Aid Stations: The Case for Shitty Pop

One of my best friends is an ultrarunner.  As in, a marathon is a just a lil' warm-up for this man.

A couple weeks ago my relationship was in a flat spin that proved unrecoverable, and during this time, I of course leaned on friends for support.  Some readily hurled insults about my former significant other, while others focused their efforts on pumping me up with all sorts of praise (true and "iffy") to my character.  Both of these are fairly standard post-break-up methods used to cheer up friends, and over the years, I have certainly engaged in both as a friend myself.

This time, however, my UltraMan offered up something completely new in this situation:

...something that blew my mind....

...something that I initially rejected, thinking he had gone certifiably insane....

He offered up POP MUSIC.  More specifically, the worst kind of pop music you could imagine:  Britney Spears, Carly Rae Jepsen....the list goes on.

I felt the chunks start to rise from my belly, totally disgusted by what he was proposing, but more than that, disgusted that he would think I'd go for it, girl with refined music taste that I so arrogantly claim to be.  But then something gave me pause.

Maybe I should listen to him.  Maybe I should be less Ms. Rock Chick and more Open-Minded Musichead.  Maybe I shouldn't drown myself in Radiohead's "Black Star" this time, and instead look for something different.  But pop music?  Shitty pop music?  Oh, brother...

I reluctantly allowed him to continue.

He compared my state to a 100-mile race.  He explained how, just as in life, there are times during an ultra race where you feel worse than you've ever felt before.  Times when you want to give up.  Times when you can't envision yourself going even one step further.  But, he countered, it's all about getting to the next Aid Station.  Once you get there, all of a sudden you feel better than ever, and you have renewed energy to keep going.

That made sense to me.  But what, I thought, does that have to do with pop music?

UltraMan went on to explain that KDWB-style pop is the best music for running.  Upon the onslaught of argumentation, he cut me off, fully anticipating and squashing my adolescent fit.  He explained that Shitty Pop is perfect to run to--and to listen to when you just don't think things can get worse--because there is rarely, if ever, any emotional attachment to it.  The beat is typically strong (as evidence, we've all caught ourselves rocking out to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite", have we not?), and the lyrics are often so ridiculous that there's absolutely nothing we can do but smile, laugh and keep on going.

Smile, laugh and keep on going.  Strangely poignant.

Unlike our favorite songs--the songs that spur something deep inside, that remind us of another place, another time--Shitty Pop can and does offer a way out of emotion.  Shitty Pop's beat keeps our feet (and hearts) moving forward, because there's little that looking backward can do for us.  To start, UltraMan gave me "22" by Taylor Swift:

Unlike our favorite songs, Shitty Pop can't mess with our heads because there's no emotion attached to it.  (Some might argue that there was no emotion even going into the making of it, but that's neither here nor there.)  I was then prescribed "This Kiss" by Carly Rae Jepsen:

Unlike our favorite songs, Shitty Pop isn't attached to anyone we know (because we never listen to it!), so it allows our minds to be free and clear of the drama that comes along with "Oh, this song reminds me of so-and-so because we listened to it together during such-and-such".  And of course Britney's "'Til The World Ends" was forced upon me:

Somehow, it made sense.  I got it.  I started to listen, and as soon as I began sharing the merits of this theory with others, the recommendations came flying in.

"Oh, you have to listen to 'Good Life' by One Republic!"

"Ke$ha's 'Die Young' has a good beat and would qualify here!"

"Check out Flo Rida's 'Whistle' 'cause it's catchy, but 'I Cry' will make you want to dance!"

Now, all of this is not to say that I'm ready to surrender my vinyl collection, nor that I'll start exclusively listening to Clear Channel-fueled radio.  Not by any means.  Rather, this marks an important step in my education.  Musically, it's about swallowing some pride (and maybe a little self-respect, at times) and letting new music in.  Friendship-wise, it's about remembering that there's not much better than having your grown man UltraFriend queue up this teenybopper hit and give you his own Grammy-tastic rendition in the car:

So, somewhere in this process of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward does Shitty Pop become actual good music?  I guess that's up to the listener.

For this girl, Shitty Pop is serving a purpose: getting me to the next Aid Station.

Jane's to Slash

When someone shoots a "brick" in basketball, it's not a good thing.  The shot goes up, ricochets off the backboard without a prayer of falling in and all-in-all just isn't pretty.  I can't help but make the comparison to Minneapolis' own The Brick.  It seems like the owners were wide open when they took this shot--they had a great location, booked huge acts on a small stage, and opened with great fanfare--yet they were so far off the mark in the execution, that we're left to wonder if they were simply an overrated player in the downtown club game.

As a gesture of goodwill, the Brick "refunded" my Jane's Addiction experience with two comp tickets to the Slash show, and although hesitant to spend more time at a place that seemed to suck the soul out of music itself, I dealt with it to see Slash.  (Furthermore, I had seen Meshuggah at First Ave the night before, and I felt as though I needed musical balance in a way that only a Guitar God could deliver.)

Myles Kennedy has a good gig.  The man left Creed Sans Stapp and found a musical home with Slash.  (Talk about rags to riches!)  Is he the best singer there ever was?  No.  But three truths remain:
1.  He can hit the notes needed to cover the biggies in Slash's hit-ridden catalog.
2.  He is a decent enough front man and vocalist.
3.  Most importantly, he is never going to leave Slash.  For literally decades now, Slash has been the object of Steven Tyler's ridicule with Tyler asking him every time they meet, "Dude, where's your singer?"  For once, Slash doesn't have to reply "Off the deep end" or "In rehab".  Kennedy, to his credit, appears to be smart enough and sober enough to keep it that way.

Of course "Slash featuring Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators" were touring to gain support for their soon-to-be-released "Apocolyptic Love", so it was to be expected that solo work was going to be showcased.  "Starlight" got the crowd going, but I found it sub par and, quite frankly, a boring song to simply smile politely to.  When bassist Todd Kerns got up to rock the mic, however, the crowd went NUTS!  Kerns' voice was less tinny than Kennedy's, and he had what it took to tear the crowd away from their cell phones and back to the stage.  Well done, Todd Kerns.  Impressive!  When do we get to hear you again?

To keep fans happy, of course Slash & Co. had to play some classic GnR.  (Is it technically a cover if you're covering a band you were in???)  "Night Train" had everyone singing along but seemed a bit lackluster, and "Mr. Brownstone" picked things up in a way that only a heroin-fueled song can.  My personal favorite was "Sweet Child O' Mine", with the classic intro that Total Guitar named the #1 Greatest Guitar Riff, and though "Paradise City" rocked hard, it was upstaged by Slash's intensely ripped bare chest.....I didn't exactly mind.

No doubt fewer in number than GnR fans, there were undoubtedly Velvet Revolver devotees in attendance at the Brick as well.  "Slither" was one of the best songs of the night with Slash, Myles and the Conspirators actually reaching the level of true raw rock that VR gave to that track.  Conversely, if you're going to play something as blatently Weiland as "Fall To Pieces", why not just go ahead and cover "Mary Mary" off Libertad?  Or, better yet, let's put Kennedy in front of a grand piano with a Liberace-esque candelabra on it and make him belt out "November Rain"?  To whomever wrote the final set list:  "Fall To Pieces" was a poor choice.  "Do It For The Kids" would've been better.

While it's true that Slash's current line-up can't compete with his past bands, I think it's fair to say that Slash doesn't give a fuck....nor should we.  Watching Slash play reminds me of a line from With Honors:  "Winners forget they're in a race; they just love to run."  Slash clearly has no concept of being in a hit-making race--he just loves to play guitar.  The guy seems to want to surround himself with people with whom he can write songs, take risks, make music, tour and play guitar....and that's enough for him.  He can walk to the front of the stage, rest his propped up Gibson on his knee and showcase his skills with a "take it or leave it, but I'm just gonna play" attitude.  He doesn't create attention-seeking scenes at the mic, nor does he gyrate his body and contort his face in full theatrical rock god style.  The man just plays, hitting every note with equal parts force and grace.  This is not a problem--this is a gift.

All in all, it wasn't the overweight and under-attractive couple making out next to me the whole time nor was it the unspoken discontent in the crowd that Slash is no longer making sweet sweet musical love with Axl Rose that bothered me Monday night....it was the $3 that the Brick charges for water.