Underrated/ Sick Vids: Dio's "Holy Diver"

The coolest thing about Ronnie James Dio's 1983 video for "Holy Diver" is that it treats reality like a puppet -- a shadow puppet of doom. That is to say, Dio's definitely toying with the boundaries of the universe (as we know it) here. Artistically speaking, it's a well-executed clip, with Ronnie playing the smirking hero that has time to both slay the bad dude and sing the hook. And yeah, it suits the song fairly well: you don't want a Michel Gondry lego-fest with this shit, you want some fucking swords and some really fucking hot-looking lava! Let's not mince words, the "Holy Diver" video had to bring it hard, and it does so impressively.

But there's something more here, something that makes it Underrated-worthy. The storyline for this video is absolutely astounding. It opens in silence, with the camera panning across some healthy trees that suddenly become barren. Then, the rocking commences: that axe riff sinks its teeth into our hearts as we watch a cold, desolate castle of some kind set the scene. It becomes clear that a battle between the fair, noble Ronnie James, wielding a sweet sword and a sweeter perm, and Some Ugly Douche With an Axe is about to occur. As Dio strokes his sword suggestively and all but winks at the camera, we at home think, "...Dude's got this fight in the bag." And this proves to be the case, as one swift, feminine blow to the other guy's chest somehow stuns him into falling down (witness the hilariously sorrowful collapse at 1:25). Dio walks on, and as the first chorus climaxes with "Gotta get awaaaay...", we know that there shall be more battles for this silly motherfucker to face.

Or are there?

This is where the music video steers away from its battle-scene impulses and heads toward more philosophical ground. Ronnie James Dio sorta stalks around the castle for a minute, as this evil/childish black demon artwork keeps appearing on the screen. What the hell is this? We keep expecting to find out, but more detours are taken, as a mysterious blacksmith-esque man with a black mask that does nothing for his complexion provides our hero with the most fucking beast-mode sword in history. Dio leaves with the new sword, and now, at long last, you expect an epic duel with some sinister force, right as the song winds down in a tremendous heap of awesome. But like... the next minute of the video is devoted to Ronnie James walking like a complete moron as a bird squawks at him, and then accidentally stumbling upon three guys in red hoods chillin out in front of what I can only assume is a sick-ass volcano. At 3:13, when the third one looks up to reveal big, yellow eyes and no face -- the chills, my friend.

So now, of course, Dio will battle the greatest evil the world has ever known, using the most crotch-grabbingly bitchin' sword God has ever licked. Right? Wrong: instead, the video cuts to a shot of Dio once again outside of the castle, walking toward the camera until coming into a close-up, where his face is briefly swapped with that of the frustratingly cartoonish black demon. Then, I guess, he leaves. More shots of dead trees? You got 'em! And all becomes black.

One of two things is happening here: either the director planned to film a big battle scene and the video's budget of $4.75 wouldn't allow it, or Dio is using "Holy Diver" to question the fabric of our existence. By juxtaposing Dio's face with the demon, the director is suggesting that the noble hero may not be so pristine after all; such is the case with life. Why must we watch endless battles between good and evil, when we can look inside ourselves and find aspects of both extremes? We can cut down ugly enemies in our paths, we can receive the coolest weapon to fight evil, but no training or accessory will quell the evil that lurks within us. If our biggest enemy is essentially a shadow, like Ronnie James Dio's was, is this enemy representative of nothing -- or everything? How can we fight the enemy we cannot identify?

At 2:23 in the video for "Holy Diver", Ronnie James Dio captures his soul in a chokehold and lets out the high-pitched, crushing line, "The vision never DIIIIIES!" I think this is part of the reason that the main battle sequence was omitted from the video. If we were to actually view our internal demons, all of our greatest fears and insecurities, the vision would haunt us forever. All we can see is the progress toward defeating them, and the slow, steady walk toward victory. "Holy Diver" operates in the same vein as great postmodern artists such as Samuel Beckett and David Lynch, defining itself by reflecting the mirror upon its audience. We see ourselves in "Holy Diver", and understand that, sometimes, you don't need to see the most heart-wrenching battles to know that they have occurred within all of us. And also, that you're not going to do anything in this world unless you have the biggest fucking sword in the tri-state area. Thank you, Dio.

Underrated/ Down to "The Wire": Season 2, The Best Season of "The Wire"

"The Wire" ended tonight. Yep, one of the best shows in the history of television ended tonight, and while it was enough to get me out of my self-imposed blogger hibernation period, it's not quite enough to get me to reflect on the final episode, and the final season, of the show -- yet. The fifth season was probably my least favorite, which seems in line with a lot of comments circulating the web these days, and I'll likely discuss why in my next post. But for now, let's take a moment to reflect on the ugly stepchild season, season 2.

I'm an ass-backwards "Wire" fan. As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I started watching season 2 before I watched season 1, because I could only find season 2 online at the time, which doesn't make much sense but I'm sticking to my story. From there I was hooked and wanted to see where the plot lead, so I watched season 3, then season 4. At this point season 5 was still two months away, so I spent a weekend at home from college, using my On Demand feature, ignoring my parents, and inhaling season 1's 13 episodes in 2 days. It underwhelmed me. Coming off of the complexity of 3 and 4, season 1 seemed like the characters were still being sketched out, and while this is perfectly fine for a first season, it still couldn't stack up to the others. I mean, c'mon, Wallace isn't half as interesting a character as Carcetti, or Michael, right? Even Stringer and Avon were broad caricatures at the time, and D'Angelo will always resemble a punk to me. So before season 5, I thought season 1 was by far the weakest. Yeah, I know, I don't make sense.

But let's back up. Why was I hooked at this point, enthused enough to watch seasons 3 and 4 in about a week each? Because I decided to give season 2 a try, and after I figured out who the hell all these characters were and what they were doing in this little universe, I couldn't help but keep watching. Maybe I'm just saying this because I watched it first, or maybe because the Avon/Stringer stuff never interested me as much as the police work being done, or maybe it's because my skin is white. But fuck it. Season 2 of "The Wire" is the show's best season.

A lot of my reasoning has to do with the actual structure of the season, which is head and shoulders above the others except for maybe season 4. Season 2 starts with the jolt of the 14 dead girls found in a can on the docks (disclaimer: if I mess up any or all of the details of this season, I apologize; I haven't watched it in its entirety since September), and from there it's a slow, steady burn. The police work is careful and shrewd, and the writing is focused on characters and attuned to detail. The setting of the docks is astonishingly fleshed-out: we get to wake up early with these guys, share drinks with them, get inside their heads. It's a little weak that the detail on Frank Sobotka arises from him basically ruffling Stan Valchek's feathers, but the way the murder case and the detail fold into each other is flawlessly paced. Most importantly to me, the steadiness is transferred to the drug storyline, which is admittedly slow but not without explosiveness. The hotshot in the prison, Stringer's seduction of D's girl before he orders his execution, the powerful presence of Prop Joe and the growing disconnect between Stringer and Avon are all deeply felt. That scene where D'Angelo talks about "The Great Gatsby" ("he frontin' wit all them books, but if we pull one down off the shelf, ain't none of them pages ever been open") is one of the best-written monologues I've ever heard, and is well worth the season's absence of gang-banging and violent drama.

The emotional violence is left for the Sobotkas. Frank, Nick and Ziggy are the epicenter for season 2, and the lynchpin for its success. Luckily, the trio are the most relatable band of miscreants the show has ever offered. Believe me, I love me some Omar, but can I REALLY relate to a gay, shotgun-wielding, Honey Nut Cheerios-loving stick-up artist? Nick is the everyman, the Polish union lackey who, fed up with shrinking hours and a bland lifestyle, tries to dabble in some extracurriculars and does horribly. He may not be the most outlandish character, but he feels very real, as does his lumbering uncle Frank. The boss man tries to keep the docks alive by buying a couple rounds and trying to be everything to everybody, even though he can't be a father to his son. Ziggy is an ass for most of the season, but he's a likable ass, the screw-up who wants to prove that he's not a screw-up even though he knows he is. Watching him slowly sink into the crimes he's too sweetly bone-headed to commit was like seeing someone be overcome by quicksand. When he killed a guy who knew he was a screw-up, we saw his ragged vulnerability fully revealed; when he turned himself in to the police, we saw what is in my opinion the finest single scene "The Wire" has ever produced: his final stinted conversation with Frank, now separated from him by a metallic prison table. "I got tired of being a punchline to every joke," he laments to his father, who doesn't know what to say. It's a gut-wrenching scene that sets up the series' two most tragic figures: Ziggy, the clown who couldn't handle the world's seriousness, and Frank, the father whose overambition made him lose everything he loves.

But let's cut to the chase: season 2 is much more subtle and implosive, but that doesn't mean there's a shortage of pulse-pounding drama. The police work of the show has never been as gripping, from Daniels' grudging participation to McNulty's brilliance during exile to the sly maneuvering of Beadie Russell. Unlike season 1, the roles of the cops were rounded out nicely, and the dialogue and in-fighting between them were electric. Simply put, many of the scenes were just executed beautifully as well. That scene where the police just barely miss putting the lock on Sobotka by tipping him off that something's funny had my heart racing. And the penultimate episode couldn't have ended with a more incredible shot: Frank Sobotka, walking toward the Greek, the shoreline, and his certain death. After that episode, how could you NOT be hooked? And while the finale was not as compelling as the end of season 4, it wrapped up the prostitute murders and Greek storyline in a believable fashion, and gave us the silhouette of rocky things to come between Avon and Stringer in season 3. And Nick Sobotka was saved, as he rightfully should have been. The final shot of him looking through a fence at the fallen docks empire his father had created could not have been more apt.

So scoff if you will, tell me I'm insane. You're probably right. As "The Wire" ends, we'll all have our personal memories of the show, and most people will not share mine. But in a show that focuses on the downfall of the American city, I will always find a storyline about a working-class character who tries bending the rules to make up for waning wages -- and the terrible consequences such a decision leads to -- much more in line with the world around us than a bunch of disciplined gangsters holding board meetings, or a dude with a shotgun sticking up the stash in the world's most risky anti-drug campaign ever. This is over-simplification/blasphemy, I know. But the story, the writing, and the characters of Season 2 will always resonate with me the strongest. "The Wire" is over, but I will always have that memory of watching Season 2 late at night in my dorm room, watching the Sobotkas and co., and wondering why this little cop show that nobody watches was so goddamn good.

Underrated: The Terribleness of the 2008 Grammys

Sometimes, I'm completely the man...

I was gonna write a post bitching and moaning about the 2008 Grammys; oh, believe me, I was. But what's the point? It's sort of after the fact (happened two whole days ago) and people have moved on. More importantly, the Grammys themselves will never change, no matter how much criticism they receive for being completely disconnected from the rest of the universe. The fact that the Grammys exist in its own nebulous where Alicia Keys is holy and everything can be solved with a interpretive-dance tribute concerns me none. Frankly, I think it's sad and a little pathetic that the U.S. does not have a valid award for musicians. Think about it. Despite what a lot of people think, the Oscars seem to get it right a lot, especially this year when two of 2007's greatest films, "No Country for Old Men" and "There Will Be Blood", are up for Best Picture. Even the Emmys have been pretty spot-on as of late; how else to explain the worthiness of winners like "30 Rock" and "The Sopranos"? Sure, some of the indie favorites get passed over, from "The Wire" to Wes Anderson's career, but at least there's a common denominator between critics and the awards for these mediums.

The Grammys, in comparison, are ass-backwards. They nominate popular artists because "popular" means "best" to them, but not BAD popular like Hinder or Nickelback, only GOOD popular, John Legend and Feist, the artists you can take home to mom. Obviously the Grammys are geared toward an older generation for viewership, which is why John Fogerty, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard scared the bejesus out of everyone with the night's final performance. But then what the hell is this? An awards show based around old-timey viewers? The nominations are already uninformed, why must we blindly pick musical performers as well? I mean... I have major beef(s) with LCD Soundsystem, but seriously, how in the name of fuck how can they appear in EVERY SINGLE TOP 10 LIST this year and not get one single nomination from what's supposed to be the quintessential music awards? That's the closest I'm getting into a rant, but I think that's a valid question. If nothing else, it forces even the most casual music fan to see a wild disconnect between the Grammys and the rest of the human world.

But enough of that. Even if I just inadvertently bitched and moaned, let's now turn to happier times: a list of four things about the 2008 Grammys that made me smile. In no particular order:

-- Daft Punk. That's right, somebody came up with a GENIUS idea to bring DP and Kanye together on stage for "Stronger", and I guess the thought had just never occurred to me up until I saw Mr. West dancing around that brooding French pyramid, but it was still pretty inspired. You gotta wonder how people like Bonnie Raitt and Ringo Starr reacted when they saw the pyramid open up and those two knucklehead robots doing their thing; I hope Bonnie's mind was fucking blown, and I hope Ringo was envious to be a part of that collective. The fact that they were just pressing random squares on a keypad, as if they were controlling every inch of music when they clearly were not, was pretty sweet too. Would anybody have minded if Kanye left the stage and they broke into some "Digital Love"?

-- That mind-warping gospel performance. The combination of Aretha Franklin's monstrous dress, that one guy who was waving a trombone around and clapping a lot, and the general air of "...okay, wait, what's this all about?" was one for the ages. What this nine-minute tribute to a irrelevant genre to the Grammys lacked in subtlety, it made up for in Israel and New Breed, and the Clark Sisters, and Trin-i-Tee 5:7, and about 78 other people. I couldn't help but smile as nothing made sense.

-- The guy who holds up the mirror so Morris Day can see how pretty he is, mid-performance. Poetic.

-- Herbie Hancock winning Album of the Year. I'm not even gonna relish in the fact that I PREDICTED THIS, on this here very blog, and felt very very smart when I heard the gasps and saw that old S.O.B. skip toward the stage. I just thought, "Good for Herbie Hancock. He proved that he could win Album of the Year with an album no one has ever heard of." What went down at the Grammys was an act of mischievous wonder: Hancock cracked the code. He exposed the Grammy's prejudice against new and interesting music. He proved that all you need is a fail-safe concept for your album (tribute to another great artist), the "classic" reputation, and a sprinkle of fairy dust, and you will have the year's Best Album. Will anyone take this award seriously after this, arguably a more ludicrous win than that one Steely Dan album and the 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' soundtrack? Herbie Hancock has just imploded the Grammys. I bet he's still laughing. How can you not admire the guy?

Overrated: Every Song on Robyn's "Robyn" Except "Be Mine!"

Konichiwa, bitches!

I first heard that Swedish pop singer Robyn, who scored a couple forgettable hits in the U.S. with "Do You Know (What It Takes)" and "Show Me Love" in the late '90s, was still alive in 2005, when Stylus Magazine (R.I.P., homeboys) praised the hell out of her new disc. They named "Robyn", which was apparently a huge hit in Sweden, the fourth best album of 2005, unthinkably (to me) pushing it above "Illinois" and "I Am a Bird Now". They also put the album's lead single, "Be Mine!", at #4 on that year's singles list, and basically called it a perfect pop song. When I read these year-end lists, Stylus had already exposed me to the beautiful pop tendencies of Annie and Hello Saferide, so needless to say I was anxious to hear an album like this, which they so clearly loved. So I looked for it online, and dammit, I couldn't find the thing anywhere.

So I waited and waited, and kept searching for the album. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and after a while I resigned myself to never finding the album and stopped searching for it. Then, by some genius stroke of luck a few weeks ago, I found it, and eagerly downloaded it. I was really, really excited for this thing. When it finally landed in my iTunes, I listened to the whole thing straight through, starting, of course, with "Be Mine!".

And after weeks of dealing with "Robyn", I've realized that Stylus got it half-right: "Be Mine!" is an absolutely fantastic song, arguably one of the best of the decade. The rest of "Robyn", though, sucks.

Well, SUCKS is a harsh word, and the album certainly is not terrible. Maybe it just sounds a lot worse to me because I built it up so high in my mind, especially after hearing "Be Mine!" But there's nothing here that connects to me. A lot of the tracks are examples of faceless glitch-pop, with uninspired arrangements and simple lyrics. Also, the personality Robyn establishes on the album -- girl in control! victim of love problems! -- is just tired and downright annoying at points. Half-decent songs like "Bum Like You" never fully develop and repeat their choruses until they're driven into the ground. Other tracks such as "Who's That Girl", which Stylus' Jessica Popper praised as "one of the best electro-pop singles I've heard recently", simply fail at everything they try to accomplish. The chorus is trash, the synths are distracting, and the line "Good girls are pretty, like all the time/ I'm just pretty, some of the time" reeks of a concept that hasn't panned out. "Good girls are happy, and satisfied/ I won't stop asking, until I die." Yeah, Robyn, you're unique, you're freaking amazing, you kick ass, we get it.

But that's what most of "Robyn" is: telling us, and not showing us. Witness "Konichiwa Bitches", which is basically a list of ways Robyn is fucking better than you. She will take you on if you rumble in her jungle; if you mess with her on the North Pole she will ice you, son; saw you in half like a magician, as well as count you out like a mathematician (...?); she's even more sweeter than a cherry bomb (...???); and finally, you have nothing on her, because, alas, you knows you a bum. This song sucks, and delves into creepy David Banner territory with the line "Cummin in your mouth, make you say 'yum, yum!'" Like "Konichiwa Bitches", most of the other songs on the album are just musically boring. It's as if Robyn dodged a trip to the Synth Store and instead rummaged through Kylie Minogue's garbage, pillaging from her rejected beats. Ideas are half-complete, and the structure of each song is so similar that it's difficult for one to stick with you. I don't know, maybe I'm just not hearing something that Stylus did, but Robyn feels like a caricature, and "Robyn" feels rushed. I mean, it's got "Cobrastyle" on it! It can't be that amazing.

But fuck it, if I saw "Robyn" in a record store (and apparently it'll be available in the States soon), I'd probably buy it, just to own "Be Mine!" on some sort of disc besides the multiple mix CDs I've made for myself and others. This song will blow you away. I've tried listening to other contemporary, and personally beloved, girl-pop songs like Annie's "Heartbeat" and The Pipette's "Pull Shapes" and I keep coming to the conclusion that "Be Mine!" is ten times better than them. Every time I hear Robyn declare "It's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain" over those racing strings as the curtain goes up and the song begins, my heart skips a beat. The song is pure sugar.

What's remarkable about "Be Mine!" from a contextual perspective is that it basically achieves what every other song on "Robyn" fails to. Robyn is still the strong-willed heroine from the rest of the disc, but the song's admitted vulnerability adds a different shade to her two-dimensional persona. The voice is quivering, not assured, and we realize that Robyn actually is human. Jesus, Robyn really wants the guy she's singing about. The lyrics are very direct and all the more powerful because of it. "You looked happy, and that's great... I just miss you, that's all," she says, wide-eyed and full of regret in a spoken-word bridge. And compared to the dance-mongering blips of the rest of the album, the strings on "Be Mine!" sound urgent and indispensable. Building as the song progresses, they cut deepest into you at the chorus, then spiral back down. The chorus doesn't disappoint, either: it may be the song's most simplistic section lyrically, but the line "But you never were, and you never will, be mine" is the song's emotional climax, and the refrain is vital rather than stiff.

So I can disagree with Stylus' overall analysis of the album, but I can't disparage them, because I never would have discovered "Be Mine!" without them. Maybe I'll never understand what they saw in "Robyn", but I give them huge props for giving me another piece of pop magnificence.

Underrated: Posters For Leslie Nielsen Movies

Need I say more?

Underrated: Rider Strong

To all the cynics out there: no, I'm not trying to be funny, or ironic, or a complete dick toward Rider Strong, who played Shawn Hunter on ABC's "Boy Meets World". I just... really think he's a good actor. That's all.

Let me explain.

I watched "Boy Meets World" a lot when I was a kid, and probably even more so now that it's in syndication on ABC Family (right in between far worse shows "Step By Step" and "Sabrina, The Teenage Witch"). It's an okay family show that tries to deal with some serious issues, but there are a few things I've noticed as I've revisited this show in repeats:

1. Most of the characters' personalities completely change throughout the course of the show.

2. Corey and Topanga don't make any sense together.

3. Rider Strong is The Man.

I'll briefly touch upon those first two before transitioning into my Ode for the Strong: what's interesting about "Boy Meets World" is that, as the principal characters got older and had to deal with more serious issues, their personalities became goofier and unrealistically animated. Look at Eric Matthews: dude went from all-American girl-obsessed teen at the beginning of the series to absolute fucking whack job by the end. Corey went from relatable adolescent to painfully unfunny advice-giver, and Topanga somehow deserted her hippie/flower-child schtick to embrace an uneasy attractiveness. The show eventually became strained because its main focus - Corey and Topanga's relationship - became at once so predictable and so baffling. They got married, like, RIGHT after high school and ended any Ross-and-Rachel-esque suspense of staying apart, yet at the same time had absolutely no chemistry or compatibility. Blame this on the conflicting acting styles of Ben Savage, whose elastic expressions remind me of a young, humorless Jim Carrey, and Danielle Fishel, who just seems content to nod understandingly at whatever Savage is doing. Kids just couldn't handle the roles.

Meanwhile.....

Rider Strong played Shawn Hunter, Corey's best friend, with a perfect mix of modesty and gravitas. In my honest opinion, he was the saving grace of "Boy Meets World" and the reason the show lasted so long. At first glance, Shawn is just another cookie-cutter sitcom character, the loyal friend who's known for getting into trouble. Yet he clearly was the most complex character out of the bunch: Shawn came from a trailer park, never really had a family or any kind of authority figure, and has spent his whole life pegged as a womanizer when he's actually a tender soul. The writers of "Boy Meets World" obviously recognized the amount of material that they could create revolving around Shawn, since he's the main focus of several episodes, from the one where he's trying to get his dad to come home to the one where he's struggling with alcohol abuse. Shawn was a three-dimensional character in a cartoonish sitcom, and it seems like the episodes where he's the star are the most affecting.

However, the character would seem like a laughable PSA mouthpiece if Strong wasn't such a good actor, and he really does have the chops to make you care about Shawn. I watched an episode today where Shawn joins a cult-like group called The Centre, which "takes in" kids who don't have any role models and brainwashes them to worship a soft-speaking guy named Mr. Mack. Corey and his family and Mr. Feeny tell him not to, but Shawn does it anyway, and starts chillin with the cult! Sounds really ridiculous, right? Well, it is. But what could have unwatchable is actually pretty moving, because Strong makes us empathize with a character that has never had anything to hold onto. "I've always felt like something's been missing, like I've had this hole in me, that everyone else can see," Shawn explains to Mr. Turner. The way that Strong cuts to the core of Shawn's vulnerability is impressive, and he carries the episode to its emotional (if a little half-baked) conclusion. Honestly though, Rider Strong has always understood the dynamics of Shawn Hunter, and I wanna bring this back to my earlier claim that most of the principal characters have wildly changed over the course of the show, because Shawn Hunter never did. Sure, he evolved, but he never seemed malleable the way Corey or Topanga were, since Strong did such a terrific job staying true to his character. While Corey and Eric went from realistic teens to complete dumbasses, Shawn remained the good-natured friend whose morality balanced out his raw need for compassion and a sense of identity. Basically, Rider Strong nailed the role, and the fact that his performance goes so unnoticed (as far as I can tell) is preposterous.

So where's Rider today, you ask? Well, he starred in the 2002 horror flick "Cabin Fever"... and that's about it. IMDB tells me that he'll have some supporting roles in some upcoming minor theatrical releases, but nothing worth mentioning. To me, that's just not right. Anyone who can bring that much humanity to a show like "Boy Meets World" deserves to have movie offers lined up. I seriously believe that Rider Strong is a great young actor, and when I finish my first screenplay (god-willing, before I'm 50), you can bet I'll have a role for him. Until then, he'll have to keep subtly knocking my socks off in ABC Family syndication. Major props, Rider. Major props.

Overrated: Sheryl Crow

I'm not gonna dance around the main point of this post: Sheryl Crow bothers me, a lot. Okay, she's not as popular as she once was, back in the mid- to late-90's. She seems to be a nice person, I guess. I've seen her name attached to several benefit concerts for various environmental causes, and that's great for her. If I met Sheryl Crow tomorrow on the street, I'd probably smile and say hello.

It's just... her music. In my opinion, Sheryl Crow's musical output stands as the most pitiful collection of songs that has never been properly lambasted or even questioned. How did this woman become universally respected as a singer-songwriter?? There you see her, performing alongside musical legends on Grammy ceremonies, strumming that silly acoustic guitar, thinking to herself, "Goddamn, I've fooled all of them. I can't believe it, but I've fooled all of them!"

It's not outrageous to me that Sheryl Crow received lots of popularity and a bunch of Grammys, because there are dozens of equally mediocre artists maintaining stardom even longer than she has, and the Grammys are completely meaningless. What puzzles me -- shocks me -- is that no one has called a spade a spade, and called out Sheryl Crow for making the same shitty song 18 times. Somehow, Sheryl Crow has used the Lilith Fair/feminist/let's-be-HAPPY! image for over a decade, and now she's regarded as sort of a veteran rock artist no one, except maybe ex-boyfriend Lance Armstrong, has something against. Why hasn't Sheryl Crow been exposed?

Her mid-'90s output, which garnered hit songs such as "All I Wanna Do" and "If It Makes You Happy", basically relied on by-the-numbers pop structures with enough of an edge to concern mothers of young children but not enough to limit its radio play. These are amiable, shoulder-shrug-worthy singles that should have signaled a short career followed by a descent into oblivion. But no. In 1998 Crow released "The Globe Sessions", easily her strongest collection of songs, the best of which is monster single "My Favorite Mistake". It basically sounds like all of her other stuff, except it's better; from the opening guitar lick to the last sorta-strained vocals, "My Favorite Mistake" is a very good chick-rock track that's held up well over time. The rest of "The Globe Sessions" lacks the spark of "Mistake," but it's still an accomplished set of lite-rock songs that make Crow seem likeable.

So maybe my problem isn't with Sheryl Crow's entire career; maybe I should be directing my anger toward her last two albums, 2002's "C'mon C'mon" and 2005's "Wildflower", both of which are unforgivably bad. "C'mon C'mon" is unlistenable to someone with 3 or more brain cells, with songs like "Soak Up The Sun" and "Diamond Road" built around a general feeling of grating happiness. Jesus, I remember when "Soak Up the Sun" was on the radio, and I couldn't turn my dial without hearing mind-blowingly lazy lines like "It's not having what you want/ It's wanting what you got!!"or "I'm gonna soak up the sun/Gonna tell everyone/ To lighten up!!" This album was clearly made to herald a new, sunnier Sheryl Crow, one that had covered up all of her darkness/mystery and had decided to write nice, fun songs. "C'mon C'mon" is a bullshit record, but no one slammed it properly: Entertainment Weekly called Crow a "supreme craftsperson", and Rolling Stone called "Soak Up The Sun" "delightful". 2005's "Wildflower" was simply more of the same, with songs called "Good Is Good" and choruses that go, "You'll be sending a letter to God/ How will it be when you're gone?/ And what if everyone is wrong?" Fuck.

You'd think that it would bother me more that groups like The Black Eyed Peas and Panic! at the Disco are unbelievably popular now when they're clearly just a bunch of jackasses. It doesn't. Sheryl Crow bothers me more because I know that I'm gonna see her in more Grammy ceremonies, in more American Express commercials, and eventually when she gets inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame. I just wish someone other than me would notice that, as a singer/songwriter, she sort of blows. That's all

Underrated: Rick Ross' Verse in "We Takin' Over"

Unspeakable beauty...



Don't get it twisted: Rick Ross is not a great rapper. He might not even be a good rapper. He is, however, a big rapper. And he knows it.
DJ Khaled's "We Takin' Over" is currently blowing up on radio and MTV, which honestly is great, because I'll support any sort of exposure for a song featuring both T.I. and Lil' Wayne. There's a lot of things about "We Takin Over" that I like, a few of them being Khaled's "We tha BEST!" proclamation, Akon emoting all over the mic like it's underage, and the fact that Birdman's verse is by far the briefest. Yes, Weezy's verse is the best, but we all know that was a given. T.I. name-drops a lot of cities he's been to, which would be mediocre if not for Tip's signature laid-back drawl. Dude could probably rap about Medicare and it would be convincingly cool.
Then there's Rick Ross and Fat Joe -- a duo of large men who have a couple of sorta-respectable hits under their oversized belts. Fat Joe seems like a nice guy, even though he rolls with Terror Squad and will never be as good as his mentor, Big Pun (R.I.P., Punny Pun). I wanna like his verse, but he loses me when he says, "Feelin like 'Pac, all eyez on me," which is a cheap, bullshit line. As for Rick Ross... well, he made the song "Hustlin'", which is an okay banger, and I can understand Khaled's desire to throw a Miami MC a bone, but c'mon, he doesn't deserve to be in this song. Right?
Wrong, motherfucker. Ross drops the second-best verse of the song, and since #1 is Lil' Wayne and #3 is T.I., that's pretty impressive. Some of his rhymes are clumsy, but Richard kills it for two reasons: the grizzly-bear delivery, and the stunning wordplay in the second half of the verse. Rick Ross sounds both really pissed and really confident, and his gravel-throated rhymes crunch even harder after the shiny-smooth flow of T.I. and the ball-less crooning of Akon. The best part? The way Ross constantly slows down and drags out single-syllable words, because even if Ross can't keep up with the shit-hot beat, he at least manipulates his wordplay to make the ebb-and-flow sound downright necessary. Seriously, this dude sounds like he means business; he's clearly the hardest-sounding MC on the cut, even though he really hasn't done much more than drop one successful single and eat some celebratory bacon. Whatever works, man; your mission to sound like you belong is complete.
It's hard to make out every word that Ross drops, but listen closely, because there are pretty some great lines here. As soon as Ross spits out, "Get shot up like Shyne," he's got a hold of me, and it just gets better from there: "I'm B.I.G. like Diddy/ Damn it, I'm wit' it/ Khaled we did it, Biggie of my city/ Please not fitted, fuck it, I'm too pretty/ The rappers can get brain, stupid, I'm silly/ Money that come, runnin like water/ Mommy so hot, damn it, she's gorgeous/ Miami on fire, better be cautious/ Might get shot on the porch of your fortress". Yeah, it's not Def Jux, jaw-dropping brilliance, but these are above-average lyrics for a rap radio anthem. When Ross declares at the end, "I run in 'cause Rick Ross is boss shit," all one can do is shrug their shoulders and admit, "Yeah, I guess Rick Ross IS boss shit".
So next time you listen to "We Takin Over", raise a finger up not just for T.I.P. or Lil' Weezy, but also for Rick Ross, who seems to have hit a home run in an all-star game he never should have been allowed to play in. The biggest rapper of them all has some muscle after all.