Anthony Bromberg If you have any other issues
you need to come to terms with you can e-mail Anthony at abromberg@media.ucla.edu.
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Put on your bronco-bustin’ boots, your 10-gallon hat, your
belt buckle fully equipped with your name on it (spelled correctly
much to your surprise), and take a drink of whiskey, because
it’s time to listen to some country music.
Or then again, maybe not.
In fact, wait, I’m having an epiphany. Here it is: you
don’t want to listen to country music at all. I see your
secret dark desires, your innermost longings.
You want to listen to Britney Spears, 98 Degrees, and the young
misses Aguilera and Moore. In fact there’s nothing
you’d like to do more than put on some headphones and line
dance your way right through the entire Backstreet Boys
catalogue.
Because, let’s face it, we all know country music today is
a joke.
Now, don’t get your tassels and bolo tie all in a tether,
stop kicking up your spurs, and admit the facts to yourself. You
are not a country music fan. You have no real connection to cowboys
of old, or even honky-tonk bar fights of not so old. In all honesty
you would rather shake your bon-bon with Ricky than cook jumbalaya
with Hank (if you’re asking yourself “˜Hank
who?’right now, you’re welcome to stop reading and pick
back up your *NSYNC trading cards).
Just look at Billboard’s country charts and try to
suppress your adolescent squeal as you see that all of your
favorite artists are in the top 10. Isn’t Tim McGraw hunky?
Aren’t Toby Keith and Garth Brooks cuddly in their
chubbiness? And hold the pillow fight because the “Coyote
Ugly” soundtrack is on the charts for the 82nd week. Now I
enjoyed the movie as much as the next John Goodman fan, but that
soundtrack is full of Don Henley, INXS, and Diane Warren penned
tunes. Country? Clearly not.
“But Garth did “˜Friends in Low Places.’ He
sings about drinking and misery as well as the next guy,”
you’re thinking. You’re right. He’s definitely
the closest thing to country music out of those artists, but take
“Wrapped up in You,” and the Dr. Pepper commercial that
went along with it and you’ve got a formula for bubblegum pop
success.
Would you like to guess what the number three album is on the
Billboard country music charts? No, don’t hide your head
under the obligatory rodeo poster you have in your room (or the
video you secretly bought of the guy who choreographs
Britney’s dance steps).
That’s right, the album is “Totally Teeny
Boppers!” Wait, I mean “Totally Country: 17 New Chart
Topping Hits.” Has there ever been a compilation of hits that
starts with the word “totally” that hasn’t been
pop music? No, and there never will be. This album could really be
called “Now That’s What I Call Fluff, Volume
22.”
Oh, look, I understand you need another drink. This is a hard
thing to come to terms with. You’re an O-Town fan, it’s
OK (no, actually, it’s very wrong, but I didn’t want to
make you feel worse than you already do, sorry).
Finally, does anybody remember the recent “country”
music phenomenons of recent years? The Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain,
and Faith Hill. The Dixie Chicks, OK, they do some bluegrass type
stuff, which still isn’t real country. But the other two?
Come on. You “listen” to their music, for the same
reason your lonely roommate “reads” Playboy. It’s
attractive, meaningless pop, just like the boy and girl bands you
like. In a few years, all that will be remembered of these artists
is, well, nothing (except for the fond memories your roommate will
have of their pictures in your liner notes).
Now, that we’ve got that all cleared up you can take off
the boots, and put the tights back on and continue practicing the
moves you just learned from the new Aaron Carter video. I’m
sorry for interrupting your day.