DANNY JAY'S HELLA RAD MIX

(The recently deceased Studs Terkel was never able to complete his lifelong work I LIKE AMERICAN MUSIC, an oral history of America's varied musical tastes in the post-WWII era. Provided below is a transcript of a UW-Madison fraternity member's (Josh) review of his "bro" Danny Jay's mix CD. Conducted during a frat party in the fall of 2003, this was recorded on Studs' trusty tape recorder but never put to paper. Until now. All of Terkel's notes and recordings for this massive project, some of which date back as far as 1947, are currently being held and reviewed at the library of the University of Chicago.)

[loud music and talking in background throughout]

JOSH: Yeah, this is like my favorite fucking CD. No fucking doubt! No, No Doubt isn't on there. But man, just listen to that shit. Jesus.

[inaudible]

JOSH: This song is just the best. Danny Jay and I went to this show and were just fucking ripped, like there was this dude with sick dreds who was passing this fucking fattie, right? It was huge, like it was from a fucking movie or something. But anyway we went to see this show and, hold up. [yells] DANNY! BRO! WHAT BAND IS THIS!? OH RIGHT! So yeah, this is Robert Randolph. Fucking great. They opened for OAR and tore. it. up. Just a good ass time.

[New song comes up]

JOSH: So this is Guster and I saw that shit too. Saw them over in Milwaukee at Summerfest last summer and man, they just rock. Just fucking kick fucking ass. I mean, we get there and there are these like, fucking emo girls in like high school, right? And what they're doing at a fucking Guster show is anybody's guess but whatever, probably just got smoked out of Goth Island or some shit, came our way.

[girl shrieking in background]

JOSH: But anyway, it was Danny Jay, me, Hogwild, and Fucktard and we're all jamming, having a good time when these emo girls show up and are all like, "Hey, can you guys buy us beer?" and Fucktard's like "What's in it for me?" and the chick is like, "I'll give you a handjob." And she totally does! Right there during this crowded-ass day time show in fucking Summerfest. We're all watching and soon enough she's like fucking crying because we're calling her a whore and her friend thought she could just get some beer for free but soon enough I get a handjob out of her - a handjob with her butt! Right in front of everyone! [inaudible] Yeah, I don't know like fourteen, fifteen? Something like that, anyway. We gave them beer anyway, but Hogwild drank like half of it before they were done, you know, doing stuff to us so yeah, they kind of got gypped.

[new song plays]

JOSH: Oh man! This is Howie Day. Guy is just the best and -

[his cell phone rings]

JOSH: My shit's blowing up, one sec, 'kay? [answers] What up, bro?...Nah, I'm over at the house...Actually, I'm talking to some old dude, Studs something, but I call him Studley Do-Right because he's my boy...Yeah, bro, come on over...No, it's BYOB but you have...aw shit, liquor stores are closed. Bummer. I'd hook you up, but I'm looking out for my man Studs, keeping his old-ass pickled in Natty, you know? I know Big Dawg has a ton and he might share. Anyway, I gotta get back to this shit. Peace in the Middle East, man. [flips it shut]

[new song]

JOSH: Oh shit! Studley, this is it, my man. This is it right here. DAVE MUTHAFUCKIN' MATTHEWS! If, like, to get into heaven or something I had to suck one cock in my lifetime, and like, I had a choice of what cock it was, I'd go to town on Dave Matthews. Just fuckin DRAIN that man's balls. Wait, I take that back. If it was ANYONE - like living or dead or whatever - I'd blow Bob Marley. That's just a given. Like if you got to heaven and the dude at the gates was like, "Dude, you have to blow somebody, but you know, it can be anybody up here or back down on earth, so what are you gonna choose?" I'd be like, "Say no more, angel guy, I will bloweth Bobbeth Marleyeth." Jesus, I'm getting lit. Want to do a shot? [yells] Shots for my man Studs and me!

[hear Studs asking a question, inaudible]

JOSH: Naw, man. Are you sure it's not you? I mean, you're pretty old and stuff. I mean it's not like...Fuck, dude. You're right. You're so right and...shit. You're totally dead fucking on. I shit my pants. I shit my fucking pants. What's that? No, I'll clean up after we do this shot. Lemon drop time, motherfuckers!

Ian Cohen: Chinese Democracy

Ian Cohen:
Chinese Democracy Review
[Pitchfork]
Rating: 3.4


It’s time to remove the bandanna from your back pocket, slick back your emo swoop and rip the sleeves off your favorite tight black t-shirt, because Axl Rose is back, and he’s being given a proper review by someone older than fifteen who presumably does not live in his parents’ basement. Sure, the people of Pitchfork would have you believe that they’re too busy picking out the newest horn-rimmed glasses to aim at such easy targets, but Ian Cohen’s half-hearted dig on Guns N’ Roses Chinese Democracy clearly proves that they’re not. The review is an asteistic sneeze at the Bad Boy Lite of 80’s rock. Sure he’s a blowhard caricature of a time most of us would prefer to forget, but he’s our blowhard.

In the process of diminishing the album’s fizzle of a release, Cohen goes out of his way not to mention Rock Band 2 by name and dismisses the behemoth MySpace, while simultaneously wishing Axl would have evolved. This makes him about as out of touch as Hall and Oates. Axl Rose needs to be heard, and he’s using the best media weapons of the 21st century to make it happen, but he’s not about to change his uninspired, watered-down style. No one’s buying a Guns N’ Roses album to expand their musical taste. In fact, there’s a very good chance no one’s going to buy this Guns N’ Roses album at all.

Perhaps the most disingenuous part of the review is when Mr. Cohen stops bashing the less-than-ceremonial release and attempts to trick us into thinking he’s actually taken the time to listen to Chinese Democracy. He tosses out a few technical terms, demonstrates that he has access to a basic thesaurus, and casually mentions how good Axl’s voice sounds as though the man hasn’t had nearly two decades to sip tea and rest his vocal cords.

By the end, the source of all this bitterness is fairly clear. While Axl is out promoting his newest bit of misery and sharing a free Dr. Pepper with all of America*, Cohen has to sit and pretend he cares about anyone not wearing plaid and tight denim. He misdirects his anger to late-90’s one-hit blunders and slips in a backhanded compliment to power ballads of the 80’s, then name-drops Chuck Klosterman for good measure, because a serious examination of such tripe is clearly below him. If nothing else, the music Eliterati should have taken the last 17 years as an opportunity to realize that soon Gn’R will be gone, which begs the question, who will they have to feel superior to when they don’t have Axl to kick around anymore?


*Sorry, Buckethead and Slash.