[HOT]
Durst Trashing
Given Austin, Texas, reputation as the most hipstery part of the Lone Star state, you’d think they’d know better, but city officials still went to its citizens to find a new name for its Solid Waste Services Department, responsible for things like recycling and garbage collection. The city put up an online poll to decide the new name and the runaway winner so far is the “Fred Durst Society of the Humanities and Arts,” in tribute to Rap/Rock band Limp Bizkit’s much-maligned frontman. Sadly, even though the Durst name is crushing all other suggestions in the poll (leading runner-up “Department of Neat and Clean” by nearly 24,000 votes), we can’t imagine the city will use the brilliantly smart-assed suggestion. In which case, we hope the citizens of Austin will rise up for democracy and launch a protest of Egyptian proportions.
[WARM]
Slack-Jawed Over Slack-Key Dominance
Though it usually gets better over time, the Grammys have long had credibility issues when it comes to what artists are nominated. Since petitioning successfully to give Hawaiian music its own category (it launched in 2005), artists and diehard fans annually experience “WTF!” indignation on par with the angry and confused responses to Jethro Tull’s win the first year Heavy Metal had its own category. The New York Times recently reported that Hawaiian musicians are outraged that the Grammy always goes to an album (winners have largely been vanilla compilations of slack-key guitar music) featuring mainland-friendly music instead of a work by more authentic artists respected by Hawaiian music lovers. A boycott like the one staged by Hip Hop artists over the inaugural Rap category nominees was planned, but then the Hawaiian artists realized that it would have an effect similar to the cast of Jersey Shore boycotting the State of the Union address.
[COLD]
Peas and Cheese
After several years showcasing legendary musical acts, the Super Bowl’s decision to return to more contemporary music during the halftime show proved one thing — no matter who performs, it’s still going to be a hurried, clumsy revue marred by horrible sound and hordes of ridiculous dancers. The Black Eyed Peas’ offered a “futuristic” (or what might have been deemed futuristic in 1985) stage set and a disjointed medley of their awful songs, awkwardly injecting Slash (for a snippet of “Sweet Child O’ Mine”) and Usher into the mix. In an effort to reflect the technology of today, BEP’s will.i.am was reportedly planning on Tweeting during the halftime show (surely ready with some deep, insightful musings like “Auto Tune is soundin’ dope!” and “Anyone see True Grit yet?”) but — in a truly perfect encapsulation of modern tech — he couldn’t get cell phone service. More importantly, nobody’s boob popped out, so we’re sure to see more empty-souled Pop garbage at next year’s big game and the halftime show will continue to offer sports fan the greatest gift of all — “beer run” time before the third quarter.
