One of the first things someone told when they heard I was starting a weblog was to make sure that I didn't turn into one of those blinkered bloggers who apologize for not posting more often, given that it reeks of self-importance and presumption. I agreed. But, that said, after you get into a rhythm of regular posting, once you deviate from it, it seems weird not to address the lull. So, at the risk of being self-important and presumptuous (too late), I'd like to just say that I went to Texas for a few days to go pick up my wife and daughter who were visiting my in-laws.
Beyond that, I've been in a vaguely weird head-space lately due to certain recent events that I can't go into just yet. On top of that, in the span of only a couple of hours, I received an e-mail from a long-estranged friend, only to hear later in that same afternoon from someone else that a former colleague/friend I'd sadly fallen out of touch with had just passed away. So, to make a long story short, I'm a bit out of sorts at the moment, so please excuse the potentially erratic status of this weblog.
On a considerably lighter note -- since I'm being so honest at the moment -- I might as well throw caution to the four winds and confess that I've taken a bizarre liking to something that was initially just a fleetingly guilty pleasure. I first warmed to the New Jersey band, My Chemical Romance, after spotting their video for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" on MTV2, relishing its smarmy charm (somewhere between vintage John Hughes, "Rushmore," "Three O'Clock High" and "The Warriors"). I normally loathe these types of bands -- half-baked rinkydink pop-punk revivalists leeching off the sartorial aspects of their predecessors and pretending they're being original. For all intents and purposes, My Chemical Romance should veritably personify everything I can't stand about today's music. They're nothing but a derivative affront to virtually all the bands I hold dear.
But, forgiving them their youth and appropriated style (hell, these kids probably weren't even born when the Sisters or Mercy and/or 45 Grave were already well into their creative decline), MCR have a handy knack with big, hoarily histrionic choruses and inescapable hooks. They may look like gothy punks (lead singer Gerard Way is a dead ringer for former T.S.O.L. vocalist, Jack Greggors circa their live cameo in "Suburbia"), but these guys owe more to the likes of the equally dubious Third Eye Blind and Meat Loaf (albeit slightly harder and sped up) than any of the fabled Class of `77. I sprang for a used copy of their second album, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge (once again, they have a decidedly Meat Loafian penchant for titles) for four bucks, listened to "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" once or twice, and then promptly threw it on the pile.
However, it's "Helena," the second single from the album, that has really vaulted them out of my "to ultimately sell" pile of CDs and squarely back into my rattled subconscious. Prompted by the spastically funereal video for same, I re-dug the album out and bludgeon me with my own sawed-off limbs if I can't get this song out of my head. Dunked in a viscous fondue of mawkish pathos, "Helena" features a soaring chorus and garment-rending refrain of the sort that are such staples of great pop music (to my ears) that I virtually well up whenever I hear it. No rinkydink pop-punk band of emo-lovin', whippersnappin' clowns from New Jersey with deplorably silly hair should be able to do this to me, but sure enough, there I am boppin' along with the acne-speckled kids who shop at Hot Topic. Clearly, I'm losing my edge and it's midlife crisis time!
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