I haven’t had much interaction with anything new lately, so I decided to force myself to listen to some of what passes for famous Maine music this morning from Ray Lamontagne. And I fully expected to hate it. Here’s some of Lamontagne’s work:
And I do hate it. But I hate it in a way I hadn’t expected. I can’t pry apart anything I specifically find wrong with it as I can with other music – except that it is insanely dull. Mind-numbingly so. It’s a theme that carries through his entire catalog. It’s a perfectly fine voice in a Mick Hucknall-meets-a-sore-throat kinda way. But it does nothing to excite the musical soul in me. And I’m sorry that this is apparently all we have to offer you, America. (It’s really not, as there are far more talented and innovative artists working in less glorious settings. It just is unfortunate that this wet blanket is the only artist to penetrate the border and make his way into mainstream airplay.) I would link to his other stuff, but I would like you to be awake for the rest of this post – and embedding has been disabled by request, so I couldn’t do it if I wanted.
But Ray Lamontagne has written a song (a BORING one) about Meg White. It’s called Meg White. That’s how boring it is. And that led me to this Charlie Rose interview where Jack White says he never writes a set list.
And now I’m going to attempt to steal that idea. Because Jack has more creativity in his wardrobe than Ray has in his entire being and his catalog (lame farmer beard included). I’m also going to attempt to steal Jack’s shirt and hat. Wish me luck.
You should probably go see that new movie White is in, It Might Get Loud.
Here is a totally unsolicited tip. If you are going to write about terrible music, make it brutal but directly to the heart. There’s no reason to tread lightly with music that causes you (me) to want to go on a spree. LaDouchetaigne’s music is so offensively bland that he is a sort of musical terrorist. in fact, he is in a category so deplorable, guys like Jack White seem interesting in comparison.
Yes, believe me, John, I am constantly reviewing my own standards for what I will allow myself to write about, and if I ever choose to write about such utter tripe again, it will only be because it has done me some grievous emotional wrong and only when I have the time to dedicate to such an eviscerating as will satisfy your (my) bloodlust. Promise.
J, I truly enjoy your posts, you have to know that. Great stuff, weekly. If I ever come off a douche (always), know that it’s in love. You are a much better contributor to this toilet bowl than I ever was. I feel like Hannibal Lector now for some reason.