Okay, folks. Here we go.

I'm constantly amazed, no, chagrined, at what passes for music, literature and cinematic brilliance these days.

Let's start with music. I am a self-proclaimed music authority. I figure it's my birthright, as I innately know good music when I hear it. It's a gift, really. There seems to be a big ambiguous gaping hole in what passes for *talent* these days. I realize everyone has their opinions, but seriously folks. C'mon.

I suscribe to Rolling Stone. Yes, I realize I'm the only white woman in her late 30's that does. I'm not exactly their target demographic. The last page of the magazine is devoted to the Charts, and the Top 40 Albums. Who the f*ck are these people? With the exception of a very select few, most of this din makes me want to kick a kitten through a fan. The only thing that keeps me from drawing a razor blade across my wrists is that The Legend of Johnny Cash is still holding on precariously at number 36. Number 36. Think about that nonsense.

1. Anything by Nickelback. Your 15 minutes were over 5 years ago.

2. Anything associated with American Idol. Period.

3. Animal Liberation Orchestra: Who are these numbnuts? They have a song out called Girl, I wanna lay you down. Gee, guys...whattya mean? My lyric pick: I'll make you dinner, maybe a little pasta, we'll listen to some music, maybe a little Rasta. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

4. INXS and that douchebag that is their current lead singer: Okay, guys, Kevin Costner's career is in the shitter too, but you don't see him on a reality show. Yet, anyway. INXS's agent should be shot at dawn. At close range. So should they for being so desperate that at some point, this whole debacle seemed like a good idea. I wish Michael Hutchence would rise from the dead and kick all their asses, Bruce Lee style. Get it? KICK?!? I guarantee he wouldn't have taken his own life if he knew this would be the eventual outcome. I've got two words for you. Shabooh freakin' Shabah.

5. Black-eyed Peas: I'm gonna make some enemies, here. I'll make this brief.
My Humps: My lyric pick:

What u gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.

And that's not even THE HOOK. People, I could consume two cans of Alphabet Soup at lunch and literally shit better lyrics than this by dinner.

6. Sheryl Crow: Enough already. I'm terribly sorry she's suffering through breast cancer right now and Lance dumped her. Seriously. But, maybe if she starts writing about the pain derived from those situations, we'll get some quality music. Art is pain, Sheryl. I'd rather have a tarantula crawl into my ear and lay eggs than hear about Steve McQueen or you having mid-day beers next to a car wash. Just sayin'.

Ryan Adams: Less is more, dude. Let the record show I like Ryan Adams, but I'm seriously surprised I haven't opened up an old family photo album and he's not in the background somewhere, with his disheveled hair and retro glasses. (Ryan: see Elvis Costello..dude, it's been done, and quite frankly, BETTER.) That goes double for Jack White.

7. Josh Rouse can kiss my lily white ass. Wuss.


For the sake of brevity, I'll censor myself now. I could go on and on. There's certainly no lack of material.

So not to sound (more) like a pompous self-righteous bitch, I'll give you a brief selection of currently released music that doesn't make me want to drink bleach. In no particular order.

1. James Blunt: Back to Bedlam- British dude. Sure, his cd is a bit whiny and predictable. Yet it's less simpering than it is poignant. Plus, he's hotter than Georgia asphalt.

2. Red Hot Chili Peppers: Stadium Arcadium - Yeah, they are what they are, but at least they haven't deviated from their core and although a double album is somewhat overkill, it still has some tracks that I revere. Flea is a God. A toolbag, sure...but dude can play the hell outta some bass. He found his niche, good for him.

3. Lewis Taylor: Stoned - I'm not a big fan of the 70's throwback blackfunkfusion music, but it's good stuff. You're powerless against the groove.

4. Gabe Dixon: Live at the World Cafe - Look out, Ben Folds.

5. Teddy Thompson: Separate Ways - It's a suicide soundtrack for the most part, but if you can get over it's blatant bitter desperation, you'll find yourself mesmerized.

6. John Mayer: I'm totally kidding, I abhor John Mayer. Hot isn't synonymous with good, unless you're James Blunt.

7. Gomez: How we operate - These guys deserve every single accolade they're currently receiving. Granted, it's not for everyone, but a better live show you cannot witness.

8. Andy Logan: Ride - This gem isn't available quite yet, from what I understand, but I got an advanced copy. Coming very soon. Check out his website: www.andylogan.com. Bug him about it. He's got a few cd's available on www.cdbaby.com. You'll thank me later. It stirs me to my core. And that's a bold statement. It's the real deal, period.

9. The Replacements: Do you know who I think I was? Pure. Fucking. Brilliance.

10. Augustana: All the Stars and Boulevards - Okay, I'll admit these guys are my current guilty pleasure and if the tv show The O.C. ever needs a new theme song, Boston would be it. Except for the part about it being Boston, and not somewhere in Southern California. A technicality, really. These guys seem forthright and honest and they utilize a piano...never a bad thing in my book. You know how I roll...I kick it old school.

I've taken up enough of your time. I'll conquer literature and cinema in the near future. Of course, because I'm right. So there.