Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Spork & MSG

Now there are two things that you really don't need. . .

A long time ago there came a brill little artist from the north and her name was a confusing amalgam of consonants and one vowel. We sat in coffee shops endlessly permuting the pronunciation until fights broke out. Caffeine + literature = endless amusement.

She was the great hope. Bombast! Strange Noises! Avant vocals!

Alas, as time went by, she became as greedy and plastic as the artists she seemed to disdain . . . in fact more so. The amount of product she piled up in her own name became the stuff of landfill. DVDs of her babyhood. DVDs of her bathroom hi jinks. DVDs in fact of every little piece of her life. 3 x CD singles came in clear plastic boxes with a piece of paper stuck in almost as an after thought.

"This'll keep 'em happy!" she seemed to say in her coy, foreign accent. Despite the fact that they contained no music whatsoever. Tapes. Boxes. Plastic. Best ofs' followed by the promotional best ofs' followed by the one you really wanted after you had already bought the ones that you didn't.

She married a big name conceptual artist and from what could have been the match made in art rock heaven came the firm and final end.

The music steadily and surely crawled away from the avant guard and moved into a nice new home in her ass. She farted a couple times, ran it through her lap top, and called it her fresh new sound. Amazing! Realistic! Natural! No Beats!

Well, of course not, gas is after all . . . gas.

The critics ate it up with spoons and forks.

Hence our name for her:

SPORK!!! Neither a spoon or a fork . . . so you really don't need it.



Now this spring she came through town and played the big temples of sound. You know the ones that really matter. This is New York and as changed as it may be, there are still some honors left. Radio City Music Hall. The United Palace Theater. THE APOLLO!!!

She showed up, lit a sparkler and screamed her comfort word . . . a screeching version of the word "CHAIR." (Maybe she is channeling Cher and it is just her accent that continues to confound.) The fact that she does this while seemingly having a double jointed jaw is supposed to impress us. (It must impress the boyfriend.)

The only moment of the set that mattered was a song from ten years ago. Those years when she was good.

Now here's the rub. The set was an hour long.

An hour. Ave Maria!

You have documented every second of your life and supposedly it has the import of the Gospel According to Loot. And all you can muster is an hour? It came to us from our sources that the following shows were even shorter. Now generally I feel concerts should be at least as long as your album or why should I come out. Being industry I didn't pay (thank the blessed) but friends including my co-author shelled out $$$. Major $$$.

This weekend I saw posters for Spork at Madison Square Garden. And since her album outfit appears to be a candy apple I think it would be wiser to do this instead....



It's foreign and fun.

Sparklers not included.

1 comment:

Mick Aguilera said...

The next time you're in San Francisco, you must visit Spork:

http://www.sporksf.com/

Love the blog, keep up the good work.
MA