should you stay or should you go?

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(The following entry wasn't intended for this blog. I attempted to post this on another website—they’re encouraging me to submit once a week—but have NO IDEA how to format the thing. I'm not, uh, computer savvy. Where's this guy—


—when you need him? Just for the heck of it, I'm gonna post it here until I figure out how to link back to their site. Enjoy.)
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Welcome!

Thanks for inadvertently stumbling upon my blog. I hope this finds you well. On to business:

This space will be utilized only for music discussion/opinion/rant (for my other blog, which does not adhere to a specified theme, please click here: _____).

Realquick now’s when you consider whether we’ll—you and I—make a good fit. You wonder, are we compatible? Can I stomach this thing? Well, here’s a quick-reference litmus test I’ve assembled for that very purpose, presented in convenient choose-your-own-adventure format:

Please answer the following questions to the best of your ability.

1. A friend calls and offers free tickets to see Sponge in, oh, about an hour. There’s two, he says, so you can take somebody. I have to get rid of these. For illustrative purposes, let’s say you have nothing to do. In fact, when he calls, you’re unwrapping an ice cream sandwich and playing poker online (for fake money). What do you do?

a) If you answer, “wait, weren’t they…didn’t they have a radio hit back in, like, ’95? Bah da…”—you pause, loot corridors of the brain, resume primordial grunting—“…da…da da, ba da…”—hitting your stride, suddenly—“…da da da, ba daa daa daa, da DA DA DA…wasn’t that them? Wasn’t that Sponge?,” please proceed to question #4, and that was awesome.

b) If you scrunch up your eyebrows and ask if Sponge is a movie or something, please exit the blog immediately. Do not pass Go. No $200.

c) If you answer, “wait, the yellow cartoon with the pants?,” make like the dude in b).

d) If you answer, “God, yes, they better play ‘Molly’ as a closer,” you were 11 years old in 1994, because if you were not exactly 11 in exactly 1994 you do not know this song. For being of similar age to me, and for somehow rescuing that song from the creases of your memory tarp, please proceed to question #3. We’re gonna be friends forever.

e) If you sputter, “are you serious?! Those guys are still around?,” you’ve raised a valid point and should probably continue reading. Check out #2.

2. When did Eric Clapton ditch ballsy rock for sappy balladry? Why? Why?

a) If you answer (after an exaggerated pause), “you know, there’s some sorta correlation between Clapton’s sobriety and his artistic decline—didja ever think about that? When did he clean himself up? Wasn’t it when his kid fell out of that window? Eric without the Horse is a stripped-down mannequin of his former self, an apparition of sorts. Flush the gunk from his veins and—poof!—suddenly he's Jackson Browne. Eric should know better‘n anybody that the electric guitar wasn’t designed for lucid fingers. If you’re a drunken wretch with a nosebleed, well, you’re already 2/3 of the way to the Big Stage,” please consult question #3 and seek help for your alcoholism/coke habit.

b) If you answer, “Gosh, I really liked that one song about changing the world, so in my eyes he’s still rockin’,” please exit the blog immediately.

c) If you answer, “sometime ‘round ’72—or whenever Derek and the Dominoes broke up,” you’re warm. Please proceed to question #3.

d) If you answer, “was he ever ballsy? I always thought of him as a terrifically proficient guitarist—I mean, the man is a blues encyclopedia—but ballsy? Not really, and he’s hopelessly overrated besides,” I direct you to #4. Well-played. Well-played. If there were a clapping feature in this blog, I’d click the hell out of it.

e) If you answer, “Mike, did you really mean what you said in d)? Why the negativity?,” you’ve sussed me out. I've taken out my bad day on one of rock's monolithic titans. Sorry, Eric. For penance, I’ll spin four “Cocaine”s and two “Hey Hey”s (seriously…I’m queuing it now). “Queue” is very difficult to spell. Hit up #4.

3. Who is Panda Bear?

a) If you answer, “I thought this was a music blog?!,” you are me circa March ’08, when I first discovered—via Pitchfork—who this guy is. Because I’d be a disreputable hypocrite to penalize you for your ignorance, I invite you to stay and proceed to question #4.

b) If you answer, “Animal Collective dude,” you’re precisely correct, but even moreso and Infinity+1 if you casually dropped any of these four words right after: Brian. Wilson. Pet. Sounds. Please refer to question #4.

c) If you answer, “Hey, Elwood, you know next to nothing about this Panda Bear guy—why are you feigning authority?,” you’re a fat-mouthed spoilsport—but a truthful one. Fact is, I’m not crazy about Animal Collective. Sigh. Yeah, I said it. I saw these guys live a few weeks ago and couldn’t even identify Panda on-stage. Adam Kaufman had to point him out to me. Anyway, you’re welcome to any door you please. #4? #5? Your pick. Just don’t leave. I’ll need you around to call me out when I get ahead of myself.

4. Another hypothetical: you meet someone of the opposite sex. Everything’s gravy—he/she is attractive, funny, engaging, sane. All systems are Go and your blood is already halfway from brain to pelvis. Eventually, though, the discussion swings to music. You discover that this person’s favorite band is Yellowcard, and that he/she has seen them in concert four times. What do you do?

a) If you laugh at the question and answer, “Dude, that’s not even believable. No one listens to Yellowcard unironically...no, that's the wrong word, but you know what I'm saying,” you are everybody, so let’s all of us link arms and jump to #5.

5. Congratulations! You’re a sure fit. Let’s have some fun.
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