conduct and appearance, then one is to take it up another notch, which would in fact make Dexter's fictionl “wigger” that much more racist.
And to say that him and people of his ilk are entertaining enough in their private affairs as to give it audience on the Ricki Lake show. Forever burning 1997 into the song, making it dated once, and since, the Ricki Lake show went off the air. But once it was the epoch of eastern southern culture. A many a baby daddy gonna man up and do the right thing thanks to the assistance of Misses Ricki Lake. Exploitation never became so much of a theater and to mind you that this predates the most offensive of Jerry Springer shows. Ricki Lake was once the woman with the magic touch. One straight talk from Miss Lake would in effect cause a troubled young man or woman to change their promiscuous ways in ebonics too slurred in southern drawl to decipher properly.

“The world needs wannabe's
So hey! Hey! Do that brand new thing!”

Dexter for once applauds the ones undetermined to make their place rightly in society. For if one is rich, then another must be poor. We are not a nation of equals, which this song presents with an astounding amount of shouting. We are all different and unique snowflakes who must make our mark anyway you can. If you can't, then strive to be around those who are of a greater fortune than oneself.
Basically we need all kinds of people to make a proverbial rainbow. Everyone fills some niche that society needs filling. Some are just taller, more handsome, richer, have a bigger dick, is a stupid awful human being who is shitty and takes my girlfriend and fuc... I mean, everyone is important. That works right?
Also, Dexter declaring that his subject must do this “brand new thing,” after multiple listenings and deep analysis, I have determined this to be sarcastic.

*Cow bell*

The cowbell can only represent the ideology that our civilization was founded on agriculture and the breeding and slaughter of animals. The fact that the cow wears a bell is not lost on Brian Holland, who in reference to our great industrialized nation, sampled the cow bell from Rock of Ages.

“He needs some cool tunes
Not just any will suffice
They didn't have Ice Cube
So he bought Vanilla Ice”

To make the assumption that even the most limited of thinkers would not be able to discern the difference between Ice Cube (who has, in the past, been associated with various bitches and hos) and Vanilla Ice (who has been associated with various defunct reality programming). But if such a person of low IQ exists, it is perhaps due to a genetic abnormality that prevents one from recognizing that Ice Cube, to quote my Djing and rapping counterparts, da man gots skillz.

“Now cruising in his Pinto, he sees homies as he pass
But if he looks twice
They're gonna kick his lily ass!”

This is of course assuming the size and quantity of said “homies” with the physical dimensions, health, size, and fitness of the accosted party. To say one is “lily” is to compare a rose with a dying fetus, in aggressiveness that is. If one is to go by the young male in the video, we would assume that some of the more aggressive fifth graders could take this guy on in a bout of fisticuffs.
Although this might be the idea, putting one of small stature and of dubious mental functionality into the adver-tainment (advertising meet entertainment) that is the musical video, therefore cementing one's idea of the song's subject. To further this idea of the young male being sung about in the video is sporting a backwards cap and a basketball jersey. Also he is seen throwing gang related signatures to passing “homies.” Thus connecting in that social way that is a beat down.
One last point about these lyrics is that they are killing two very racist birds with one stone. Insinuating that these “homies” are ill tempered and that the white protagonist cannot be an effective member of the hip hop culture are both, how do I say this gently? This is one racist song.

“Now he's getting a tattoo
He's getting ink done
He asked for a 13, but they drew a 31”

If one was not to receive the tattoo they had inquired about previously prior to sale, then that would definitely be a great disadvantage to the tattooer and the business establishment in which he works. It would open up all sorts of legal action. Which men of limited means and inadequate education are known to do with the prospects at receiving a large cash settlement are in the forefront of their minds. Perhaps this set up is another one of Brian's dexterous word play? Open to psychoanalysis this song is indeed! For Brian has made the connection between “white trash” and malpractice at law. Truly clever.

Friends would say he's trying too hard
And he's not quite hip
But in his own mind
He's the dopest trip”

What constitutes a good friend? Somebody who tells this poor man he's an important addition to the getto culture of our suburbs, or somebody (male or female) who does not encourage his attempts at being street and helps him find his own unique identity. This is assuming, but it is clear to see, that perhaps this song is in effect a deep personalization at Brian's own identity crisis, seeing as he prefers to be called “Dexter” in parody of his intelligence. Thus assuming an identity of the lead singer / lead guitarist of the Offspring. Can one separate themselves from their career? Or does the labor induce such gratifying heights that one cannot separate himself.
The man being sung about is also of the mind to believe that he is “the dopest trip.” This signifies a multitude of possible personality disorders ranging from narcissistic personality disorder to delusions of grandeur. The subject would be advised to attend empathy help groups provided by his mental health provider, should he seek one.

“Give it to me baby
Ah ha, ah ha
Give it to me baby
Ah ha, ah ha”

It is to be assumed that these words take on a darker context with the prior analysis in mind. They offer to give it, and Brian agrees, but what has been given in the first place? Has one achieved greatness through working through one's racism and hate through song? Has a higher level of empathy been acquired? Perhaps not, but for one to conspire against one another via a tuneful romp in B minor? That shows a level of malevolence not seen outside your local high school. It is a sad state of affairs when a rich kid jock goes about making fun of those less endowed than he. But is is known that those with narcissistic personality disorder revel in the aftermath of ruining another's social standing in the surrounding territories of concerned persons.

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Limp Bizkit: Nookie - A Psychoanalysis

Nookie - A psychoanalysis
By: David McGhee

“I came into this world as a reject”

Apparently mocking the fact that Fred Durst himself grew up an awkward skating kid of minimal means. He had yet to find a confidence that certain wellness level of self esteem that would not come until after the third album. Selling ten million albums and having a girl scream night after night “Fred, you're the best!” in an unironic tone and faculties will do that to a man.

"Look into these eyes
Then you'll see the size of these flames
Dwellin on the past
Its burnin' up my brain
Everyone that burns has to learn from the pain"

Fred Durst has a hesitation to let go of his past. Both himself and others probably had a lot of shit going on back then during his formative years. It seems to me that Mr. Durst suffers from a form of rage disorder. If I am not correct, I believe it would be Narcissistic Personality Disorder due to his inability to let go certain instances where his masculinity was called into question - “Hey fag!” or a girlfriend left him or / and spread awful rumors about his penis, of which he appears to be very emotionally attached to are fine theoretical examples. To him he cared enough for the girl (maybe, but in this researcher's opinion I believe that his lyrics demonstrate a fondness of the female sex organs. It is this understanding on how Fred Durst views woman, that I believe he did in fact, do it all for the nookie) He yearns for for his three minutes and resents the person of objection and he is caught in a self repeating cycle of reliving that May-December romance of his and its bitter resolution.

"Hey I think about the day
My girlie ran away with my pay
When fellas come to play
No she stuck with my homeez that she fucked"

A victim of even a petty crime may develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when lacking the proper skills and sometimes medication that may prevent the event to become it's own pathway by process of Neurogenesis, where the brain grows new neurons and brain tissue to accommodate anything new that the brain has acquired through habit consisting of thirty days or more.
If you mind my saying, adding insult to injury had to be the aforementioned “homeez that she fucked” conundrum. He had good, loyal friends. But despite his sense of loyalty and partaking in the occasional orgy or game of limp biscuit, where a circle jerk ejaculates onto a biscuit, the last one to “cum” had to eat the said biscuit.

  • Side note: Their name, as Durst put it, was designed by its very nature to offend people and prevent those without an open mind from listening to their music. In a sense he was demonstrating his loyalty to the punk movement. He had been a skater punk who also enjoyed hip hop. But the fact that he himself was knowledgable on the practice makes one wonder whether there is some pent up homosexual tendencies from not experimenting during his younger years or just does not feel comfortable with tackling even such a dramatic shift of character and / or just does not have the capacity to process such stimuli.

Continued – It is to be assumed that after the bitter disinvestment in each other as lovers she routinely engaged in intercourse with said “homeez”. Rendering future involvement with the comrades who part took in that sweet sweet tang of Durst's hot spring of warm nether regions practically intolerable.


"And I'm just a sucker with a lump in my throat
Hey, like a chump
Should I be feelin' bad? No
Should I be feelin good? No
Its kinda sad I'm the laughin' stock of the neighborhood
You would think that I'd be movin' on
But I'm a sucker like I said
Fucked up in the head, not!"

It appears that the particular area of residence that Fred Durst had sheltered during the time of said relationship had been very concerned with the concept of retaining archaic lines of thought process and belittling anybody who fell out of the role of their gender when it came to extra relational affairs. It is my rudimentary understanding of such beasts that has me to think that by being called gay, thems fighting words.
Again this comes to his pre-fame financial deficit that forced him to live in low rent areas where it is known that many people with extensive criminal records and dalliances with illegal narcotics were tolerated on the level that you cause no commotion, you stay in motion. This also puts a higher chance of interacting with people of low IQ and / or of limited means.
He then goes on to depreciate himself with the lyrics “But I'm a sucker like I said.” Only to rescind his remark in the most juvenile of expressions.

"Maybe she just made a mistake
I should give her a break
My heart will ache either way
Hey, what the hell
Watcha want me to say
I wont lie that I cant deny"

Although he has used her for sexual alliances in the past, he feels that just thinking of her in any way, shape, or form seems to trigger a mild case of Post Traumatic Disorder, as previously explained.

[Chorus]
"I did it all for the nookie
C'mon
The nookie
C'mon
So you can take that cookie
And stick it up your, ass!!
Stick it up your, ass!!
Stick it up your, ass!!"

This in the we psychology professionals and students call emotional transference. You see, he has been so traumatized by the repeated deflowering of his mate at the hands (citation needed) of his fellow testosterone fueled misogynists, he embarks on the thought process that by making her the passive one in the relationship, he has effectively recaptured his sense of physical and mental well being. He has recaptured his sense of manhood by making her into an object to be thrown away after use, despite his obviously ill advised attachment to a woman who is no longer receptive to his romantic advances. He has regained his sense of dominance as a male. And in doing so, has penned lyrics that often contradict himself and show his underlying lack in proper social skills.
His mantra to stick cookie up the anal orafice of his former lover also demonstrates Durst's deeply repressed fascination with homosexual intercourse. Which is also evident in the the homosexual reference in the name of his musical combo. The fact that it is a cookie present some deeply troubling revelations about the extent of his sexual repression. Perhaps conventional genitalia is deemed as too traditional and pursues other avenues of filling an anal cavity.

"Why did it take so long?
Why did I wait so long, huh
To figure it out? but I did it
And I'm the only one underneath the sun who didn't get it
I cant believe that I can be deceived"

Many people have a hard time accepting failure in a relationship. It was very likely that the signs of deception were eminent, but Durst, by the understanding of his previous lyrics, was in denial because the truth would make him question his manhood and ability as a lover. This is a common concern with any healthy young heterosexual male. What isn't healthy though is not accepting his place in the relationship. He has faults like the rest of us do, but his pride is that of a father who's son's Harvard education is keeping him in financial decadence during the later years of his life. He is a smart man, he thinks, as we all do, but we generally can't see our intelligence in the proper perspective then that of an outsider. People have a tendency to overestimate their abilities most of the time.

"By my so called girl, but in reality
Had hidden agenda"

This is post break up paranoia at its most evident. By his understanding he has been plotted against. Presumably along with his former “homeez.” This shows major signs of Paranoid Schizophrenia in the sufferer. A disease where irrational thought and nameless blame are the order of the day. Not somebody you would trust with your coke.

"She put my tender heart in a blender
And still I surrendered
Hey, like a chump"


She emasculated him to a distressing degree, yet he still shoulders the blame for the relationship's misgivings. He simply can not believe that something as beautiful as a tender courtship with his ex, with all the love and emotionally fulfilling effort on his part, was in all reality, a forced facade Durst put himself through despite the warning signs around him.

[chorus]

"I'm only human
Its so easy for your friends to give you their advice
They tell you to let it go
But its easier said then done"

He has here acknowledged that a: he has other trustworthy friends in which he can confide. And b: he is frustrated that his understanding of his relationship cannot be empathized with by his fellow colleagues, who, as with the rest of us over the age of eighteen, cannot understand why someone would pretend everything was on the up when in fact his girlfriend, if one was to assume, was possibly getting sugary confections shoved up her rectum by his “homeez.”

"I appreciate it
I do, but just leave me alone
Leave me alone
Just leave me alone!
Just leave me alone!"

These pronouncements of self alienation have deep psychological scars associated with growing up an outsider of the mainstream. Being a skater punk, a persona not well favored by the hierarchy of popularity the late eighties and / or mid nineties when he was an adolecent, has only cemented his feelings on personal autonomy in what can be said has proved the most absurd role reversal imaginable. From punk to jock he most likely is taking on the persona of the oppressors of his youth, giving him emotional strength in the way an African man will call his fellow African American man a *explicative removed*. However over the course of his illustrious career he has grown un-ironically into the role of the supreme misogynist, with his music being a monument to the Y chromosome.

"Aint nothin' gonna change
If you can go away
Im just gonna stay here and always be the same
Aint nothin' gonna change"


It is always hard to contemplate the finality of life and your place in the world. Perhaps things are beyond your control. Many people in this situation feel hopeless as to whether or not their predicament will ever get better. It has been proven that with proper psychiatric care and medication it is possible to overcome the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But such treatments only work if the rehabilitating party agrees to work on the things that trouble him rationally and with great consciousness.

"If you can go away"

Without said proper therapy and work on the behalf of the bereaved, self esteem can plummet to worrisome lows when in the face of a traumatic experience. Especially when the parting of his ex has raised so many existential conundrums such as a clearly repressed fascination with the anus. Durst, whom at the time of the song being wrote, could not see an agreeable solution to his dilemma, has chosen to deal with it through the very public forum of FM radio stations and MTV (During their period of actively airing music videos circa 1981 to 2008) through the use of musical arrangement.
This line best represents the underlying fact that he presumably still wants for her affection, but cannot except her absence as a reality. Surely the subject is suffering from delusion that he is a serviceable lover.

"Im just gonna stay here and always be the same
Aint nothin' gonna change
If you can go away
Im just gonna stay here and always be the same"

It appears that Mr. Durst has come to accept his mental illness related shortcomings and is fine with the way he is. But does Mr. Durst truly believe this? Has he accepted her resignation and moved on? Apparently not. Because exactly a track later he goes on to “Break Stuff.” But the impact of ode reckless property damage is best left for another article.
It has been a long running irony when such a serious problem is set to a catchy hook and adored merely on its pop value with many of the song's fan base unaware of its deeply tragic sub-contexts within the layers of bitter confessional poetry that was born out of the pain one acquires from a deeply affecting loss.
It's also an allegory for saying “Bitch! You ain't nothing but a hole to me!”



As to which explanation is true, the only man who knows for sure will perhaps never elaborate on the more personal aspects of his life. Except when he's talking about titty fucking a groupie. That stuff is pertinent information.