Volume 93, Issue 72

Tuesday, February 8, 2000


Sebastian Bach puts cock back into rawk

For the love of God, make it go

Next Friday a chronic disappointment

D'Angelo does Voodoo well

For the love of God, make it go

Think back to the summer of 1998 – Geri Halliwell was a Spice Girl, Godzilla was a massive flop, the NAC was still in London and Fatboy Slim's "Rockafeller Skank" was all over dance radio.

Fast forward to winter 2000 and you'll notice something decidedly odd has (or hasn't) happened. Let's see – Geri Halliwell has reinvented herself as United Nations Barbie, Godzilla is gathering dust on video rental shelves everywhere, the Drink has superseded the NAC and Fatboy Slim's "Rockafeller Skank" is still all over dance radio. For the love of God...

Through some grand misfortune I recently found myself listening to Casey Kasem's weekly Top 40 and had to stop when he lamented that Fatboy's nauseatingly overplayed ode to surf-rock had slid on this week's chart from 35 to 39. That's roughly 18 months later, folks – 18 damn months of "right about now, the funk soul brother" and only NOW is the record buying public deciding that maybe, just maybe, they're getting sick of it.

Or there's the case of that Santana song. If I recall correctly, this fluffy little piece of wank came out early last summer and did relatively well – that should've been it. But somehow, it just got bigger and bigger, almost to the point where you could bank on hearing it somewhere within a 20 minute span. And then (God love 'em), those vanguards over at the American Music Awards and the Grammies decided it was about damn time that somebody gave this Santana dude some exposure anyway, so they nominated the old guy for roughly 65 zillion awards. To which mainstream radio, always on the cutting edge, said "Hey! Anybody heard about this Santana guy? Maybe we should put this in rotation..."

Has it always been this unbearable or have those evil music industry types realized that conspiring with radio to milk a song for every penny it's worth is truly the way to brainwash us all into polite and accommodating chart zombies? Whatever happened to the good old days when a song would explode, dominate radio for about four months and then politely fade into obscurity?

God knows something better change, cause I'm certainly not too hot on the idea about hearing of that poor wanker's blue girlfriend for another year. That is, of course, unless it somehow manages to erase the horrible memory left by Lou Bega.

The bastard.

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