Sad, Really.
Everybody has their deep-rooted guilty pleasures -- something that they enjoy, and they can't help but enjoy it, and there's nothing actually wrong with enjoying it, but nonetheless if said enjoyment were discovered said person would feel kind of silly and be completely unable to concretely defend their interest in it.
Now, I consider myself a rather eloquent fellow, and I know that I enjoy many things that many folks would feel vaguely ashamed to be enjoying. Look at me. I still enjoy the world of professional wrestling (I even watch WWE programming occasionally and they don't even want to call themselves 'professional wrestling' any more), I still watch a staggering amount of (...North American) cartoons (I got sucked into Clone High, Cybersix and Totally Spies thanks to Teletoon -- incidentally, Totally Spies is a great little show but would be so much better if it would just give us more Jerry god damn you), I find enjoyment in '70s and '80s recording artists that some people would kill themselves rather than listen to ever again ("Oh, come on! You don't like Cheap Trick? It's funny!"), I play Dance Dance Revolution, I listen to world music (including -- I am not making this up -- Japanese ska), I wear a Venom insignia t-shirt, I'm taking a Double Honours program in two Arts disciplines that cannot possibly lead to gainful employment, I write fanfiction on the fucking internet and have a LiveJournal, I deify fighting game characters, and I drive a fifteen-year-old Volvo.
All these things, all the other ideosyncratic properties of my life, I have no problems with accepting. Completely guileless! I'm personable enough that people can't actually call me on any of these, because I can pull them off and make them seem like things a human being would naturally be interested in. Rocket Robin Hood? Fuck yeah! Lookit them late-1960s animators go! Whoo! Canada pride!
So you would think, geez, if I have trouble justifying it there can't possibly be a way to explain any inherent value in it. It is, I think, the only interest I kinda-sorta have that I would be completely flustered about if called on; you know the reaction, a defensive sort of "yeah--well, th--shut up!" that can only come from being vaguely embarrassed about something and not knowing why. You know. Ambiguously inherently shameful somehow.
I, James Howard, have a pathetic and incurable affection for early 1990's dance club hits.
Hey! Shut up! ;_;
Seriously, though. I can't figure it out. I mean, this stuff is legitimately awful -- it isn't even the sort of stupid that wraps around the continuum and becomes clever in how stupid it can be, it's just really really crappy music.
But here I am, five-thirty in the morning less than a week before I head back to University, downloading some of the worst music in the world that still manages to be endearing to me somehow. Culture Club's "Mr. Vain"? Ce Ce Peniston's "Finally"? Robin S performing "Show Me Love"? Three different dance mixes of "Rhythm of the Night", including the Corona version that I haven't heard in ten years? 2 Unlimited -- who the hell can even pretend to enjoy 2 Unlimited any more without feeling tremendously stupid?
I have no doubt in my mind that the song I am listening to right this second ("Funky Melody" by Stevie B, for those of you curious as to the sort of pure lame that I'm talking about) would easily be labelled -- and in using this parlance, I should note that I have been reading a lot of Buttlord GT lately -- the 'gayest shit ever'. I'm serious. Even though the song appeals to me somehow and I don't know why, I can't help but feel like a complete dipstick for even giving it a moment of my time. Jesus.
Oh. Holy crap. Wait a second. You know what it is -- now that I'm older and wiser and listening to the shit I didn't even feel guiltless about as a kid, I have the experience and wisdom under my belt to come to an abrupt realization. This music is, for all intents and purposes except for pronounciation, the exact same thing as J-Pop.
Holy. Crap.
This is like the time a few months ago when I re-heard Paula Abdul's "Straight Up" after thirteen years and realized that, except for the presence of vocals, it's the exact same music as the soundtrack of every Sonic game ever. (Seriously, come on, listen to that bassline and that synth. This is so obviously something you would play in the background as Sonic runs the loop-de-loop tracks in a big fuckin' green field somewhere.) Except this time the feeling of realization is magnified dramatically, because it's a far more obvious connection and I feel stupider for not having figured it out until now.
This synthesized, endlessly looped, damnably likeable drivel is exactly the same stuff that would be thrown in as background music when a CG Toyota is driving down the same damn hill for like fifty-two straight episodes or a big climactic space battle is taking place and thousands of faceless enemy robot baddies are being blown up by five or six fighter pilots. I was about to mention an inherent language difference between J-Pop and early-90s club dance, but then I remembered just how much J-Pop is in broken English anyway and just dropped it. They are completely and utterly the same music.
You know something? I'm actually feeling better about liking this crap now! I mean, it's still crap, but now after all this time here's that one out that I can use to escape any culpability on my credibility as a rational human being. For example, my out for the previously mentioned "Straight Up";
"James -- why are you listening to Paula Abdul?"
"It sounds a lot like Sonic the Hedgehog music."
"Hmm. Hey, it does."
Now, finally, here I am.
"James... are you seriously listening to Playahitty's 'The Summer is Magic'? From like 1995?"
"Yeah. Have you noticed? This seriously could pass for an anime opening theme."
"...huh. Yeah, it could. Weird."
"No kidding. Hey, remember Reel 2 Reel?"
"Yeah, the... oh, no."
I can't believe it; over the course of writing this entry, I've actually found a way to come to terms with being able to enjoy club-style, MuchMusic-Electric-Circus-fodder, Chris-Sheppard-livelihood dance music. Holy crap. The guilt is gone. Poof.
I can't believe that I've actually accomplished something with a LiveJournal. Wow.
I still can't stand the friggin' Macarena, though. I didn't even like it when I was a kid, and clearly I was not that hard a child to please if I was listening to this tripe.
It's a good thing I found Mom's old cassette of Peter Gabriel's So when I was twelve, or my musical horizons would probably be shrivelled all to hell by now. God. Phew. Dodged a bullet there!
Anyway. On an unrelated note -- thanks, dub! fishermansbuster (at-squiggly) gmail.com is now live, so if my other email addresses all mysteriously drop dead I'll be well taken care of.
Now, I consider myself a rather eloquent fellow, and I know that I enjoy many things that many folks would feel vaguely ashamed to be enjoying. Look at me. I still enjoy the world of professional wrestling (I even watch WWE programming occasionally and they don't even want to call themselves 'professional wrestling' any more), I still watch a staggering amount of (...North American) cartoons (I got sucked into Clone High, Cybersix and Totally Spies thanks to Teletoon -- incidentally, Totally Spies is a great little show but would be so much better if it would just give us more Jerry god damn you), I find enjoyment in '70s and '80s recording artists that some people would kill themselves rather than listen to ever again ("Oh, come on! You don't like Cheap Trick? It's funny!"), I play Dance Dance Revolution, I listen to world music (including -- I am not making this up -- Japanese ska), I wear a Venom insignia t-shirt, I'm taking a Double Honours program in two Arts disciplines that cannot possibly lead to gainful employment, I write fanfiction on the fucking internet and have a LiveJournal, I deify fighting game characters, and I drive a fifteen-year-old Volvo.
All these things, all the other ideosyncratic properties of my life, I have no problems with accepting. Completely guileless! I'm personable enough that people can't actually call me on any of these, because I can pull them off and make them seem like things a human being would naturally be interested in. Rocket Robin Hood? Fuck yeah! Lookit them late-1960s animators go! Whoo! Canada pride!
So you would think, geez, if I have trouble justifying it there can't possibly be a way to explain any inherent value in it. It is, I think, the only interest I kinda-sorta have that I would be completely flustered about if called on; you know the reaction, a defensive sort of "yeah--well, th--shut up!" that can only come from being vaguely embarrassed about something and not knowing why. You know. Ambiguously inherently shameful somehow.
I, James Howard, have a pathetic and incurable affection for early 1990's dance club hits.
Hey! Shut up! ;_;
Seriously, though. I can't figure it out. I mean, this stuff is legitimately awful -- it isn't even the sort of stupid that wraps around the continuum and becomes clever in how stupid it can be, it's just really really crappy music.
But here I am, five-thirty in the morning less than a week before I head back to University, downloading some of the worst music in the world that still manages to be endearing to me somehow. Culture Club's "Mr. Vain"? Ce Ce Peniston's "Finally"? Robin S performing "Show Me Love"? Three different dance mixes of "Rhythm of the Night", including the Corona version that I haven't heard in ten years? 2 Unlimited -- who the hell can even pretend to enjoy 2 Unlimited any more without feeling tremendously stupid?
I have no doubt in my mind that the song I am listening to right this second ("Funky Melody" by Stevie B, for those of you curious as to the sort of pure lame that I'm talking about) would easily be labelled -- and in using this parlance, I should note that I have been reading a lot of Buttlord GT lately -- the 'gayest shit ever'. I'm serious. Even though the song appeals to me somehow and I don't know why, I can't help but feel like a complete dipstick for even giving it a moment of my time. Jesus.
Oh. Holy crap. Wait a second. You know what it is -- now that I'm older and wiser and listening to the shit I didn't even feel guiltless about as a kid, I have the experience and wisdom under my belt to come to an abrupt realization. This music is, for all intents and purposes except for pronounciation, the exact same thing as J-Pop.
Holy. Crap.
This is like the time a few months ago when I re-heard Paula Abdul's "Straight Up" after thirteen years and realized that, except for the presence of vocals, it's the exact same music as the soundtrack of every Sonic game ever. (Seriously, come on, listen to that bassline and that synth. This is so obviously something you would play in the background as Sonic runs the loop-de-loop tracks in a big fuckin' green field somewhere.) Except this time the feeling of realization is magnified dramatically, because it's a far more obvious connection and I feel stupider for not having figured it out until now.
This synthesized, endlessly looped, damnably likeable drivel is exactly the same stuff that would be thrown in as background music when a CG Toyota is driving down the same damn hill for like fifty-two straight episodes or a big climactic space battle is taking place and thousands of faceless enemy robot baddies are being blown up by five or six fighter pilots. I was about to mention an inherent language difference between J-Pop and early-90s club dance, but then I remembered just how much J-Pop is in broken English anyway and just dropped it. They are completely and utterly the same music.
You know something? I'm actually feeling better about liking this crap now! I mean, it's still crap, but now after all this time here's that one out that I can use to escape any culpability on my credibility as a rational human being. For example, my out for the previously mentioned "Straight Up";
"James -- why are you listening to Paula Abdul?"
"It sounds a lot like Sonic the Hedgehog music."
"Hmm. Hey, it does."
Now, finally, here I am.
"James... are you seriously listening to Playahitty's 'The Summer is Magic'? From like 1995?"
"Yeah. Have you noticed? This seriously could pass for an anime opening theme."
"...huh. Yeah, it could. Weird."
"No kidding. Hey, remember Reel 2 Reel?"
"Yeah, the... oh, no."
I can't believe it; over the course of writing this entry, I've actually found a way to come to terms with being able to enjoy club-style, MuchMusic-Electric-Circus-fodder, Chris-Sheppard-livelihood dance music. Holy crap. The guilt is gone. Poof.
I can't believe that I've actually accomplished something with a LiveJournal. Wow.
I still can't stand the friggin' Macarena, though. I didn't even like it when I was a kid, and clearly I was not that hard a child to please if I was listening to this tripe.
It's a good thing I found Mom's old cassette of Peter Gabriel's So when I was twelve, or my musical horizons would probably be shrivelled all to hell by now. God. Phew. Dodged a bullet there!
Anyway. On an unrelated note -- thanks, dub! fishermansbuster (at-squiggly) gmail.com is now live, so if my other email addresses all mysteriously drop dead I'll be well taken care of.