It's Not Over

"You think you're over with it/Don't want to talk about it/I'll tell you something you don't want to know."

When I heard that and other simple, insightful lines like it on Face to Face's Big Choice album, I knew I'd found the punk rock band for me. I always wanted to like punk, but I don't listen to music for the rhythm. I listen to music because I'm too lazy to read poetry. I want a song to show me a piece of music via intelligent lyrics, and if its melody's genre makes it rock, or rap, or country, whatever. Still, the fast-paced perpetual youth of punk music always courted me, but until Face to Face, I'd never invited it up. In fact, I still haven't; Face to Face is the only punk band that has consistently managed to get my foot a'tappin' to their breakneck beats and my heart a'poundin' to their vulnerable, sophisticated lyrics. Consider this, one of my favorite bits of theirs:

"You're boring and predictable/Doesn't everybody want to get their hands on everything that they desire?/I know you're not afraid/And I know exactly what you want to be."

I can't think of a more exquisite combination of disdain, sarcasm, social commentary, and righteous indignation. These themes run through most of Face to Face's discography, yet in their final two albums, a sense of personal reflection becomes more prevalent:

"Pride is a worthy adversary in the struggle for yourself."

I missed several opportunities to see Face to Face live, both in Phoenix and here in Southern California, and when I heard that the band was going to break up, I had to see them -- and did at the Anaheim House of Blues. The show was so good, I kicked myself for those missed chances. Now, I have a chance at redemption; Face to Face has reunited! What's better, thanks to my girlfriend's diligent perusal of upcoming concerts and events, I've scored a ticket to their first show in five years! This Thursday night, I'll be face to face . . . with Face to Face.

Big choice? Buying that ticket, I had no choice.

Best TV Theme Songs Ever

Aaron at Geek in the City recently posted a top 10 list of TV's best theme songs. I was instantly inspired to remember some of my favorites and am now compelled to add them to his list. This isn't a counter argument, mind you -- just a suggested addendum to the ever expanding annals of pop culture trivia:

5. The Monkees: The Monkees may have been (and still are) a pop culture underdog, perpetually trapped in the shadow of the Beatles that inspired them, but no other TV theme goes to such great lengths to identify its title characters: "Hey, hey, WE'RE THE MONKEES . . . in case you didn't know what show you were watching."

4. The A-Team: The perfect combination of '80s synth and guitar rock, the A-Team theme song is a virtual audio onslaught, crudely constructed by trash cans, air conditioning tubes, and a blow torch. (I'll even except the weak season five remix, if I have to.)

3. The Greatest American Hero: "Believe It Or Not" is one part superhero anthem, one part inspirational melody, encouraging everyone to embrace the alien supersuit in us all. You're your OWN instructional manual, kid . . .

2. Gilligan's Island: The Gilligan's Island theme song is darn near perfect: it catches you up on the series' concept and pilot episode, then dutifully introduces its diverse list of protagonists. It's like every episode is the FIRST episode! Lost could learn a thing or two from this inaugural island TV adventure: "Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful plane/That fell onto a mysterious island, where it always seemed to rain . . . The smoke monster was getting rough, the" -- Well, you get the idea. YOU cram all three seasons into a 45 second song.

1. All in the Family: "Those were the days" . . . when racially charged humor and political satire didn't evoke whiny protests but actually inspired national discourse, even when it was perceived for what it REALLY was -- a classic old "da-da" comedy.

Honorable Mention: Friends' "I'll Be There for You." If anybody says they don't do that obligatory hand-clap after "So no one told you life was gonna be this way," he's a liar. C'mon, you did it just NOW.

I, Dull, Again

Last night’s American Idol expulsions were completely expected, and in fact I’ve determined that this entire season has become entirely and tiredly predicable. The Presidential race is almost more interesting. Early on in this stage of the competition, young David Archuleta was dubbed “the one to beat,” and while I feel like Simon’s input has become trite and self-serving, America embraced this opinion and is obviously willing to see it to completion.

I have enjoyed these contestants’ alternative arrangements to some of America’s pop culture standards, including Archuleta's famous "Imagine," what’s-his-name’s emo spin on Lionel Richie’s "Hello," and Brooke White’s acoustic "Love is a Battlefield," one of my top five favorite ‘80s songs of all time. (I’ll save that list for another entry.) Since her voice couldn’t mimic Pat Benatar’s credence, she essentially took the tune’s lyrics literally and turned the song into a wartime mantra, and, assuming the contestants are solely responsible for their respective arrangements, I was impressed with her creativity. David Noriega’s "Tainted Love" wasn’t unique but I enjoyed it, obviously more so than Simon, who slammed the rendition perhaps in a strategic move to force out the unpredictably "spicy" hothead. I confess, I liked him, though I shuddered when the judges often awkwardly praised him for just being himself. Had he made the top twelve and so on, it would’ve been a matter of time before Randy blurted, "Yo, dog, listen, uhm . . . You’re gay! And, like, it’s all good!" For a trio of supposed industry experts, they sure do struggle with the rich complexities of a potential artist’s multifaceted personality.

So we did the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s, yet rumors reveal that next week’s theme is Beatles tracks. No ‘90s? Is Paula afraid of the ramifications? Would the combination of hearing Chakeezy’s rendition of Boys II Men’s "Water Runs Dry" and the chemicals she obviously abuses simply to stay alive propel her into a state of irredeemable dementia? Is she afraid Randy would dub her foamy squeals “too pitchy?”

Bottom line is, if that happened, I’d agree with Simon. Too cabaret. Too predictable.

Supplemental: I googled "Chakeezy" to check its spelling, and the engine asked me if I meant "cheesy." 'Nuff said!

The Karaoke Chronicles: Hurry, Can I Bay?

Dear Karaoke Jockey,

First of all, I get it, okay? You miss your high school drama class. Then, your obnoxious self-aggrandizing was actually rewarded with a passing grade. Who wouldn't love that kind of encouragement?

Unfortunately, I'm going to tell you what somebody should have told you on graduation day: what passed for creative expression to your fellow thespians then is at best rampant ego masturbation now. Hopefully you can get a life as quickly as I want you out of mine.

Of course, that last part ain't going to be that easy -- not when I genuinely like karaoke and the Phoenix area offers precious few forums for it, at least around the holidays when I visit family. If you want to be a karaoke jockey whose bar benefits from my repeat business, I need you to understand a few things.

Here's a quick lesson in culture: "karaoke" is the literal combination of the words "empty" and "orchestra." While every orchestra needs a conductor, the musicians are obviously the real stars, since they actually produce the music we, the audience, enjoy. You don't see the conductor pick up an oboe and join in just because he feels like it, you know? He knows his place is out of sight, out of mind.

What I'm trying to say is, when my friends and I want to sing, shut your trap and get off the stage. No, I don't want you to invent a creative mime act to back up my song choice's lyrics, either. When Phil Collins wrote, "I can feel it coming in the air tonight," I don't think he was imagining a pencilneck like you shaking his fist on stage behind me.

Oh, but remember what I said about your stroking that ego?

As a karaoke jockey, you are a facilitator. A horse jockey directs his horse, a disc jockey spins his records, and a karaoke jockey keeps his crowd happy by providing a fun, comfortable place for them to sing. Do not mock their appearance. Do not turn their song into a duet starring you because you think they suck and need your help. Most importantly, do not consume over twenty minutes of stage time when you have a waiting list in the double digits. When I walked into "your bar," I saw dozens of patrons ready to drink and belt out their favorite tunes, perfect pitch be damned. Inside of an hour, the room cleared, coincidentally after you sang a stirring rendition of "Johnny Be Good" with your guitar-shredding sidekick (who didn't even play the song's opening riff, and even Michael J. Fox can do that . . . and I mean he can do that now, shaky hands and all). It was just your friends, my friends, and the elephant in the room -- your undying need for attention and affection.

Good thing your girlfriend obviously has plenty of that to go around, if you know what I mean.

Come to think of it, karaoke really suits you. You put the "empty" back in "empty orchestra," what with that big old void in your soul. Do yourself and your lesbian friends a favor and join a travelling theater troupe. Both of our problems would be solved: you could be on stage as long as you want, and you'd be the hell out of town.

Sincerely,
"Miniskirts in Moscow"