I THINK MY BRAIN IS FULL

Hello you.

I’m growing increasingly concerned with a trend in popular music. Red Hot Chili Peppers Syndrome. It’s been happening for a long time now and it has to stop. Artists like the Chili Peppers, amongst others, are mocking their fans by releasing the same album over and over again, barely changing the songs and rejigging the lyrics slightly, to allow them to pop back out on tour and screw further pennies out of you. This must be stopped.

Since the release of BloodSugarSexMagic, nearly 20 years ago, the Peppers have released nearly identical albums without any care for the effect it brings to you, the listener. Little do they know, I’m on to them. The worst example of this was the Californication/Stadium Arcadium debacles, respectively released in 2002 and 2006. Now, I’m not much of a Chili Pepper fan, but I’ve heard both albums and can barely distinguish between the two. Though there are, of course, more songs on the latter of the two, both follow a rigid fast song/funky song/song about California/slow song about drugs and/or death formula. There are literally millions of fans out there that have yet to notice this. This is where you come in. Your mission, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to pounce, panther-like, on anyone you see wearing a Chili Peppers-branded item and tell them what’s going on. With your fists, if necessary.

Anthony Kiedis, a man who can gibber like a retard and still sell records, is going to find himself on the business end of my favourite kicking boots if this continues. Moreover, fans that continue to be oblivious to their own, arse-up, bent over a table exploitation, will be forced to listen to me shouting at them, right in their faces, with added spittle and bile for effect.

Music should be about innovation, creating something new with every album. Many artists seem to forget this and just churn out carbon copy remakes of their previous efforts. Believe me, it’s not just the Chili Peppers that are allowed to get away with this, the most heinous of musical crimes. I’m going to put on my bastard hat and give you a few more examples. Just so you know, it’s a shocking pink stetson, with “Bud Hates You” written on it, in the blood of my enemies.

• R.E.M. - Whiny, insipid, mandolin-toting bastards that only have three types of song: shit, really shit, really really shit.
• Fat Boy Slim - Dull, repetitive and immune to the laws of diminishing returns.
• Cypress Hill - You can’t fool me, that’s still Black Sunday.
• West Life - I’m using them as an example of all boy bands that lure in prepubescent girls with inappropriate suggestions, using just one song style.
• My Chemical Romance - I just want them to be beaten up, really. Like they were in school.
• Oasis - You’re not The Beatles, you’re rubbish. So were The Beatles.
• Pretty much every ‘indie’ band from the UK in the last twenty years.

Bad times for music. Surely, when purchasing an album, you want something fresh, new and exciting that doesn’t sound like you may have placed a disk you already own into your player of choice? Why settle for this kind of nonsense? If you should have the misfortune of seeing any of the above bands live, wrestle the bouncers until you get backstage and take direct action. Punch someone. Anyone. Break some face.

Before anyone gets upset by all of this and leaps to the defence of their favourite band, remember that I am a musical snob that would be quite willing to attack people in the street with an Ugly Kid Joe CD, if they seemed like the sort of person that might listen to such a band without the merest hint of irony. The sort of person that might put on something objectionable, at full volume, then open their front window and flick the Vs at passers by while banging a pan in time to the music. In fact, I’m so much of a musical arsehole, I’d bang the pan out of time.