The Least You Can Do Is Stop Re-producing.

"You're coming off kind of contrived and pretentious.
You're not saying anything we haven't heard before."
- Against Me! - "Don't Lose Touch"

You might recall that I recently launched a verbal attack against the language-abusers who drop the word "organic" at every wrong turn. I take this opportunity now to downgrade those people on my "list of people who deserve anal leakage" and add a new group of offenders to the throne. After all, it's the least that I can do.

Anytime someone offers a hand, whether it be to help a friend move furniture or possibly a dead body (thanks again, Tony), the gesture is usually met with a sincere debt of thanks. That gratitude is then returned with a casual remark, something like: "it's the least I could do." Pleasantries all around. But most times, remarks like this don't come off as pleasant. As a matter of fact, they come off as smarmy and obtuse.

Because, in the grand scheme of things, whatever you've done to reciprocate that phrase--"it's the least I could do"--chances are, there's something much less that you really could have done. After giving a friend a great recommendation to your current boss, trying to help them get back on their feet after a recent lay-off, the friend might say "thanks a lot, Jim. You've really got my back. I appreciate it." Seizing the opportunity to sound humble, you casually drop the phrase. "It's the least I could do," you say. But it's not. It's not, because the least you could do is NOTHING! You could have kept your mouth shut and never uttered a word to your boss in regards to your friend. And nothing is less than what you did. Nothing is the least you could do.

So the next time you find yourself about to lay this line out there--presumably just before you cut yourself a fun-sized slice of humble pie--think about what you're saying and then stop. And then kick yourself in the balls.


This Entry In Song:
Barcelona - "Response"
The Bravery - "Every Word Is a Knife In My Ear"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

An Open Letter to Ben Folds.

"The secret life and he leads it."
- Ben Folds, "The Secret Life of Morgan Davis"

Dear Ben Folds,

I know your secret identity. Oh? Surprised? You may have fooled millions of other shoe-gazing listeners who are intent simply listening to your slightly melancholic, sarcasm-coated piano pop gems without a thought directed toward the skill behind the music. But I know better. I know that pounding those keys in the way you do has to take some sort of superhuman gene, or at the very least, a very strong daily multi-vitamin. So the truth has been uncovered. It's time to out you...Wolverine.

Awwwwww shit! No he didn't! (And yes, he did.) That's right, Ben, or should I say "Logan?" There can't be many possible explanations for bitch-slapping the ivories in such a manner that don't involve Adamantium. Fingers of steel, they are. Your callouses have callouses, which then mated to have tiny baby callouses. But hardened skin notwithstanding, you show such little regard for you own appendages on stage that--if you weren't of superhuman capability--would greatly worry your audience, and subsequently create a less enjoyable atmosphere. But since you do have superpowers...

The venue didn't allow cameras inside. Perhaps so as not to reveal any secrets?
So this is what we documented.

You put on a show that makes every geek proud. You allow the rest of us to unleash our inner dorks in a comfortable environment, knowing full well that dorks can rock the fuck out too. You're a gifted pianist and songwriter. You know your way around a lyric or two. And you're no longer ashamed to play your big hits, a quality I find admirable in a semi-indie darling.

But, so...can you also fly? Or are your superhuman abilities limited to music? Because, I think if I had to choose, I'd go with invisibility or x-ray vision over steel fingers. Oh, and you make poke fun at some of your more terrible songs. I like that, too.

I wonder, though, do you know of any other musicians that are superheroic? If so, do you have annual meetings wherein you put all of your superpowers toward crafting an insanely good mega-hit song? Sort of a "We Are the World" for the cape-wearing crowd? And is Bono a part of it? Because, as far as I can tell, his only superpower would be his uncanny douche projection. Seriously...what a fucker.

Inside: capes, plasma guns, and Bono's dead body?

I hope you don't feel betrayed by me outing your real identity in this way. It's a sign of affection, I promise. I just find it hard to believe that someone could pound away on a piano for 3 hours like they were exorcising a demon from it without showing a little fatigue. You know?

Anyways, you've made an even greater fan out of me because of it. If you ever come around to my area again, I'll have to buy 3 tickets: one for me, one for my girlfriend, and one for my giant boner. 'Cause you're pretty great.


This Entry In Song:
Ben Folds - "You Don't Know Me"
Ben Folds - "The Secret Life of Morgan Davis"


P.S. Say hello to the rest of your Super Music Friends. (Dave Grohl, Kirk Hammett, and Elvis Costello?)

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Fast Fact #9

It's impossible to miss a high-five if you stare at the recipient's elbow during the motion. True story. Try it for yourself and try not to feel like you need a pocket protector.

Reminiscing About the Neighborhood Ruckus.

"That knock at the door calls the crowd to quiet.
The neighbors have complained damn near every night."
- The Academy Is..., "Neighbors"

A good night's sleep. Periods of deep reflection. Taking the security guard's phone number off of speed dial. These are the things that are afforded to you when you no longer have noisy neighbors living directly above you. And you don't realize how great those same things are until they're gone.

Months ago, The Running of the Bulls was replaced with The Gentle Whirring of Dishwashers when we accomplished the at-one-time unfathomable: kicking the silence-ophobes who lived above us out of the apartment complex once and for all. And though I was all somersaults and high-fives on that wonderful day of excommunication, I can't help but to occasionally miss the midnight Riverdancing or the 3 AM body slam wake-up calls. Call me crazy.

I also find myself wondering what happened to our alcoholic, heroine-shooting, face-punching friends to the north once they left. Where did they go? Where are they now? Are they still slamming each others heads into de-plastered walls in a cheap motel somewhere? Maybe at this exact moment, an anguished neighbor is banging on their door to stop screaming about "that bitch who doesn't deserve to breathe" who just so happens to be passed out on their patio. The optimist in me likes to think that maybe the majority of them are sitting in a cold jail cell being as loud and rowdy as they want, taking turns taunting the guards who, in turn, take turns beating them senseless with nightsticks. But the more sensible person inside me knows that the most likely scenario is the same as it was 5 months ago, just in a different apartment building that hasn't yet been fed up with their insane shenanigans.

To you calm-haters who once inhabited the space above: thanks for making me ever-more grateful for the peace and quiet that comes with normal, well-behaved neighbors. You taught me many valuable lessons, none more important than to always deal with people--no matter how unreasonable and ignorant--calmly and humanely. And when that doesn't work, call the cops on their noisy asses and report possible domestic abuse and illegal drug sales. It's a lesson I'll carry with me always.

So thank you, former residents of apartment 8-322. You won't be forgotten. (Or forgiven.)


This Entry In Song:
The Academy Is... - "Neighbors"
OK Go - "Oh Lately It's So Quiet"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Movies and Concerts and Miscellaneous Extracurriculars...Oh My!

"But this is more than entertainment...
...this is the only thing that's real or true."
- Rise Against, "Entertainment"

We're in the middle of an entertainment frenzy here, folks. It's live music, it's blockbuster movies, it's wild animals...basically, it's family-sized fun in the sun.

As of last count, me and the missus have seen several cinematic stinkers (The International, X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Duplicity) and encountered a couple of knock-outs (Angels & Demons, State of Play, Watchmen). We've heard some magnificent bands and smelled some tremendously foul smells at the hands of poo-splashing hippos. All in all, this is shaping up to be a solid summer. And the fun has just begun.

Lined up we still have the possible musical stylings of Ben Folds, Anberlin, Green Day, Gavin Rossdale, Third-Eye Blind, Incubus, and Augustana. And the rest of the must-see movies? TERMINATOR: SALVATION, bitches! Also, Public Enemies and Funny People are going to be note-worthy additions to the bright, flashing lights schedule. Plus, since we conquered the Los Angeles Zoo in one clean swoop, it's time to move onto bigger game: San Diego. (I've heard they have animal crossbreads. Hello, Kaola Penguins!)

Our ultimate goal is to be beaten to death with entertainment. But maybe that's just the optimist in me talking.


This Entry In Song:
The Bravery - "This Is Not the End"
Foo Fighters - "Another Round"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Chad Michael Murray Shops at Target.

Murray, of One Tree Hill, in Burbank, shopping for bottled water and beach towels at Target. Am I supposed to care about this? My girlfriend seems to think so.

...I'm indifferent.


Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Watching Trains and Feeling Small.

"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean."
- Lee Ann Womack, "I Hope You Dance"

As I waited for the subway the other day, perfecting the art of staring blankly into space and wearing earphones like an introspective dunce, I couldn't help but let a smile slip across my face. A child--perhaps 7 years old, perhaps not even that--was waiting anxiously (and dangerously) near the edge of the platform, watching for the train to come. His anticipation building with each weary look toward approaching headlights, he could barely contain himself long enough to shout his excitement at his grandfather.

"It's coming, it's coming! It's almost here!"


I watched his hands grasp at his face, trying to figure out the best way to greet the arriving train. Should he run alongside it? Air five it? Attempt to hop atop it and ride it into Universal City like a bronco? Ultimately, he decided on a mixture of awkward flailing and whimsical jumping. "It's here! The train's here, grandpa!"

As this scene unfolded--the child seizuring at the sight of a dirty subway train, his grandfather bemusing interest--I wondered if I would ever get so excited over something so small again. As corny as it all is, the little things in life often pass us by. And as the great Ferris Bueller once said: "Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

So to all of us workaholics, thumb twiddlers, and shoegazers: slow down and watch for the trains.


This Entry In Song:
Barcelona - "Lesser Things"
Jack Johnson - "While We Wait"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Rejected CRACKED Article #1.

"Adjectives on the typewriter, he moves his words like a prizefighter."
- Cake, "Shadow Stabbing"

As some of you may know, my original purpose behind moving out to California was to fulfill a lifelong dream--as an aspiring writer--to get published. I didn't care how, I just wanted it to happen. The format didn't matter; screenwriting, magazine articles, telenovelas...whatever. I just figured that being here in L.A. would light the fire under my bones that was necessary to get my written words in print and out to the masses. And it did. Sort of.

Yes, I have finished a short script. (And no, I will not be publishing it on this blog. Thanks for asking.) However, I don't know anyone in the industry and, unfortunately, am unwilling to perform sexual favors for Vincent Gallo to get it made into a feature. This leaves me at a disadvantage. So while it remains on the back-burner, my main focus in writing has changed. Along with writing this very witty and (not) well-publicized blog, I've been making constant attempts at getting articles published at the premier online humor magazine, Cracked. So far, no good.

That's why I'm hoping to gain a little support from my readers. Write your congressman, call your grandparents, sell a kidney, do whatever you can to persuade the staff at Cracked.com to give this guy a chance! And just in case the snooty humorists at Cracked happen to peruse the blog listings on Google, I'm going to publish each of my failed article attempts here at Hillbilly Takes Hollywood. So...boo-yah.

Failed article #1...

*****
THE WORST ONLINE ADVICE ARTICLES
EVER PUT INTO PRINT.

The art of advice-giving is a tricky game that should be handled with a certain amount of delicacy and care. As we all know, the best advice-givers on the planet have had plenty of life experience to help connect with the person in need of help. And from Ann Landers to Dear Abbey, there is no shortage of advice in the printed word.

There is also a big handful of dorks and perverts who should never be trusted to give advice to people or inanimate objects at any time. These are those people.

• Offender: AskMen.com

Though no one specific person can be pinpointed to place blame, this website is at fault for dishing out some of the corniest, most awkwardly delivered tips ever. Especially when it comes to women.

WORST ARTICLE:
The Top 10 Ways to Flirt Sexually

The title pretty much gives it away. The Top 10 Ways to Flirt...Sexually. The only more literal that title could be is if it came attached with a winky face and a parenthetical If Ya Know What I Mean at the end of it. And even then, I’m sure the writers would feel as if their intended audience “might not really get what we’re trying to say.” I assure you, AskMen, we get it. We get it hard.

This advice isn’t directed toward a single moment or situation, but rather the whole gamut of possible chances at sexual innuendo. (...in her end-o.) It covers the delicate and subtle art of seduction, the sly conveyance of charm and wit, and the mastery of cunning observation. And it does it all in a way that makes Andrew Dice Clay seem like the utmost authority on feminine intellect. The bits of sample dialogue they use would make both soap opera AND big-budget porn writers cringe in empathy. Understand, AskMen, that most of the people reading your article have seen a vagina before (if only at the movies) and can probably understand your ever-so-subtle ways of pointing out all things related to S-E-X.

SAMPLE ADVICE:
BRING SEX INTO THE SITUATION
For example, let’s say you get a woman a cup of tea; you can follow up by saying: "Looks like you’re on the receiving end today. Do you always receive or do you like to give at times too?" Crack a slight smile and she will know exactly what you are talking about.

LET HER KNOW YOU KNOW
Many women feel compelled to vacuum their house when they're ovulating. Some experts believe it has something to do with wanting to "clean the nest" before laying her "egg." So, when a woman tells you she is vacuuming, say: "Vacuuming? Are you ovulating or something?" She’ll be stunned that you know this and wonder what else you know about female sexuality. Of course, if she doesn’t know what you mean, fill her in. Women love it when you teach them something new -- especially about themselves.

These columns were most likely written by the guys who didn’t understand the subtleties of a good “that’s what she said” joke.

OVERALL TONE:
Demeaning to both a man’s sense of dignity and a woman’s restraint to not kick a guy in the balls. The men at home who stare in awe at their computer screens as they feverishly take notes off of this website will turn out to be the same men who are eventually convicted of statutory rape. And further down the road, they too, will surely end up with their own advice columns.

• Offender: Ask the Bartender

This one comes from the deep sections of a blog called “Our Wonder World.” The main attraction for readers is the author’s advice column, cleverly titled, Ask a Bartender. (Because who doesn’t like getting advice from the guy who constantly provides you with the inability to see colors?) I would like to believe that the author is not actually a bartender, but from their sheer obsession with booze-talk, my heart knows that just can’t be true.

WORST ARTICLE:
Advice Column #24

SAMPLE ADVICE:
In response to...

Hey Bartender!

I'm getting married in the fall. However, I'm having increasing tensions with her mother... She's trying to help but winds up causing more issues than she solves... I mentioned once that I liked Apple Cider, and her mom had a case of sparkling cider special- delivered to me about a week later. There were two issues here- 1: The logistics of getting the cider delivered was a hassle for myself and my landlord and 2: It was more cider than I could possibly drink, and a lot of it just got thrown out.

...How can I communicate to her that I know she has the best of intentions, she really needs to just leave me alone most of the time?

After much lengthy, insightful consideration in how to adequately respond to the mother-in-law, the Bartender throws away all sense of credibility like a tattered shot glass at the end of the night...

I've thought about giving you recipes for punch with cider, or drinks with cider, but what I think you really need to drink is some whiskey and cider. While I think any bottle of Maker's Mark can give you a decent mixed drink, I'm going to list you a bunch of whiskeys, bourbons, and scotches that you might consider adding to your registry.

OVERALL TONE:
Thoughtful, easy to understand, and all in all a Budweiser executive’s wet dream. Generally, the Bartender gives suitable tips on how to deal with common situations. (Which is strange, because the last bartender I sought advice from told me that in order to win back my ex-girlfriend I’d need to be at least seven inches taller and arm wrestle my way back into her good graces. It was like seeking advice from a Roadhouse marathon on TNT.) But at the end of every single article, the Bartender retreats into what he knows best: booze, booze, and recommending booze. I’m not sure if Jack and Coke is the official sponsor of Ask the Bartender or not, but I’d like to think that this is a picture of the author at work:

"You say your best friend punched your wife in the jaw?
Solution: Put me in your mouth."

Oh, and an ironically fun drinking game idea: take a shot of alcohol every time this guy mentions a type of alcohol. You're all but guaranteed to be reading his advice at the level of a third grader in no time. Unless, of course, you already read at a third grade level, in which case you'll just take a nap.

• Offender: A Girl's World

Ripped from the bedazzled diaries of every tween girl to ever be called "a total cock tease" by her totally jealous and like, pretty much flat-boobied peers, A Girl's World aims to conquer the problems of youth with insight so covered in pink lollipops that it actually gives you several tooth aches while reading it. And it makes your eyes bleed unicorn tears.

My favorite part of the website is the corner of the page where things get real. It's called "Tuff Talk," and it gives these little bitches the hard truths that their parents won't spoon-feed them. Truths like...

WORST ARTICLE:
Oh No, I Have Braces Now!

Of all the horrific things that kids have to worry about when it comes to school--bad grades, yucky green bean casserole for lunch, unpredictable boners for the boys and lopsided chest development for the gals--one thing they absolutely should not have to deal with is having their teeth straightened by shiny strands of metal! Or glasses. Glasses suck sooooo much. But luckily, counseling is available.

SAMPLE ADVICE:
Okay, what your problem is is that you want to fit in!

So my advice is, act like you always do. I know this may be hard, but eventually you won't mind! If your already popular, why should braces change it? People will get used to it, and hey, in two years you'll be the envy of every girl in school!

Listen to her, Louise. She's older and wiser than you are. By almost a year, bitch. Been around the block a few more times...

Though it's important for kids to be spoken to at their own level, it's also important to note that kids are primarily retarded beings and shouldn't be allowed to give advice on anything unrelated to kickball. When I was a child, my proudest intellectual thought came in the realization that I shouldn't pick things out of my taint and then smell them. And even that took me a while to fully understand. So I find it fitting that the eleven-year-old grief counselor extraordinaire featured here has all the common sense of a running shoe. And she doesn't give much in terms of guidelines or examples. She basically just says, "deal with it, fuck face." It's like telling someone who's in a wheelchair to "just roll around wherever possible" or telling a television set, "hey, it's okay, people are going to watch you." That's not advice. That's just a series of unfortunate facts about unfortunate circumstances.

Also, this is a ten-year-old seeking advice from an eleven-year-old on an honest-to-God internet publication. Instead of braiding her friend's hair and pointing out how much hotter Owen Wilson totally is than Christian Bale. Something's wrong here.

OVERALL TONE:
This website should be typed entirely in purple glitter fonts. It's the ultimate "oh my God, this stuff happened at school today and it so sucked" conversation, but it's aired out on the internet for every pre-teen to nod along with in disgusted agreement. And just when you think that one of the tweeny-boppers actually made a genuine point, you see the words "Boy Zone" sectioning off a whole other portion of advice columns, with a headline just beneath it that reads "He Makes Fun of My Room!" And then you realize that the only thing more pointless than this advice is a marathon race between Stephen Hawking and a toothbrush.

Two points for effort. Zero everything else.

• Offender: Planet Abiola and the Goddess Factory

There's something to be said about being a confident, black woman. Being a mediocre white male, I can only imagine the power that one must feel when they defy racial barriers by thrusting their beautiful bounty of black feminism into the ether, having it be received with open arms by the universe. It is women like this that give other black females something to look up to. And then there's Abiola.

For the uninitiated, Abiola is to the internet blog-osphere what Tyra Banks is to daytime television land. She's annoying. But she's not just annoying, she's annoying and she wants you to share in her unnerving ability to be more self-centered than anyone else has ever dared. Sounds like the perfect person to have their own advice column, right? But not to worry, Abiola has written her own fictional novel, so she must be suited to dish out the ol' tips and tricks on real life situations!

Disclaimer: if you happen to peruse her website and manage to find a picture or article that doesn't contain an image or reference to her book, Dare, what you are experiencing is an illusion. It will likely go away soon. Also, expect to see words like "awesome-a-licious" pop up far too often.

WORST ARTICLE:
Backstory: Writing Your First Book

If you are an attractive person, and you want to give advice to someone who finds themselves unattractive--even ugly (though we at Cracked have never experienced such a personification)--you might do your best to help this person out with their insecurities without gloating and pointing out how much of a smoking hot piece of ass you are in your new, especially tight jeans. That's common decency, really. And it's exactly what Abiola is unwilling to do.

SAMPLE ADVICE:
This article, though labeled under the general umbrella of "advice," really fits more into the category of "shameless plugging" or "delusional self-advertising." She takes an opportunity to inspire her reader by connecting with her and sharing keen insight into how she can get her own creativity flowing into a book...and then decides that was a stupid idea and turns into a promotion robot. She goes deep into a "Behind the Music" version of her last few years, detailing her book promotions, her show on BET, and her slutty dancing ways via unnecessary photos. She also, for reasons unbeknown to the world, compares herself to "a hip-hop artist of the literary kind." And she says things like this:

Now, I am not the picture of what you may imagine a hip-hop lover looks like. I have two degrees, grew up in a mostly vegetarian family and am the first generation American daughter of immigrants. My goal was to give birth to a “chick lit” story for the demographic-breaking women of my generation.

At this point, two things are clear. 1) Abiola is confusing the word "advice" with "auto-biography." And 2) She's being more of a hindrance to womankind--specifically black women--than a help. In a nutshell, she just told all of her strong, black readers that if you have a degree, you probably aren't listening to hip-hop. And if you're listening to hip-hop...you probably don't have a degree. Take that, Malcolm X!

OVERALL TONE:
Arrogant, arrogant, arrogant. With a side of ignorance-a-licious. You and Tyra can both go straight to hell.


*****

Well, there ya go. I hope you enjoyed my first rejected Cracked article. Tell me what you thought of it. I'd be pleased to hear positive (and negative) responses.

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Fast Fact #8

I saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine last night. It is a complete mess. I suggest that no one go see this movie, especially if you are a fan of the X-Men franchise, superhero movies, or general enjoyment. It would not be a wise use of your time.

Remember When This Was All New?

"Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand.
I move onto another day. To a whole new town with a whole new way...
...I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most.
The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising, but it's spring and I should leave."
- Modest Mouse, "World At Large"

I wake up earlier than usual. I have nearly an hour before I'll leave for work; it's just enough time to sit around and consider doing something, without actually doing it. Shower, don't shave, change clothes. Wrapping a tie around my neck, I leave the apartment and let my legs guide me down a memorized series of footsteps toward the train station. North Hollywood, Universal City, then Hollywood & Highland. My stop. I wait 14 minutes for my bus. I ride 17 minutes to the closest stop it will let me off at. Another 9 minutes of walking and then it's work.

"Hello, I can help the next person in line. How are you today?" Deposits, withdrawals, transfers, payments. "How's the day treating you so far?" Transaction histories, statement inquiries, cash advances, MoneyGrams. "Did you get everything figured out with your account since the last time you were in?" Check photocopies, money orders, split deposits, auto loans. "You're welcome. Have a good one."

Between customers, I think of my own finances. Have my student loans been paid this month? When does my next paycheck hit my account? I need to stop spending so much on coffee. When will my tax return be sent to me? I think of the next concert I want to catch or the next must-see movie coming to theaters. I think of what I did last night, the night before, and the night before that. I don't think of what I'll do tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that. Constantly reflecting, never predicting. My girlfriend comes to mind at least twice, even on a busy day. Other things breeze through on regular occasion: My family, my friends, the pet dog that used to be alive, the pet donkey that still is, a list of MP3s I should download, a list of grocery items I forgot to pick up, and whether I hate a snowstorm or a heatwave more.

A different hairstyle crowns my head--this time a slight faux-hawk. A "slow-hawk." I receive a compliment from 3 customers, all of them hairstylists. The compliments aren't for me so much as they are for the person took a scissors to it. 500 gay men give me the flirtatious eye. One girl tells me I look great in glasses. Strange ratio. My co-workers ask favors of me, I oblige. I ask favors of them, they hesitantly do the same. I document arrival time, lunch time, and departure time on my time sheet.

I leave work. Goodbye teller window. I get a ride or I catch the bus. The air is probably still warm, but the sun is becoming less noticeable. Train ride to North Hollywood. Walk to the apartment. Couch or chair? Drink or piss? Pool or fitness center? It always ends up with sleep.

Then it's tomorrow.

Regretful realization: there comes a point where even the exotic becomes mundane.


This Entry In Song:
Jack Johnson - "Adrift"
Sondre Lerche - "Dead Passengers"
Modest Mouse - "The Devil's Workday"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake

Ben Lee, You Don't Suck.

"I never met someone so jaded. Your music's really overrated.
Nothing but a lot of pretentious noise...
...I wrote this song to tell you that your 15 minutes of fame are almost up.
Yeah, one more thing: Ben Lee, you suck."
- The Ataris, "Ben Lee"

If you're one of my readers who tends to skip over the opening lyrical snippets that I use to lead in to each post, you may want to reconsider that pattern for this post. The above-mentioned lyrics are from a "diss" song about one of my favorite troubadours, Ben Lee. In it, they describe all of the reasons that he sucks, both personally and professionally. So, let's say that you were in Ben Lee's shoes. You hear this song that was sent to you by one of your close friends that was passed onto them by one of their friends and...etc...etc...you're listening to your reputation being dragged through the mud in a very brash manner. What do you do?

Well, if you really were Ben Lee, you would cover that very song at each and every one of your concerts from that point on.

Thursday night, I saw Ben perform at the aptly named Troubadour venue in West Hollywood and was treated with a fair number of surprises. Firstly, the opening band Low Vs. Diamond--who seemed to be genuine d-bags from the moment they stepped on stage--grew on me with every song they played. By the end of their set, I was honestly thinking of buying their album. (Or at the very least downloading it for free off of Elbo.ws) Also, I was shocked and floored to hear the words "Ben Lee, you suck" come from Ben Lee's throat. Too cool, Mr. Lee. Too cool.

But aside from the aforementioned embrace of his own hate song, Ben surprised me with how genuinely excited he seemed to be about playing with a truly proficient back-up band (being the rhythm section of Low Vs. Diamond). He was constantly giving them a thumbs up and giant kid-like smile as if to say "this is totally cool." Yeah, the smile said "totally." That's how dorkishly cool Ben Lee was.

So to all of the naysayers who call him "pompous," or "deluded", or even "a giant, smarmy bag of taint" I say to you: buzz off! He's a fine musician, a wonderfully entertaining stage performer, and a sincerely nice guy.

Also, he looks just a little bit like a hobbit child.

This Entry In Song:
Low Vs. Diamond - "Killer B"
Low Vs. Diamond - "Heart Attack"
Ben Lee - "Catch My Disease"
Ben Lee - "Numb"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake