Major Television Vomit

September 14, 2010

I had another subject all lined up for my blog today, but, in tribute to the VMA aftermath, I will lay that subject aside for now, and focus on what’s on the minds of most young America tonight.

I never listen to the radio; I prefer to spend time with musicians with actual, ahem, talent –Elton John, Billy Joel, The Beach Boys, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, The Rolling Stones, to name a few.

Of course, all good music has not been lost. There are many present bands who have not yet been conquered with million-dollar deals to exploit their sexuality and flaunt their drug excesses all in the name of music. They endeavor to follow in the gifted footsteps of artists of the past rather than rely on showy outfits and lasers to distract from their abismal melodies and horrific lyrical choices.

Now, you’re probably thinking, hold on a minute; all of these “talented musicians” exploited their sexuality and drug excesses. In fact, many lived very short lives because of it. And yes, you are right. However, I would argue that most of them did not become famous for these qualities. It was their musical talent that skyrocketed them first. Now, take a look at today, and compare.

These things said: it’s extremely obvious that I’m out of touch with mainstream pop of today. I know it, and I’m unspeakably grateful. But I didn’t realize just how much that was true . . . until the VMA’s, of course.

I only recognized about a third of the “artists”–if you can call them that.

I can safely assert that there was not one moment from the show that would persuade me to spend any of my time or money on any of them.

I ask, what did these people do to become famous?

Jersey Shore? Are you kidding me?

These kids are rich and adored thanks to their glorification of their white trashiness. They get drunk, fight, cuss, sleep around, don’t work, can’t string two intelligent sentences together, and look like they just walked out of a greasers gang from the ’60s. I mean, am I really seeing this?

Sigh. Yep.

And they’re not the only disgusting excuses for human beings. They may just be the most visible.

I’m not gonna touch Lady Gaga because words can’t even come close to what I feel for her. And besides that, her fans are almost as crazy as she is. I’m afraid one of them would knife me in the night.

I just have one word for her: blink. It’s okay. We all do it.

And Kesha? Her outfit was so laughable, I couldn’t look at her straight on. The garbage bag dress was really not that bad; it was more the hair and the feathers. I mean, just calm. it. down.

And of course, there’s more where that came from.

Did you catch and Nikki Minaj’s performance? I wonder how I can get her hair? So pink and spacelike. Reminded me of a jelly bean. That would have made a nice finale, have someone fly down and eat her hair, maybe even her whole head. Very Gaga-esque. I’m surprised MTV didn’t think of that. They were probably too busy trying to coerce Kanye and Taylor to duke it out in jello on stage.

For me, though, what made this night the most difficult to bear is what I noticed in the performers underneath the costumes. Nothing. Total emptiness. Blank expressions. No ability to speak their mind–only the mind of the collective public, who, after all, determine whether they succeed or fail.

They are solely concerned with what will be big tomorrow, where they rank, and how they can be more famous than the person next to them–and if that means showing their breasts and talking about their favorite sexual position, it’s all in a day’s work.


I was in my car one day when a young boy pulls up next to me blasting the most recent rap song, from the newest thug on the music scene. He was very enthusiastically, yet aggressively, shaking his head. If I hadn’t heard the music, I would have thought he was getting water out of his ears. I felt instant pity for his head. I can’t begin to wonder how his brain handles the constant rattling.

I must admit, the new breed of youngsters frightens me: what they’re being exposed to and at how young of an age they are being exposed to it.

Rehab has become “in.”

High society priveleged teens are the associates held out to impressionable young ones on evening dramas. 

Current radio tunes, and the djs who sell them, tout nightclubs and promote the normalcy of partying and drugs. With no apparent consequences.

Why can’t we just tap our red slippers together with Dorothy and say “There’s no place like home.” And vanish the gangsta rap and the mindless bobbing heads that gobble up the newest Soldja Boy song that sounds curiously similar to his last hit song. Maybe then we can start to teach our children how to live, without allowing their associates, music and television to do it for us.

Wait a minute… why don’t we start now?