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So I promised a week ago that I would write out a thoroughly definitive, profound, and completely convincing thesis on why Hanson (and Silverchair) is the best thing to happen to music since Tchaikovsky, but I've decided that I'm too lazy to. Not that any of you care.
Suffice it to say that they're one of the few bands left in the world that can really reproduce the classic sounds of rock n' roll that were heard in the 50s and 60s. Unfortunately and unfairly labelled with the derogatory term of "boy band", Hanson is perhaps the farthest thing from adults-still-trying-act-like-teenagers, dancing in tight pants, and singing in pre-pubescent girl voices. Not that I'm saying they produce the deepest and most complex music ever. No, that'll be reserved for my Silverchair rant. Instead, they produce a good, old-fashioned alternative rock sound, clasically reminiscent of the Beatles, which can simply be defined as "good times." In fact, I think I'll let Ike say it since I'm not very coherent right now. "Going to a Hanson concert is not going to entail anything but rock and roll. It's all about the music. We're never going to be dancing like yahoos. You should always be prepared for Hendrix, Chuck Berry, AC/DC, along with any tune we've recorded." Damn right. The result? A full night of rocking out merrily in the stuffy, tackily-decorated, architecture-challenged room in the Sunset House of Blues.
Ahh, but that's where the lovefest ends. My hatred for Hanson fans knows no bounds. I wish to throw them off a very high cliff, listening in anticipation as their high-pitched shrieks fade away into the distance. I want to hear their cries and screams of joy turn into cries and screams of pain as I jab mechanical pencils into their barely-clad skin. I want to--
But that's a different story.
Speaking of Silverchair, Daniel Johns is bald now. It frightens me. Sometimes I think he's Lex Luthor.
We end this informational message with a lovely poem, courtesy of the American Society for Poetic Children (also known as Neopets.com):
my darling,my sweet,please love me so,
if I tell you your feet smell like stinky white chess.
Such talent obviously cannot go unnoticed.
Suffice it to say that they're one of the few bands left in the world that can really reproduce the classic sounds of rock n' roll that were heard in the 50s and 60s. Unfortunately and unfairly labelled with the derogatory term of "boy band", Hanson is perhaps the farthest thing from adults-still-trying-act-like-teenagers, dancing in tight pants, and singing in pre-pubescent girl voices. Not that I'm saying they produce the deepest and most complex music ever. No, that'll be reserved for my Silverchair rant. Instead, they produce a good, old-fashioned alternative rock sound, clasically reminiscent of the Beatles, which can simply be defined as "good times." In fact, I think I'll let Ike say it since I'm not very coherent right now. "Going to a Hanson concert is not going to entail anything but rock and roll. It's all about the music. We're never going to be dancing like yahoos. You should always be prepared for Hendrix, Chuck Berry, AC/DC, along with any tune we've recorded." Damn right. The result? A full night of rocking out merrily in the stuffy, tackily-decorated, architecture-challenged room in the Sunset House of Blues.
Ahh, but that's where the lovefest ends. My hatred for Hanson fans knows no bounds. I wish to throw them off a very high cliff, listening in anticipation as their high-pitched shrieks fade away into the distance. I want to hear their cries and screams of joy turn into cries and screams of pain as I jab mechanical pencils into their barely-clad skin. I want to--
But that's a different story.
Speaking of Silverchair, Daniel Johns is bald now. It frightens me. Sometimes I think he's Lex Luthor.
We end this informational message with a lovely poem, courtesy of the American Society for Poetic Children (also known as Neopets.com):
my darling,my sweet,please love me so,
if I tell you your feet smell like stinky white chess.
Such talent obviously cannot go unnoticed.
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Date: 2004-10-14 11:06 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-10-15 05:04 pm (UTC)From: