Rock Saved The Queen

BAKER STREET

By Eric J Baker

Anyone who has seen a Mel Gibson movie knows that the English are pure evil.

In Braveheart (1995), King Edward the Utter Bastard spends his days raiding Scottish villages and his nights raiding Scottish panties, much to the chagrin of one William Wallace. Not to be outdone, a total rotter named William Tavington shows up in The Patriot (2000) to burn down a church full of parishioners during the early days of the American Revolution. And who can forget The Passion of the Christ (2004), in which the usurper, King Richard III, locks Jesus in the Tower of London so he can take His place at the right hand of God?

The Brits killed Jesus and then made a film about it, "Life of Brian," which was not very funny, but because every snickering geek thought Monty Python was hilarious no matter what they, did you sort of chuckled along with it. Lame. It was a case of the emperor has no jokes.

I think it was Posh Spice who said, “With great evil comes great invention.” Or maybe it was me. I forget. But it’s true, is it not? The Nazis invented rocket engines. The Soviets put the first man into orbit, Yuri Sputnik. That kid invented Facebook. Given that Great Britain is the hub of all that is wicked, it’s no wonder the English are responsible for some of the most game-changing inventions in human history, like…for instance, the… the…um…

I Am Unable To Achieve Satisfaction

Song lyrics are not poetry. Alone, they are paint in search of a canvas.  They are clingy lovers who insist on doing everything with their partners. They gaze longingly into the eyes of music and say, “You complete me.”  Music grits its teeth and thinks, why are you so goddamn needy?

Yet who gets all the glory?

When Americans OD’d on Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill in 1995 (in those ancient times when record stores existed outside of Nick Hornby books), pretentious music writers held a “praise art” orgy in her honor. Her shatteringly awesome lyrics regaled us with the story of her breakup from a boyfriend who turned out to be a cheating jerk. It was so edgy, so intense, so cutting that…

For someone who rode to fame in a chariot drawn by vitriol, it’s damned near impossible to find a picture of Alanis angry. Thank you, India?

Wait. Back up a second. Men are two-faced jerks who dont appreciate women? Apparently, these folks were stunned that a rock artist discovered a topic county singers have been beating to death since the 1940s. In fairness to pretentious music writers, they have to rave about the lyrics. It’s job security.

But it was not Alanis’s words that sold us, peeps, it was her delivery. She’s so earnestly pissed off, she’s hyperventilating. She may indeed be brilliant, but not as a lyricist. Maybe, when she’s not singing rock songs, she’s on the cusp of unlocking the secret to cold fusion. That would make her a brilliant physicist. There’s a slight distinction.

Pop lyricists don’t need to be brilliant, just earnest. Whether Chris Martin of Coldplay is telling the tale of a washed-up king who one ruled the world (?) or Chris Brown is crooning