Browsing articles in "Down with Pop Country"
Sep
26

Keith Urban: “HERE’S SOME BOOBS! GIVE ME ATTENTION!”

September 26, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  32 Comments

keith-urban-somewhere-in-my-car-2

Good gosh, what does Keith Urban have to do to buy a break? I mean, he married a Hollywood A-lister, he posed for Playgirl, he took a job as an American Idol judge just to find out nobody pays attention to that crap anymore, and he had the CMA’s gerrymander him into “Entertainer of the Year” and “Male Vocalist” nominations when Jason Aldean probably deserved them more. Meanwhile his last album Fuse sits outside the Top 20 in the charts and he has to be wondering, what the hell is going on? Even Sturgill Simpson, who Keith Urban apparently loves, is currently kicking Urban’s ass in the album charts coming in five spots ahead of him.

So the Keith Urban brain trust gets together, scratches their heads a little bit and says, “Boobs. You know, there’s always boobs.” And so here we see Keith Urban resort to the same female objectification the rest of country music is suffering from in this new semi-NSFW video for his stalled single “Somewhere In My Car.”

The video shows a scantly-clad woman with various cuts of fabric oh so precariously clinging to her female parts and potentially ready to fall of at any second, while Keith Urban wanks off in the background. I mean…on his guitar…he wanks off on his guitar in the background—while some roided-out muscle man ponders the trapezoidal impossibility at getting any shut eye on a single bed fit for an adolescent. Basically the underlying plot line of this video is that some poor bastard is suffering from wet dreams.

Keith Urban I’m sure will be shielded from certain criticisms because the video is veiled as being “artistic” through black and white shades and other scripted elements of scene and choreography, but this entire video is predicated on the curvature of the female breast. Don’t be fooled, it’s just as objectifying as anything else country music has to offer, if not more. And really, who cares to you have breasts in your video? Any of us can navigate to our search bar and pull up an entire world’s worth of the finest female breasts ever assembled and oogle all day if we so choose.

Even more sad is that this song and even the approach to this video has a little something of merit, delving into the roiling mental anguish that can rip the psyche apart after a breakup through haunting memories and blind jealousy. It doesn’t belong anywhere near country though. I don’t want to come across as a moralist. I’m not offended by female breasts, and don’t make it my business if someone wants to see them. But there’s a time and a place, and country is neither.

P.S. the “model” is named Jehane Paris.

Sep
4

DJ Bobby Bones Cries Like Little Girl with a Skinned Knee After CMA Snub

September 4, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  34 Comments

bobby-bones

Why doesn’t this asshat move on to hosting game shows already?

On Wednesday morning (9-3) the nominations for the 2014 CMA Awards were unveiled, including the nominees for the CMA’s National Broadcast Media Personality, of which apparently Bobby Bones though he was a shoe-in for. And when his name didn’t show up on the ballot, he took to Twitter to bitch like the spoiled, self-entitled, self-centered prick he is.

Of course he began by putting the onus on his fans, like he always does. “Everyone calm down. I dont have to win every award. Getting 1000, ‘how are you not up for CMA personality of the year’.” he said.

Bullshit. The only people paying attention to the broadcaster awards yesterday were broadcasters and media. The broadcast nominees were not published by any major media outlet. Bobby is trying to shield himself by using his fans. He was butt hurt when he wasn’t nominated, and proved this as time went on. Bobby Bones continued,

“its not an ‘injustice’. I simply don’t play the political games the format is known for. Also Jason Aldean got screwed too! Id like to thank the almost 500 radio stations Im on & you the listener for the millions of $$$ we’ve raised for charity this year,”

This charity card is another indolent, insulting, and misrepresenting card Bobby Bones overplays predictably. Just because you give to charity doesn’t absolve you of all your sins. Why doesn’t Bobby Bones set up a charity for the hundreds of local DJ’s he’s put out of work, or the thousands of people laid off by Clear Channel in the most historic and sweeping homogenization and nationalization of a cultural institution since the dawn of American media? Give all the money to charity you want. It will never make up for the damage of poisoning people with the cultural filth broadcast on the Bobby Bones Show to millions every morning.

Bobby Bones continues, “going to need a lot of old people in this industry to retire or die before the Nashville “guard” lets something new get recognized.” And then he caps off what appears to be a threat.Im going to find out who you are. Don’t worry.

On this final thread, Bobby Bones does have a point. The CMA oligarchy is a cloistered and inbred bunch who is generally non-conducive to letting outsiders in. But in the case of Bobby Bones, they’re just trying to protect their own. The reason the CMA is not showering Bobby Bones with accolades is because he’s put so many of their own out of work, and out of business. The reason the CMA is seen as the most important governing body in country music is because it is tied deeply to radio, not just labels, making it the widest representation of the country music body. If Clear Channel and Bobby Bones had their way, there would be no other country music morning DJ in the entire nation other than Bobby Bones, and this dream is quickly becoming a reality as more local DJ’s who have very personal relationships with their communities and do many great charitable services for their locales are being lost to national syndication.

“I somewhat expected it,” Bones told The Tennessean. “But I have to voice my displeasure. We’re the biggest morning show in the country, killing the other stations in Nashville.” That’s right, “killing” is the optimum word there. There’s no competition when it comes to Bobby Bones. Bobby Bones has no respect for the cultural institutions of country music, including its legendary stations and DJ’s. They’re all just a bunch of old farts that need to get out of his way because he’s so awesome. And that’s the reason he wasn’t nominated, and shouldn’t have been nominated.

And then Bobby Bones really showed his ass by saying, “Awards in the end aren’t anything but dust collectors.”

But wait a second. If they’re just “dust collectors,” why all the hubub? Why even address the situation? Why does it even matter? Why did Bobby Bones make such a huge deal about winning the Academy of Country Music Country Music On-Air Personality of the Year in April? In fact, Bobby Bones shoved his ACM trophy in Saving Country Music’s face in April. If you have so little respect for the CMA’s distinction to call it a “dust collector,” why would the CMA ever consider bestowing it to you?

Bobby Bones is the single-most driver of cultural homogenization in America, and is the scourge of the airwaves. Hats off to the CMA for recognizing this, and not giving him a distinction he doesn’t deserve, and admittedly, doesn’t respect. A CMA Award is supposed to be about quality, not quantity. And that’s something Bobby Bones, and Clear Channel don’t get.

go-away-bobby-bones-billboard

Jul
22

Jason Aldean’s “Burnin’ It Down” (A Roast)

July 22, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  166 Comments

jason-aldean-burnin-it-down

WARNING: Language

Oh Jason, this is most unfortunate.

Since Jason Aldean has re-entered the single life after getting caught in a douche-soaked nightclub on the Sunset Strip handling up on some American Idol semifinalist castoff, now he thinks he’s Mr. Sexy, taking cues from Jerrod Niemann and entering the EDM space to keep the child support money streaming in.

As the first single from his upcoming album, “Burnin’ It Down” is a Casiotone piece of impersonal electronic awfulness in which any sign of true human inspiration or involvement has been so antiseptically scrubbed in lieu of animatronic tones and absolutist perfectitudes, the term “soul” has been completely and forever banished from being associated with this robotic piece of misanthropic pap. This isn’t a song, this is some guy with a MacBook Pro, a tub of Red Vines, and the cool tingle of cocaine tickling the edge of his nostrils creating an electronic sound bed to send over to Aldean’s studio so he can overlay his Auto-tune’d vocals and call it good. As Tom Petty would say, “You put your name on it, but you didn’t do that.” Even the guitar tones have been been so exhaustively massaged by 1′s and 0′s they sound like the warning signals emitted from a Star Wars protocol droid right before it explosively self-destructs. A kitten aimlessly careening across a Korg keyboard in a catnip stupor could make a more compelling composition than this.

Sorry Jason Aldean, but this song isn’t sexy, it’s creepy. “…with you baby layin’ right here naked in my bed.” They should exhume Barry White and make it the sole goal of the international scientific community to revive him for the exclusive purpose of kicking Jason Aldean’s ass for this song. What does Aldean know about sexy time anyhow? Aldean ain’t got the moves like Jagger, he’s got the moves like Grimmace. Mating couples won’t find “Burnin’ It Down” sexy unless they get equally horny for the annual return of the McRib. This song is a awkward as a hard on in a Speedo. “Burnin’ It Down” isn’t for intimate couples, it’s for lonely women to get all lubed up with in anticipation of an intimate encounter with Clyde the battery-powered hammerer.

How the hell is this considered “country” in any capacity? Talk about “Burnin’ It Down”, I wish the palette of votive candles featured in the stupid lyric video would set fire to the studio that birthed this monstrosity with the masters still in it. If the couple in this video gets turned on by shadow puppets, I can make my middle finger erect and have it look just like a love bird. The best part of this song ran down Aldean’s pasty inner thigh and ended up as an embarrassing stain on his $700 sheets. He should have worn a rubber instead of inseminating our ear holes with this public health audio pandemic. No, that burning you feel in your genitals isn’t from erotic allure, it’s because this song is the audio equivalent of a pussing venereal onslaught.

Oh, and Florida-Georgia Line took time from rolling naked in their own piles of money to co-write this song. So there’s that. Yeah, Aldean should have gotten the hint when country music’s boy band was handing him down their sloppy seconds that it would result in a career embarrassment.

Come on Jason Aldean, stick to singing about the common man and their struggles. That’s what you’re good at.

You should have kept this one in your pants.

Two guns way down.

Jul
16

Maggie Rose’s “Girl In Your Truck Song” (A Rant)

July 16, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  159 Comments

maggie-rose-girl-in-your-truck-songWARNING: LANGUAGE

What in the all kinds of actual hell do we have here my friends. I think we have just unearthed the biggest cultural abomination that has ever been classified as “country” music in its 70 year existence. No, I’m not talking bad, awful, terrible, or any other such adjectives. Even those words would seem to instill this embarrassment of Western Civilization with a dollop of undeserved respect. Truth be known, there are songs that officially sound worse than this one out there for sure, or that are more stupid either purposefully or inadvertently. But the degree of slavitude and cultural backsliding celebrated and edified in this song is as abhorrent as it is alarmingly calamitous, and hovers only very slightly, and uncomfortably so, above genuine calls of gender downgrading and the erosion of sexual equality in American society, bordering on downright pleas for date rape. I am severely embarrassed that I have poured my lifeblood into something that utilizes the term “country” in a world where this song exists, and pray that I have the strength to steady my hands enough to coherently compose just how angry this song makes me.

But get this ladies and gentlemen. Before we even get into the heart of this matter, sit back and appreciate that the same exact day the brand new female country duo Maddie & Tae released their first single ever called “Girl In A Country Song”, whose verses include lines and titles of actual “Bro-Country” songs, young Maggie Rose released her song called “Girl In Your Truck Song” …. WHOSE VERSES ALSO INCLUDE LINES AND TITLES OF ACTUAL “BRO-COUNTRY” SONGS.

Yeah, big oops by Music Row as they inadvertently pull the curtain back to expose the inner workings of their institutionalized conveyor belt formulaic and copycat songwriting rubber stamp machine laboring away. “Pay no attention to the man behind the green curtain” they say with blushing cheeks, as they pretty much just released the same exact fucking song, on the same exact fucking day, and from institutions that are only 0.8 miles away from each other on the same exact fucking street on Music Row; only one song has a negative take and the other has a positive one. If there has ever been a moment where the country music industry has trumpeted emphatically how stupid they think you are, this is it.

From the heartfelt yet respectful concerns of some for how young women were being portrayed in country songs, to downright calls of sexism being perpetrated in country music from the “Bro-Country” takedown of the genre, sincere worry was already being transmitted from many sectors about female’s devolving role in the country music format. Now this alarming trend takes a gigantic leap forward (or backward, as it were), as a young woman voluntarily puts herself directly in the path of the misogynistic and materialistic locomotive that is modern day country music by pleading with her overbearing beau captor to allow her to become the subordinate piece of meat that is portrayed in all the worst hits of the “Bro-Country” era.

“Friday night I’m getting ready. Call you up so come and get me.
I got my jeans on tight, I’m feeling sexy. Tonight, tonight …
 
I want to be the girl in your truck song, the one that makes you sing along.
Makes you wanna cruise, drink a little moonshine down, leave a couple tattoos on this town.
Chillin’ out with a cold beer, yeah, hangin’ with the boys round here.
Gonna take a little ride, That’s my kind of night.
You and me getting our shine on, I wanna be the girl in your truck song.
 
 Gonna hop on in, so slide it over. Lay my head down on your shoulder.
We can rev it up, or take it slow. I don’t care, I don’t care.”

As one studious observer on Twitter pointed out to me, women in country music have now become so marginalized, Stockholm Syndrome has set in. When Rolling Stone Country talked to Maggie Rose about this song, she said, “There are females embracing that role that all these men are writing about.”

What the fuck did I just read? That has been the concern the entire time with this “Bro-Country” bullshit, that having guys that learned how to treat women from 90′s hip-hop songs dominating country music would result in actual behavioral changes in young women. The entire time we’ve been told, “Don’t be so uptight, they’re just songs.” And here is Maggie Rose not only releasing a song that takes a further subservient step, but then she confirms this is how young women are reacting to this trend, and they’re doing so “all over the country.”

Then Maggie Rose goes on to say, “Don’t fight it; embrace it.” Huh. Is it just a coincidence that these are the same exact creepy words a date rapist utters as he has his way with someone’s daughter?

Oh and get this: Preeminent “Bro-Country” songwriter Dallas Davidson took time from having narcissistic knuckle-chucking and homophobic-fueled meltdowns in Nashville’s douchiest fern bars to co-produce this song, giving it that extra special touch of misogynistic flair.

I don’t want to be any more disrespectful to this young lady Maddie Rose than she has already been to herself by cutting this song. But I’m sorry, this is a abomination, and the fact that this isn’t obvious to every listener and Maggie Rose herself shows just how bereft the country music moral compass has become. This song should be met with stiff and spirited resistance from all sectors. Tyler Farr and “Redneck Crazy”, eat your heart out.

READ: Maddie & Tae’s “Girl In A Country Song” Anti Bro-Country?

And if I were to guess, I would say that Maddie & Tae’s “Girl In A Country Song”, written by the two girls themselves, truly came from original inspiration, however good or bad you want to consider it. This “Girl In Your Truck Song” was written by the songwriting committee of Caitlyn Smith, Gordie Sampson and Troy Verges, and would have to be fingered as the ripoff if there was one. But who knows, maybe it truly was as coincidink that the two songs sprouted at the same time. Nonetheless, “Girl In Your Truck Song” should have been left on the cutting house floor, and releasing it is nothing short of culturally irresponsible.

Fuck this song.

Two guns way down!

Jun
30

Little Big Town’s “Day Drinking” (Review & Semi-Rant)

June 30, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  39 Comments

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You know, for years people have been telling me how great Little Big Town is, berating me to give them a deeper listen. But I may never experience their album cuts are because their singles ward me off more than staring down a battery of AIDS cannons. First it was the motorbotin’ “Pontoon”, and now this.

I have been saying for years that country music singles are simply devolving into veiled commercials for major corporations that are underwriting music amidst eroding profits. You can’t make money selling music anymore, so hop into bed with America’s alcohol and automobile industry and make music that is de facto advertisements. They’ll back your tours if your artists back their products, and everyone can get naked and roll around in a big pile of money. Next thing you know, 90% of country music is about alcohol and trucks. There may not be a better example of an overt, gratuitous homage to consumer culture as this latest Little Big Town single entitled “Day Drinking”.

What the hell is day drinking anyway? Was this a commonly-used term a few years ago? I sure don’t remember it, but now it seems like every time I turn on the radio, some spokesperson won’t shut up about how fabulous it is while making their sales pitch, and to make sure I do it responsibly. Screw that, I got shit to do, and responsibility becomes fleeting when you’re slamming back infused vodka before the banks close. The alcohol industry has been attempting to incorporate this recently-adopted “day drinking” buzzword into society, cramming it down our throats to create a socially-acceptable environment to start consuming adult beverages before the socially-appointed time because that’s the only way Americans can pour enough adult beverages down their gullets to keep profits rising every quarter.

Tell ‘em Ralphie.

That’s right, Little Big Town’s “Day Drinking” is pretty much a crummy commercial; at least that’s what’s ringing in my ears—a day drinking advertising jingle. And if you don’t believe me, just pause the video at the 00.38 and 1:59 mark and ask yourself, “Why exactly is there a tightly cropped and prolonged shot of a Beats Pill audio player featured in this video, and twice no less?” That’s exactly what I thought the first time I saw the Miley Cyrus video for “We Can’t Stop”. It starts off with the same Beats Pill cameo. This is a pretty bold leap from mere product placement. Am I watching a music video, or QVC?

“Day Drinking” is all about being 40, and being fabulous, just like Little Big Town. And hey, in some respects, I can respect that, and don’t want to belittle that sentiment. But this is country music, not a commercial for Target’s signature line of tote bags and accessories. And act your age for crying out loud. I love how in the video the band is surrounded by a bunch of young people all happy and having fun, doing young people things, while Little Big Town is relegated to guarding the coolers. It’s like they’re trying to look young and hip by proxy, because get them out on the sand volleyball court themselves and there will be more pulled hamstrings than the NFL disabled list. All they can do is look at the ocean because the salt water would inflame their psoriasis. Little Big Town is the country music equivalent to that 90′s drama show Felicity that tanked after the main girl cut her hair. Buzz off the fake blonde girl’s frizzy do and it’s doubtful this act couldn’t make it on the club circuit. As Unknown Hinson would say, feed those girls some cheeseburgers.

The song itself isn’t offensive necessarily, but there’s really nothing of value here either. The lyrics in the verses are delivered in that monotone, nearly rapping and non-melodic style that is the norm these days, and the stupid whistling and the drum line that comes in later is so Lumineers getting run over by Imagine Dragons, it screams of stretching to find a relevant sound. It is catchy enough though to become a hit, but with all the smiles and fancy free attitudes (let’s just leave are cherry red convertible parked in the middle of the highway and start getting sloshed on the beach at 10:30 AM) it makes me wonder, do these people bleed? Do they ever experience pain, or moments of doubt? Life can’t be all fluff. Where’s the yin to this yang?

“Day Drinking” brings out the Jello Biafra in me, where I want to hate all the pretty people just for having fun, and dammit, I don’t want to be that guy; I don’t want to ruin anyone’s good time. But this vapid, fun-loving, soul-less, shallow, frappity shit sure is ruining mine.

You want to make cheesy party songs? Fine. But leave the commercials for between the songs, not during them.

1 3/4 of 2 guns down.

Jun
17

The Worst “Country” Songs of 2014 So Far

June 17, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  89 Comments

florida-georgia-line-luke-bryan-this-is-how-we-roll

WARNING: Language

The middle point of 2014 finds so called “bro-country” in full throat, with its death grips around the neck of the country music genre and threatening to throttle the very life out of it with no prayer for resuscitation. As you can expect, the assailants are the usual suspects of putrid country music specimens selling out to the lowest common denominator for commercial success. Here are your worst “country” music songs of 2014 so far.


Florida Georgia Line (w/ Luke Bryan) – “This Is How We Roll”

“Like one of those stationary rides in the front of Wal-Mart for toddlers, ‘This Is How We Roll’ makes a lot of noise, has a bunch of flashing lights, bumps up and down a little bit, but in the end, goes absolutely fucking nowhere. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers soundtrack has more sincerity, depth, and nutritional value than this explosion of diarrhea in country music’s bikini cut man briefs.

“An environment of sexual perversion and sheer stupidity permeates ‘This Is How We Roll’ and its respective video from stem to stern, including a scene near the start of the video with a dollop of hussies having consensual sex with a Kenworth. I sure hope these chicks have their Tetanus records in order. And then of course we have Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Florida Georgia Line riding on top of the semi like Teen Wolf, with the same display of doltishness and disconnect with self-awareness many mid 80′s movies like Teen Wolf were horrifically beset with.” (read full rant)


Jarrod Niemann – “Donkey” 

“‘Donkey’ is an uprovocated ass raping of the ears, and if any Niemannites come here preaching to me the virtues of this song because ‘country music must evolve,’ I will personally take a pair of donkey balls and use them to tea bag each and every one of their bedroom pillows when they’re not looking. “Donkey” isn’t just bad, it defines the catastrophic trainwrecking of the entire human evolutionary timeline. 800,000 years of homo sapien progress brought to a screeching halt because one pudgy douchebag wants an arena-sized “country” career before his pubes turn gray. “Donkey” is a harbinger for a dark age for arts, entertainment, and intelligence that humankind is on the precipice of plummeting headlong into.

“The worst song ever? I’m tired to doling out this distinction only to have to offer a revision every six weeks when some other pop country asshole finds a new gradient for rock bottom, but Jerrod Niemann’s EDM-encrusted, braying ass certainly deserves to be in the discussion for that most disgraceful of honors.” (read full rant)


Tim McGraw – “Lookin’ For That Girl

“What kind of fresh hell has Tim McGraw unearthed here? Apparently the once high-flying country star has been inadvertently inoculating himself with inebriating bronzer agents from his incessant chemical tan treatments that have now seeped into his blood stream. And combined with an undiagnosed eating disorder that has rendered McGraw’s figure to that of a 55-year-old Venice beach female body builder succumbing to a lifetime of melanoma, Tim has robbed precious nutrients from his gray matter, stupefying him into such an absolute scientifically-infallible vacuum and void of self-awareness that physicists want to employ it to see if it is the ultimate key to tabletop fusion. ‘Lookin’ For That Girl’ isn’t a cry for relevancy, it is a barbaric yawp, a banshee scream, a cacophonous ode to the onset of monoculture and wholesale mediocrity.

“The icing on this urine-drenched urinal cake topped with cigarette butts, spent gum, and used inside-out prophylactics oozing their venereal slurry out on the diarrhea-infested floor is the fact that through the entire drum machine-driven song Tim McGraw is singing through an Auto-tune filter turned to 11. T-Pain, eat your top hat-wearing heart out. I’ve been saying for years now that Tim McGraw is more machine than man, but not even I could have predicted this unmitigated rejection and headlong flight from anything analog or authentic. Hell, why do we even need a human to sing this fucking song? We should just have one of those iRobot floor cleaners sing it. At least that way it would be on hand to swab up the hurl this monstrosity will invariably evoke from enlightened music listener’s disgruntled guts. And like an iRobot incidentally, ‘Lookin’ For That Girl’ will also freak the everliving shit out of your dog.” (read full rant)


Jake Owen – “Beachin’”

“What’s going on here folks is now that Kenny Chesney has been put out to pasture by the country music powers that be, somebody has to step up and fill the void for swaying, stupid, sand between the toes sonnets of suburban escapism for 40-something women with skin Cancer on their shoulders to hold their Corona Lights high in the air to and scream ‘Whoooo!’ while breathing in the smoke of their Home Depot citronella tiki torches … Now Jake Owen and others are stepping up to fill this void of what apparently is a must-have staple of the American country music radio dial.

“As much as hearing even the opening stanza of a corporate country beach song can make a distinguishing music listener pucker harder than trying to down a cheap Mexican beer without lime or salt, Jake Owen and ‘Beachin’’ makes this exercise even more excruciating by featuring him rapping, yes, rapping the verses … yo yo. And to this end, Owen delivers what has to be the worst white boy rap performance that has ever been proffered to human beings for public consumption that isn’t meant to be taken as ironic. I guess his voice is supposed to be all low and sexy, but the ultra-monotone and lifeless pitch makes Charlie Brown’s teacher sound like Loretta Lynn. Is the term ‘Beachin’’ supposed to be a lyrical hook that delivers some sort of payoff? Because it’s about as unfulfilling as Daytona Beach when you’re dreaming of Cancún.” (read full {semi} rant)


Cole Swindell – “Chillin’ It”

“Cole Swindell is the most not-having-any-bit-of-soul-or-culture human being I think I have ever observed on God’s whole creation. He’s the human equivalent of a piece of bleached white bread with the crust cut off, served with a glass of room temperature tap water. He’s more milk toast than Caspar, and more boring than a bowl of vanilla. It’s like a thermonuclear holocaust of culture and personality-scrubbing destruction swept over Cole Swindell while he was swimming in the very fissile material of the root detonation agent, leaving a man that is so vacant of anything interesting or distinguishable that he is the utmost purified and scientifically-verifiable essence of Miriam Webster’s unabridged definition of ‘generic’ that could ever be procured as an example or proffered as evidence.

“’Chillin’ It’, just like Cole Swindell himself, is the refined, filtered, and homogenized version of something that was rapaciously trite and disappointing to being with. The first thing that pops in your head when hearing ‘Chillin’ It’ is that it’s pretty blatantly Florida Georgia Line’s ‘Cruise’ version 2.0. Except somehow, inexplicably, Swindell discovered how to do them even one worse by engineering something so aggressively vapid that labeling the song ‘bad’ even seems to bestow this spiritless, prosaic waste of effort with more personality and distinction than it actually contains or deserves.” (read full rant)

NOTE: Was released officially in 2013, but didn’t rise to prominence and become a multi-week #1 until March of 2014.


Brantley Gilbert – “Bottom’s Up”

“In this the season of giving, can we all at least come together as one, regardless of sex, race, orientation, creed, religious, political or social status, or cultural background, and swallow our collective differences, hold hands in the common bond of humanity in a rising chorus of hosannas, and all universally decree that Brantley Gilbert is the biggest douche ass to ever suck air on planet Earth?

“Such a gift from heaven it has been to not have Brantley terrorizing us with new music for a good long while. But apparently Brantley was just resting up, refining his putrid exploration into the very innermost reaches of human vanity and self-ingratiation to then unleash upon his trashy fans with the sweet residue of methamphetamine glistening on the edges of their inflamed nostrils, the purest form of raging narcissism ever witnessed in Western Civilization in the construct of his new diarrhetic single ‘Bottoms Up,’ and it’s accompanying video.

“At one point in the video, three women are surrounding Brantley, rubbing their hands all over him. But these girls aren’t copping a feel, their feverishly searching for Brantley’s beleaguered genitals that have taken the form of two acorns flanking a Vienna sausage that then fled up into his abdomen like a rodent scampering into its hole—the result of a tireless regimen of prolonged steroid abuse; hence the nonstop, headlong pursuit of this song and video to compensate and dramatically oversell Brantley’s manly prowess and masculine superiority.” (read full rant)


Dishonorable Mention:

May
29

On Brad Paisley’s New EDM-Inspired Album “Moonshine in the Trunk”

May 29, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  100 Comments

brad-paisley…and I swear, if anyone says, “Yeah, but he’s a really great guitar player,” I’m going to personally come to your house and urinate on your furniture.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I read that comedian and country music performer Brad Paisley‘s new album due out August 26th was called Moonshine in the Truck and “sees Paisley adapting the modern technology of EDM and dubstep to the classic country formula.”

Just read this following quote from Brad Paisley, if you can somehow comprehend it and make it all the way through, while understanding this is supposed to be a country music artist, and one of the “good guys” at that.

“When you hear a banjo through stutter edit, it’s the coolest thing you ever heard,” Paisley told Billboard. “I have a song that’s a basic love song, it’s got a great groove, and I cut this guitar part that gets distorted when I turn the nob up. I would say to Luke [Wooten, the producer], ‘Oh, that should’ve been done 20 years ago, but they couldn’t.’”

You’re making crazy talk Brad that I don’t exactly understand, but I’ll take it as a sign that yet another one bites the dust, gives up the ghost, pulls a Benedict Arnold, and has migrated to the other team. Please turn in your cowboy hat on the way out the door.

READ: EDM Replacing Rap As The Scourge of Country Radio

traditional-country-music-fanThis is the problem folks. You try to be a pragmatist. You try to find some common ground. Hey, Paisley is a likeable guy: funny, smart, and yes, a great guitar player. But everywhere you look, as someone who simply cares a little bit about the sound that traditionally is considered to be country music, just paying scant attention is an exercise in getting socked in the nuts while being told you’re a closed-minded idiot who just wants all music to sound like Hank Williams. “You know, music has to evolve, man! They said Waylon wasn’t country either! Patsy Cline was pop too!”

Yeah, yeah.

And then it gets even worse from Mr. Paisley if you can believe it.

“The rulebook’s gone, or was there ever one?” Brad says. “They try, but I don’t play by it.”

Oh come on Brad, you played by the rulebook for fifteen years, and now by going in some “EDM” direction, you’re conforming to the rules more than ever. Breaking the rules on Music Row these days means actually playing country music. That’ll get you 86′d from your major label deal and knocking on the doors of Americana faster than anything. It’s like what songwriter Luke Laird recently said to The New York Times: “Right now, to write a country rap, it’s almost predictable. It’s more of a risk to write a traditional country song.”

And possibly the worst commentary about all of this is that it’s not even shocking that Brad Paisley’s next album will be “EDM inspired.” Of course it will be. It’s predicable, and expected, and virtually required. And meanwhile the dissent that was being levied last summer by many worried artists about all this madness in country music has gone hush.

What’s the solution? I don’t know. I guess we should just wait for the bass to drop.

May
7

Jerrod Niemann’s “Donkey” (Review & Rant)

May 7, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  139 Comments

jerrod-niemann-donkey

Warning: Language

Country is the only genre of music on planet Earth where the midlife crises of its artists play out on the airwaves and populate the very top of the charts, effecting the sonic path of the entire format for all the world to unbearably behold. And right now, Jerrod Niemann is doing the country music equivalent of blowing his retirement kitty on a red Lamborghini, and showing an unhealthy, creepy interest in his daughter’s hot best friend’s after school extra-curricular activities.

To call Jerrod Niemann an “ass” isn’t even hyperbole at this point. He isn’t spreading his arms wide in a submissive pose and pandering to Music Row to do their worst with him—be damned whatever destruction it might do to his legacy or long-term perception—Niemann’s precarious position at the moment much more resembles the compromising and unsavory posture of the poor bastard that graced the original cover of Pantera’s album Far Beyond Driven. Jerrod Niemann in 2014 might as well be like that fictional, computer-generated pop star in Japan: soulless, inhuman, and completely void of free will, relegated to a malleable piece of pop country EDM silly putty for marketing pricks to digitally program and have do their bidding without any fear of human will hindering the money making process or harboring any resentment or conscience. Jerrod Niemann is nothing more than a puppet, and the iron hands of the recording industry are confidently ensconced in his orifice whose colloquial name is an alternative to the title of his new single, “Donkey”.

Don’t fall for the ruse that just because Jerrod Niemann admits that this song is stupid that it somehow absolves it of all of the inexcusable, heinous sins it commits. Forgo all of the superfluous banjo on this track, Niemann’s cadence on “Donkey” evokes hellish nightmares of a cross between a castrated Right Said Fred and whoever the fuck sang that omnipresent mid 90′s ear worm “How Bizzare”. The line “They all walk funny when they’re done riding you know who,” singularly sets back country music 50 years, and would turn Loretta Lynn into stone like Medusa’s gaze if it ever graced her sainted ears. Our Lord Jesus Christ should resurrect Waylon for the exclusive purpose of shoving one of his Flying “W”‘s straight up old Niemann’s keister to see what kind of gait his pathetic ass would sport afterwards.

The jargon and inspiration for “Donkey” comes directly from the uncultured mouths of mid-pubescent 14-year-old boys with hard on’s, and any man who ever utters the term “honkey tonkey” in his entire existence should be banished from ever feeling the touch of another woman till the end of eternity, or certainly from mentioning the immaculate George Jones or his riding lawnmover in their stupid songs. And Niemann shows just how “country” his designer drug, upper crust dance beats are when he reveals that he thinks the term “donkey” and “mule” are interchangeable.

“Donkey” is an uprovocated ass raping of the ears, and if any Niemannites come here preaching to me the virtues of this song because “country music must evolve,” I will personally take a pair of donkey balls and use them to tea bag each and every one of their bedroom pillows when they’re not looking. “Donkey” isn’t just bad, it defines the catastrophic trainwrecking of the entire human evolutionary timeline. 800,000 years of homo sapien progress brought to a screeching halt because one pudgy douchebag wants an arena-sized “country” career before his pubes turn gray. “Donkey” is a harbinger for a dark age for arts, entertainment, and intelligence that humankind is on the precipice of plummeting headlong into.

The worst song ever? I’m tired to doling out this distinction only to have to offer a revision every six weeks when some other pop country asshole finds a new gradient for rock bottom, but Jerrod Niemann’s EDM-encrusted, braying ass certainly deserves to be in the discussion for that most disgraceful of honors.

Two guns way down!

Mar
25

Jerrod Niemann Is No Willie or Waylon (A History Lesson)

March 25, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  127 Comments

jerrod_niemannTuesday was the release of Jerrod Niemann’s dumb new album High Noon, and before we’ve even had a chance to really delve into just how much of a mockery it makes of country music, Niemann’s already out there on the defensive, preaching to us how country “purists” really don’t know what the hell country music is all about, and how he’s just carrying on the traditions of Willie and Waylon by pushing the boundaries of the genre.

High Noon‘s first single “Drink To That All Night” drove country more in the direction of EDM than ever before, to the point where I’m not sure what’s country about it aside from the stupid, formulaic, country stereotyping lyrics. The second single from the album called “Donkey” promises to take this trend to a place many shades worse, and very well might go down as the worst song in the history of country music in this bear’s opinion—but that’s another story. A further perusing of High Noon‘s wares shows a lackluster effort of EDM and hip hop pandering veering towards a pop wasteland with little redeeming value afforded to distressed ears searching for any single reason why it shouldn’t be considered any more than some EDM/country mashup side project instead of a premier solo effort from an established country artist.

But that hasn’t stooped Jerrod Niemann from naming himself amidst country music’s Outlaw pioneers.

“When people think about country music, and they use the term ‘Traditional Country,’ they’re talking about something that has happened in the past,” Niemann tells Billboard. “But, when those songs were out currently, they were the freshest thing on the radio. Nobody was saying ‘Let’s go record traditional country.’ They just wanted to record music that meant something to them. Willie and Waylon were getting flack for being progressive at the time because they were mixing it with rock and the outlaw thing.”

Sorry Niemann, but that’s bullshit. Were there some voices saying that Willie and Waylon were pushing the boundaries of country music too far back in the day? Sure there were, and Saving Country Music has pointed this out before as well. But…

1) This had just as much to do with the fear people had of Willie and Waylon because they were shaking up the established Music Row system as it had anything to do with their music.

2) Willie & Waylon’s new take on country music was nowhere near outside the boundaries of country compared to what some artists are doing today. The musical equivalent to High Noon if Willie and Waylon would have done it would have been to cut straight up Disco records with country lyricism and called it country—and then thrown it back into the faces of critics before they even had a chance to raise a peep because Hank Williams was criticized too.

3) Oh an sorry Jerrod, but yes, Waylon and Willie did say, “Let’s go record traditional country.”

For example: What was Willie Nelson’s breakout album during the mid 70′s Outlaw era? Red Headed Stranger—the consensus pick by critics as the greatest country album of all time. What was the biggest single off of Red Headed Stranger, and really the only single of note from the album? It was a song called “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.”

“Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” was a traditional country standard when Willie cut it. The song was written by Fred Rose, originally recorded by Roy Acuff in 1945—30 years before the release of Red Headed Stranger. It was also cut by Hank Williams in 1951, Ferlin Husky and Slim Whitman in 1959, and Bill Anderson in 1962 among others. Red Headed Stranger also had other classic country songs such as Eddy Arnold’s “I Couldn’t Believe It Was True” and a hymn called “Just As I Am” that get this Jerrod Niemann, was written in 1835, making it over 140 years old when Willie cut it. So saying that Willie didn’t say, “‘Let’s go record traditional country,” is completely bogus. One can make the argument that’s exactly what Willie said, and it resulted in arguably country music’s greatest contemporary work.

Meanwhile Waylon may have had a touch more rock in his sound compared to Willie or his other country artists of the time, but the backbone of his music was the steel guitar of country veteran Ralph Mooney, and Waylon was cutting songs like “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way?” and “Bob Wills Is Still The King” that paid homage to traditional country greats. Then take a look at the lineup of The Dripping Springs Reunion—the gathering that arguably put the power of Willie and Waylon on the map. It included Bill Monroe, Buck Owens, Loretta Lynn, and other aging country greats that at the time were being forgotten by Music Row. Even as Willie and Waylon were rising in prominence, they were paying homage to the ones that came before them.

“I’ve always tried to respectfully add a few elements here and there,” Niemann tells Billboard. Are you kidding me? “Drink To That All Night,” Donkey,” and other offerings from Niemann’s High Noon aren’t respectful to anything but his label’s bottom line. Take a look at this video and tell me the non-country elements are just “here and there”:

The problem with Jerrod Niemann, the reason he’s even worse than many of his current pop country cohorts is because he knows better. I have no doubt Florida Georgia Line grew up listening to mixtapes with Hank Williams Jr. on one side, and Drake on the other. To Taylor Swift, Tim McGraw and Shania Twain are classic country. But Jerrod Niemann is 34-years-old. He’s not trying to push limits, this is last ditch effort to get attention from the industry in a no hold’s barred, sellout move to secure his share of the fortune being made off the destruction of country music. And no matter how much he wants to be in front of this issue, how much he preaches falsehoods about how country music once was, he’s simply a sellout in a woman’s Ross Dress For Less discount bin hat—and certainly no progeny of Willie or Waylon.

Mar
12

Florida Georgia Line w/ Luke Bryan “This Is How We Roll” (A Rant)

March 12, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  139 Comments

**Warning: Heavy Language**

florida-georgia-line-luke-bryan-this-is-how-we-roll

Why are Luke Bryan and Florida Georgia Line standing in front of a big explosion? Because they’re fucking awesome, that’s why. And you probably don’t get that because you’re all old and shit and your pubes are probably gray and you think that country music should be Hank Williams played over and over again which is boring. Get over it. Country music has changed man, and there’s now redundant wallet chains, deep V-neck shirts with weird crap written on them, popped collars modeled with douchebag poses, and super awesome explosions for no reason. And we love it ’cause this is how we roll, yo!

- – - – - – -

Like one of those stationary rides in the front of Wal-Mart for toddlers, “This Is How We Roll” makes a lot of noise, has a bunch of flashing lights, bumps up and down a little bit, but in the end, goes absolutely fucking nowhere. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers soundtrack has more sincerity, depth, and nutritional value than this explosion of diarrhea in country music’s bikini cut man briefs.

My first question about this song is why exactly is Luke Bryan on it aside from marketing? Exactly what value does he bring to this collaboration? The very first thing out of his sewer hole is, “We’re proud to be young,” which is ironic because the 37-year-old is wearing testosterone patches to help boost his “performance” so he can keep up with the kids two decades his junior on his most recent and increasingly age-inappropriate Spring Break album. Luke Bryan has descended into that creepy late 30′s uncle character sent with a group of 16-year-old girls to “chaperone” and spends the whole time working up the courage to ask his niece’s best friend to roleplay Miley Cyrus while the rest of the group heads down to the beach.

An environment of sexual perversion and sheer stupidity permeates “This Is How We Roll” and its respective video from stem to stern, including a scene near the start of the video with a dollop of hussies having consensual sex with a Kenworth. I sure hope these chicks have their Tetanus records in order. And then of course we have Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Florida Georgia Line riding on top of the semi like Teen Wolf, with the same display of doltishness and disconnect with self-awareness many mid 80′s movies like Teen Wolf were horrifically beset with.

And are the “words” to this “song” for serious? It sounds like the babbling of a toddler with its tongue cut out, or Buckwheat trying to order Thai food while fighting through the lingering paralysis of a massive stroke.

Yeah holla at yo boy if you need a ride
If you roll with me yeah you know we rollin’ high
Up on them 37 Nittos, windows tinted hard to see though
How fresh my baby is in the shotgun seat oh
Them kisses are for me though, automatic like a free throw
This life I live it might not be for you but it’s for me though

And is anybody else bothered by watching people hanging out in the back of a moving semi? Does it seem like fun to anyone to be locked in a cargo hold with no window to the outside world, especially with a bunch of douchebags running motorcycles inside and other dumb shit? How many smuggled immigrants have been sweated to their death or suffocated in similar scenarios? I’d hate to see them take their rolling party through the same border checkpoint in Sierra Blanca, TX that busted Willie and Snoop while singing about “you know we rollin’ high” and watch the jack boots down there sodomize the whole lot of them with government issued toilet plungers in a tireless search for contraband.

And poor Brian Kelley, the Doogie Houser looking dude from Florida Georgia Line. Once again he’s more buried in the mix than Hoffa, offering no real contribution to the band aside from helping with the head count to qualify them for the CMA and ACM’s “Duo of the Year” awards. But that doesn’t stop him from showcasing how bad he is at lip syncing while sporting a doltish grin and no-soul-having wannabee hip-hop gesticulations. Let’s face it, Florida Georgia Line is Tyler Hubbard. Brian Kelley is just in charge of holding Hubbard’s penis pump.

Then finally to make up for the lack of any true machismo or talent emanating from Florida Georgia Bryan whatsoever, they send the troika out to a motorcycle track to stand there and look awesome while explosions go off and people who actually have skill do tricks for the camera that the pairing can try and take credit for by proxy.

The worst “country” song ever? I don’t think so, partly because this is just par for the course from Florida Georgia Line, while other sellouts like Jason Aldean and Tim McGraw hypothetically know better. Tyler Hubbard and Brian Kelley are such tenderfoots, they think classic country is Shania Twain. Still I think this song is positively shitty enough to be a colossal super hit. I predict huge things for this song, and anyone with half a brain or a full compliment of testicles to be pursued by its permeation of American culture for months to come.

Two guns way down!

Feb
28

Cole Swindell’s Horrifically Generic “Chillin’ It” (A Rant)

February 28, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  120 Comments

cole-swindell-3You knew with the huge success of Florida Georgia Line that doppelgangers of the pop country duo would be coming down the pike. Well ladies and gentlemen, welcome to country music Cole Swindell; not even 9 months into his record deal, and he already has a #1 hit.

Cole Swindell is the most not-having-any-bit-of-soul-or-culture human being I think I have ever observed on God’s whole creation. He’s the human equivalent of a piece of bleached white bread with the crust cut off, served with a glass of room temperature tap water. He’s more milk toast than Caspar, and more boring than a bowl of vanilla. It’s like a thermonuclear holocaust of culture and personality-scrubbing destruction swept over Cole Swindell while he was swimming in the very fissile material of the root detonation agent, leaving a man that is so vacant of anything interesting or distinguishable that he is the utmost purified and scientifically-verifiable essence of Miriam Webster’s unabridged definition of “generic” that could ever be procured as an example or proffered as evidence.

Whereas a lot of country music artists pay their dues sweating it out in honky tonks and clawing their way up the circuit, Cole Swindell got his start schlepping pop country panties for Luke Bryan. No, I’m not kidding. Swindell’s initial claim to fame was as a Luke Bryan merch peddler, landing the job because the two were Sigma Chi frat buddies at Georgia Southern. Swindell’s gone from trying to upsell you the T-shirt with Luke Bryan’s name highlighted in glittertext, to sharing the stage with his Georgia Southern buddy, tag teaming the unclean masses in impersonal stadium shows with ultra-slick, overproduced, and abominably-average lite rock drecky schlock.

“Chillin’ It”, just like Cole Swindell himself, is the refined, filtered, and homogenized version of something that was rapaciously trite and disappointing to being with. The first thing that pops in your head when hearing “Chillin’ It” is that it’s pretty blatantly Florida Georgia Line’s “Cruise” version 2.0. Except somehow, inexplicably, Swindell discovered how to do them even one worse by engineering something so aggressively vapid that labeling the song ‘bad’ even seems to bestow this spiritless, prosaic waste of effort with more personality and distinction than it actually contains or deserves. Even the pop country pom pom waver Billy Dukes of Taste of Country called “Chillin’ It” the “decaf version” of “Cruise”.

Of course, calling this song “Cruise Lite” makes even more sense when you look behind-the-scenes and see how Swindell was one of the co-writers on Florida Georgia Line’s song “That’s How We Roll” with Luke Bryan. “Chillin’ It” was cut in a studio with producer Jody Stevens playing every single piece of the music and Swindell singing. Next thing you know Swindell is being signed by Warner Bros. in the wake of the historic success of Florida Georgia Line in 2013, as everyone on Music Row is looking for their version of Scott Borchetta’s new pop country boy toy.

The video for “Chillin’ It” rises to the occasion of offering a fair visual representation of Swindell’s unparalleled mining of mediocrity. Beyond featuring the obvious elements of a pretty girl and classic trucks out in the country, the “Chillin’ It” video makes poor use of ‘B’ roll-quality footage taken with the sun obnoxiously hitting the camera lens. Cole Swindell is featured hanging out by a lake, white boy hip hop dancing with awkward and embarrassing gesticulations that make him look more ridiculous than your drunk and racist uncle when he’s mocking black people he sees on TV.

The whole vibe of the songs seems to be Cole trying up make up for the fact that he’s an uncultured, pasty white boy on the outside looking in of what is cool with his stupid, Ebonics-laden lyrics that go absolutely nowhere, and one of the most limp dick lyrical payoffs at the resolution of the chorus I think I’ve ever heard.

We don’t need another Florida Georgia Line Cole; one was already too much.

Two guns way down!

Jan
15

Tim McGraw’s “Lookin For That Girl” (A Rant)

January 15, 2014 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  123 Comments

tim-mcgraw-lookin-for-that-girlWARNING: Heavy Language

What kind of fresh hell has Tim McGraw unearthed here? Apparently the once high-flying country star has been inadvertently inoculating himself with inebriating bronzer agents from his incessant chemical tan treatments that have now seeped into his blood stream. And combined with an undiagnosed eating disorder that has rendered McGraw’s figure to that of a 55-year-old Venice beach female body builder succumbing to a lifetime of melanoma, Tim has robbed precious nutrients from his gray matter, stupefying him into such an absolute scientifically-infallible vacuum and void of self-awareness that physicists want to employ it to see if it is the ultimate key to tabletop fusion. “Lookin’ For That Girl” isn’t a cry for relevancy, it is a barbaric yawp, a banshee scream, a cacophonous ode to the onset of monoculture and wholesale mediocrity.

The lyrics of “Lookin’ For That Girl” read like a “How To” manual to date rape, which is similar to how this song maliciously violates your earholes with such unwanted and violently barbed penetrations that you find yourself overwhelmed with such desperate loathing for your situation you pray for nothing less than the sweet release of death itself.

That girl, she’s a party all nighter
A little Funky Cold Medina, little strawberry winer
That girl, She’s a love gunslinger
Neon Jager-bomb country okie singer
 
That girl she’s a sugar sweet drive by
Hold my dreams in her blue jeans, oh my
Yellow hammer south Georgia Mississippi chick
Trick cherry wine, Louisiana lipstick

Though this song is supposed to be urban and hip, it comes across as the cries of an introverted internet masturbator who never matured past a middle school mentality. Funky Cold Medina? “Hold my dream in her blue jeans, oh my!” are you fucking kidding me? This song makes me hate sex, and is simply a smattering of ultra-stereotypical urbanisms chased by countryisms trying to apologize for itself and accomplish the widest possible splash zone of victimhood with its catchy pap like when a hippo turns his hind quarters towards the herd and scats the hell out of anything and everything aided by a helicoptering tail.

The icing on this urine-drenched urinal cake topped with cigarette butts, spent gum, and used inside-out prophylactics oozing their venereal slurry out on the diarrhea-infested floor is the fact that through the entire drum machine-driven song Tim McGraw is singing through an Auto-tune filter turned to 11. T-Pain, eat your top hat-wearing heart out. I’ve been saying for years now that Tim McGraw is more machine than man, but not even I could have predicted this unmitigated rejection and headlong flight from anything analog or authentic. Hell, why do we even need a human to sing this fucking song? We should just have one of those iRobot floor cleaners sing it. At least that way it would be on hand to swab up the hurl this monstrosity will invariably evoke from enlightened music listener’s disgruntled guts. And like an iRobot incidentally, “Lookin’ For That Girl” will also freak the everliving shit out of your dog.

What made Tim McGraw one of the greatest country music performers for a generation wasn’t his singing necessarily, though he’s a gifted and inspired vocalist without question. It wasn’t his songwriting. And it wasn’t his unique or creative approach to performance. It’s that Tim McGraw could somehow out of the massive crush of song material every artist must sift through, select the very best compositions that would invariably become the soundtrack to so many people’s poignant, life-changing moments. “Don’t Take The Girl,” “Live Like You Were Dying”—these songs inspired millions, and spoke straight to the heart of people looking for meaning and solace in the desperate throes of human emotional frailty. And now we get “Truck Yeah,” and “Lookin’ For That Girl” that makes a two-time Country Music Association Male Vocalist of the Year sound like Stephen Hawking reciting middle school sex ramblings.

The worst country song ever? I’d add the addendum that since there’s really nothing here that is even remotely close to “country”, ingratiating it by calling it the worst “country” song might be inadvertent flattery. And also, we are so early in 2014, this may be an unfortunate signifier of where we’re headed and could be toppled at any moment. But except for these qualifying points, sure, let’s sleep on the idea for a little bit, but I won’t put my dukes up against anyone who would assert that Tim McGraw’s “Lookin’ For That Girl” is the worst song in the history of country music.

You’re 46-years-fucking-old Tim McGraw.

Two guns way down!

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

Dec
31

Billy Ray Cyrus Recording Hip Hop Version of “Achy Breaky Heart”

December 31, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  26 Comments

billy-ray-cyrusYes folks, you read that right. According to media personality Larry King, Billy Ray Cyrus, King of the Atomic Mullet and father of devil spawn Miley Cyrus, is recording a hip hop version of his everlasting, demonically evil, and historically bereft scourge of Western Civilization known as “Achy Breaky Heart.”

“Just spoke with @billyraycyrus on the phone – he’s recorded a hip-hop version of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ – he’s excited about it & so am I!” Larry King tweeted out at roughly noon Central time on New Years Eve. Despite the terrible, devastating news, New Years celebrations across the globe reportedly will still transpire as scheduled.

Comedian Jimmy Kimmel immediately wrote back to Larry King through Twitter saying, “Congratulations to Larry @kingsthings on getting the best tweet of 2013 in just before the finish line.” But in all likelihood this is no joking matter. Billy Ray Cyrus sucks just bad enough to make such an evil wish his New Year’s resolution.

Larry-king-jimmy-kimmel-billy-ray-cyrus-tweet

“Achy Breaky Heart” is considered by many regardless of genre or taste as one of the worst songs in not just the history of country music, but the history of music, period. It came in at #6 on Saving Country Music’s Worst Songs of All Time. The news leaves some hoping The Mayans were right, but just a little off with their calculations, and the destruction of planet Earth can transpire before the hip-hop version of “Achy Breaky Heart” can terrorize the ears and hearts of mankind.

God help us all.

Dec
23

Brantley Gilbert’s “Bottoms Up” (A Rant)

December 23, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  185 Comments

brantley-gilbert-bottoms-up-2Warning: language

In this the season of giving, can we all at least come together as one, regardless of sex, race, orientation, creed, religious, political or social status, or cultural background, and swallow our collective differences, hold hands in the common bond of humanity in a rising chorus of hosannas, and all universally decree that Brantley Gilbert is the biggest douche ass to ever suck air on planet Earth?

Such a gift from heaven it has been to not have Brantley terrorizing us with new music for a good long while. But apparently Brantley was just resting up, refining his putrid exploration into the very innermost reaches of human vanity and self-ingratiation to then unleash upon his trashy fans with the sweet residue of methamphetamine glistening on the edges of their inflamed nostrils, the purest form of raging narcissism ever witnessed in Western Civilization in the construct of his new diarrhetic single “Bottoms Up,” and it’s accompanying video.

Some may want to tell Brantley Gilbert to go fuck himself for putting out such an awful song, but in Brantley Gilbert’s self-centered world, truly fucking himself would be the fulfillment of his wildest dreams. The video for “Bottoms Up” starts with a bunch of submissive prohibition-era flapper girls doing all the heavy lifting—loading up crates of bootleg alcohol into Brantley’s motor carriage, while Brantley orders them around, flexing his back muscles and showing off his water pistols for the camera. Yes, what a gentleman. Then what ensues is the most self-absorbed 5 minutes one can witness this side of masturbating to oneself in a mirror.

Like many of it’s sonic peers originating from mainstream country music males right now, “Bottoms Up” offers absolutely no redeeming nutritional value to its listeners whatsoever. It simply beats its audience over the head with a servile sense of rabid shallowness and wanton materialistic consumerism conveyed with Nickelback stylings underlayed by a buried banjo track. Joey Moi eat your heart out. About the only thing “Bottoms Up” is good for is supplying the soundtrack to a 16-year-old’s first drinking escapade subsequently followed by throwing up in a Taco Bell parking lot.

brantley-glibert-bottoms-up-1At one point in the video, three women are surrounding Brantley, rubbing their hands all over him. But these girls aren’t copping a feel, their feverishly searching for Brantley’s beleaguered genitals that have taken the form of two acorns flanking a Vienna sausage that then fled up into his abdomen like a rodent scampering into its hole—the result of a tireless regimen of prolonged steroid abuse; hence the nonstop, headlong pursuit of this song and video to compensate and dramatically oversell Brantley’s manly prowess and masculine superiority.

One interesting part about this song and video is the premise is all based around alcohol and drinking. Brantley is cast as a bootleger and party Barron, but in real life he swore off the sauce over 2 years ago, or supposedly did. Hey, I commend Brantley’s sobriety if it’s still ongoing and applaud his discipline, but it really doesn’t lend to the sincerity of whatever muddled, mumble-speaking and Ebonics-inflected message Brantley is trying to convey in this “Bottoms Up” monstrosity. Brantley may have a brass knuckles handle for his microphone to show just how much of a hard knocker he is, but his preferred beverage is more akin to 2% milk than 90-proof moonshine.

The video ends with Brantley pulling up to his hideout, and despite him being such a badass that he could impregnate three women at the same time simply by starring at them from across the room, he fails to notice the sheriff’s car parked 15 yards away from his illegal still shack. I don’t want to come across as too sensitive or gratuitous by saying the video for “Bottoms Up” ends with a cop killing scene similar to something Ice-T would dream up circa 1990, but man, that is certainly what it looks like. Sure, this is all make-believe, but the murdering of Brantley Gilbert’s dignity in “Bottoms Up” is very, very real.

You didn’t bottom up Brantley, you bottomed out.

Two guns way down.

Nov
21

22 Things I’d Rather Hear Than Jamie Lynn Spears’ Country Debut

November 21, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  65 Comments

Reports have Jamie Lynn Spears, famous teen mom and sister of Brittney Spears, releasing a debut country album soon. I’m sure that Jamie Lynn Spears is a very sweet girl, and by all accounts she is blessed with remarkably white teeth and excellent skin. But the simple realities of running a website like Saving Country Music is that you can’t listen to every single piece of recorded music released in the greater country music pantheon. You have to be selective. So I’ve assembled a list of the things I’d rather hear than Jamie Lynn Spears’ debut country album.

  1. My parents having sex.
  2. My genitals being pureed in a blender.
  3. “I’m referring you to a specialist. A proctologist.”
  4. The cracking sound of my own bone breaking.
  5. “The DNA test confirms you’re the father.”
  6. “According to our compression test, you have a blown head gasket.”
  7. The smacking sound of peanut butter making the tongue of a 330-pound man sitting next to me on a city bus stick to the roof of his mouth.
  8. “You’ll have to go in person to the Department of Motor Vehicle for that.”
  9. A sumo wrestler passing a knife.
  10. A baby’s cry broadcast through a megaphone.
  11. “Your arraignment will be next Tuesday.”
  12. Anything produced by Max Martin.
  13. My laptop being crushed by a car tire.
  14. “Achy Breaky Heart.”
  15. “We will have to wait on the tarmac for two more hours before we are cleared for takeoff.”
  16. The distinct thud sound of a door not closing properly because your finger was in the jamb.
  17. “Next up on 98.1 we have the newest from Luke Bryan!”
  18. Chris Brown explaining why he’s actually the victim.
  19. Florida Georgia Line without Auto-tune.
  20. My girlfriend struggling with violent diarrhea.
  21. A puppy being stepped on.
  22. “It’s Cancer.”

But except for that, I look forward to receiving my copy and being the model of objectivity in my coverage of Jamie Lynn Spears’ forthcoming country album.

….actually strike that “Acky Breaky Heart” one. I think I’d rather take my chances with Ms. Nickelodeon.

Welcome to country music Jamie!

—xoxo

Oct
7

Tyler Farr’s “Redneck Crazy” (A Rant)

October 7, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  140 Comments

tyler-farr-redneck-crazyI don’t know what to say folks, except that maybe country music’s 2013 collective mission to find the absolute lowest depths of stupidity in song was accomplished so unequivocally with Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind Of Night” and Jason Aldean’s “1994″ that a new mission had to be named to explore the innermost reaches of emotional depravity bordering on downright psychotic tendencies, and that’s how this song came into being.

I’ve never heard a song whose mood is so befuddled and whose message is so depraved this side of Satan rock. Is this supposed to be a deep, heartbreak song, or a ‘bro” anthem filled with sarcasm? I don’t even know if Tyler Farr could answer that question. This song and video doesn’t offer any entertainment, it just makes you want to deadbolt your doors, ammo up, and clinch your loved ones a little closer.

Tyler Farr’s “Redneck Crazy” isn’t for jilted male lovers looking for solace, it is for socially awkward, introverted, creepy-ass chronic masturbaters that hold a minor in megalomania. This song doesn’t need a rant, it needs a restraining order and ankle bracelet. It’s an insult to both the terms “redneck” and “crazy.” True rednecks ride their problems out, rub their wounds in the dirt and move on, not whine about them like a panty waist, eliciting threats and enlisting their loser friends to enact adolescent acts of vandalism as some sort of self-righteous recompense.

Look at some of the lines in this creep fest:

“Gonna drive like hell through your neighborhood
Park this Silverado on your front lawn
Crank up a little Hank, sit on the hood and drink
I’m about to get my pissed off on”

“I’m gonna aim my headlights into your bedroom windows
Throw empty beer cans at both of your shadows
I didn’t come here to start a fight, but I’m up for anything tonight
You know you broke the wrong heart baby, and drove me redneck crazy”

Listen Tyler Farr, if you’re going to go recording some weird-ass soundtrack to your stalking escapades, do me a favor and keep the holy name of the great Hiram King Williams out of your demented claptrap, okay?

And this might be the worst line of all:

“Nah, he can’t amount to much by the look of that little truck
Well he wont be getting any sleep tonight”

No wonder you can’t get laid you loser, because if you think being a man means having a big truck and a bunch of cool camouflage shit, then you’re nothing but a little boy still playing G.I. Joe stuck in a man’s body. Just because you have a camo guitar and play with your privates doesn’t make you “Army Strong” Tyler. The fact that you’re making fun of the size of a man’s truck says less about that man and more about your own inadequacies, and the powerful sway they have over your emotional sense of self-worth.

Get over it Tyler. Put a napkin on your vag and quit acting like the world owes you just because you’re an emotionally-underdeveloped and shallow douche prick with no game. The saddest part is, “Redneck Crazy” is the type of stupid shit that passes for “deep” these days. And yes folks, I know this song wasn’t written by Tyler Farr, but a troika of professional songwriters. That’s even more scary—that in a cubicle farm somewhere there’s bean counters pouring over demographic data and concluding, “There’s not enough songs about psychos threatening physical violence against their ex’s on country radio. We feel it is time to exploit this niche.”

And who the hell is Tyler Farr anyway? Where did this dude come from? A few weeks ago I’d never heard the name, and now this is the #1 song in country music? I went to his wiki page and it had less substance than this song, probably because his shallow fans ran out of time on their free AOL disks, or won’t touch a computer unless it’s wrapped in camo tape. And while we’re on that, quit with the stupid-ass camo everything. Yeah, it was cute when Brad Paisley came out playing a camo guitar in 2008, but more and more camo is just a way to camoflauge the emotional frailty and insecurities of grown-up babies like Tyler Farr whose true redneck identity only runs as deep as his $170.00 Bass Pro Shop camo waders.

tyler-farr-redneck-crazy-4-wheelerAnd as is the norm these days, the video for the song does it one worse, with cameos from these Duck Dynasty guys and the country music Grimmace, Colt Ford. Come on, bringing Clot Ford on a covert mission would be like shoving a bowling ball down your pants before running a marathon. Hell, if you want him to be useful, leech a liposuction hose to his commodious midriff and spray his superfluous fat at this poor chick’s abode. I hear human cellulite is even more hell to remove from house siding than egg white. And if you watch the end of the video, tenderfoot Tyler Farr tumps his glorified golf cart while trying to make a basic turn. Just like Luke Bryan, these lugs love to sing about the outdoors in their songs, but when you get them off the pavement, they’re like a fish out of water.

About the only thing this song is good for is turning in for state’s evidence of why Tyler Farr shouldn’t be allowed within 200 yards of his ex’s or any elementary school.

You aren’t “Redneck Crazy” Tyler, you’re just really, really creepy.

Two guns way down!

Oct
3

Luke Bryan Rolls Big Black Jacked Up Truck Into Pond

October 3, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  38 Comments

luke-bryanLuke Bryan and his other bro-tastic pop country pseudo-rapping laundry list-espousing pretty boys may love to sing about big ol’ pickup trucks, but it has always been circumspect if they could even pilot one in a pinch. Maybe Luke had a little too much of that “real good stuff up under the seat of his big black jacked up truck,” or maybe the floozy he was riding with heard “hand me another beer” one too many times (references to his #1 song “That’s My Kind of Night” people, keep up!), but either way, Luke Bryan’s ride ended up in the drink a few days ago. Luckily the matching henna tattoo he got with Jason Aldean did not get wet in the incident.

“Before y’all get out of your truck. Make sure to put it in park. Trust me.” Luke Bryan tweeted, along with a picture of his submerged pickup. Maybe Luke should have written the directions for setting the parking break on his hand like he did the words to the National Anthem.

luke-bryan-truck-pond-crash

We all do stupid things and maybe it’s not fair to laugh, but I’m still waiting for Luke Bryan to do something that is not stupid. Even the catfish sucking up Frito crumbs off his floorboards are saying, “Man, what a douchebag.” Lucky for Luke, his appropriately-titled album Crash My Party just went platinum, so he can probably afford seven more of these to screw up at his leisure.

A friendly suggestion to Luke Bryan and his ilk: stick to traversing the backroads and ponds vicariously through your songs just like your suburban-dwelling listeners do. The country can be a very, very dangerous place.

‘Merica.

Sep
19

I Give A Shit, Jason Aldean. I do. (A Rant)

September 19, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  108 Comments

jason-aldean-2

Late Tuesday night (9-17), Jason Aldean took time away from getting fitted with pairs of $700 jeans and polishing up his Medusa of wallet chains to take to Instagram and call out Zac Brown for his recent comments about country music, and specifically Luke Bryan’s song “That’s My Kind Of Night,” characterizing it as the “worst song ever.” Though Zac Brown went out of his way to both say that his problem was not with Luke Bryan, but the song, and specifically clarify that he didn’t necessarily consider himself country either, though he does actually play real music with real instruments, Jason Aldean decided to take the low road with Zac Brown, and make it personal, saying:

I hear some other artist are bashing my boy @lukebryan new song, sayin its the worst song they have ever heard…….. To those people runnin their mouths, trust me when i tell u that nobody gives a shit what u think. Its a big ol hit so apparently the fans love it which is what matters. Keep doin ur thing LB!!!

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Look ladies and gentlemen, if Jason Aldean was ever pressured to actually write one of his hit songs, he’d choke like a Kardashian giving face love to a professional athlete. And what’s with the language on this prick for someone who’s supposed to be family entertainment? Do you kiss Luke Bryan with that same mouth Jason Aldean?

We already knew from Jason’s numerous stuttering, cardboard-like speaking presentations at stupid country music award shows that the man had less of a handle on the English language than a horny monkey does a greasy football. But if Aldean’s garbled communique is any indication, there’s Chilangos headed back home on the deportation bus that have better command of broken English than this plastic, country music Ken Doll. Match that with the vernacular of a 12-year-old female texter hopped up on half a dozen pixie sticks, and Aldean’s attempt at defending his man friend Luke Bryan is more of a laughable indictment of Aldean’s own character and intellectual attributes than a worthy defense of his “bro.” Aldean should have remembered the advice from those record executives: shut up, look pretty, and only open your mouth when the Auto-tuner is on.

And what do they say about people living in glass houses? A year ago this month, Jason Aldean and his shimmering white teeth were gracing the shiny cover of People Magazine’s Country Music Special Edition, singing the praises of Aldean as a superlative father and family man, while at the same exact time he was hanging out in an LA night club getting handsy with some loose American Idol castoff. Hey, we all make mistakes, but Aldean is two left feet in faux leather boots stained on the inside with residue from his chemical tan. Just stick to making sure you don’t fall off the riser when you’re working through your choreographed stage moves Aldean. We the people of country music will determine who needs to be called out or praised for their contributions to the genre.

And just appreciate this: Aldean took the time to call out Zac Brown, but still to this day has yet to reach out to Joe Diffie, a man he did an entire tribute song to. That’s right, Aldean hasn’t taken the time to even text Joe Diffie and his mullet, yet he’ll go on some rant replete with sophomoric abbreviations through the stupid-ass, adolescent forum of Instagram. Take this advice Aldean, keep your texting thumbs holstered in the loops of your $700 jeans, or tickling the #2 holes of your barely-legal groupies.

Who gives a shit what Zac Brown has to say? I do. We do. Are we the minority? Maybe, but the statistics show that our numbers are growing every day while mainstream music continues to circle the toilet hole of financial insolvency, trying to shore up their golden parachutes by instilling this sugar rush of completely vapid and talent-less hack acts that amount to nothing more than a harey carey maneuver, sticking a dagger right into the heart of country music, sacrificing its long-term health and viability to prop up the facade of the here and now.

You think the popularity of something proves its worth? In the minds and pocketbooks of a growing number of consumers, a song’s mainstream popularity is proper stimulation to avoid it at all costs. In a moment of vanity-filled rage and in a complete vacuum of self-awareness, you may think that you and Luke Bryan are kings of the mountain right now. But one day you’ll wake up and realize that mountain is nothing more than a heap of ashes of what country music once was, with no body or structure to that mound, and that the impending fall from the top will be quite precipitous.

Nobody gives a shit, Jason Aldean? Sorry “bro,” but you’re wrong. I give a shit. I do. And I’m not alone.

Sep
4

Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind Of Night” (A Rant)

September 4, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  108 Comments

luke-bryan-dance-1luke-bryan-dance-2luke-bryan-dance-7luke-bryan-dance-6

WARNING: Language

Let’s start this off by dispatching with the 700 lb gorilla in the room and say what everyone is thinking, but few are willing to say publicly: The only reason Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind Of Night” is a #1 song is because bored suburban moms and their daughters want to fuck him. Luke Bryan’s music has the nutritional value of notebook paper, and is the clinical result of when an entertainer spreads his arms wide in a submissive pose and relents his entire will to the country music industrial complex, saying “Do your worst.” Luke Bryan has no soul. He is more machine than man. He has the integrity of a Guatemalan mule bridge with a squadron of M1 tanks trying to cross it. “That’s My Kind of Night” is like a diabolically-specialized form of audio diarrhea that marries the ideal ratio of water to solids so when it is sent through an industrial fan it inflicts the widest collateral damage on as many people as possible.

luke-bryan-thats-my-kind -of-night2 1/2 years ago a stupid little blog called Saving Country Music proposed that in due course, we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between country and rap songs. The hypothesis was generally laughed at or ignored, and even I didn’t know just how far we would come in such short order. And now yet again the #1 song in country music is a country rap featuring an appearance by a prominent hip hop artist. “A little Conway a little T-Pain?” Yep, that pretty much sums up American music in 2013, sans the Conway—replaced by Luke Bryan and his vomit-inducing country rap trend-chasing ilk.

But one of the disappointing things about this song is just how little T Pain there is after this was the big news ahead of the song’s release. Sure, he’s name dropped and appears on the track, but T-Pain is buried in the mix even more than the banjo. If you’re going to have T-Pain or some other washed-up rapper make an appearance on your shitty country song, then own it dammit. Have T-Pain popping out of a birthday cake with his rainbow dreads cascading out from under his top hat while shooting off Roman candles, Auto-tuning the shit out of anything and everything in his hack-ass, no-talent-having path. But T-Pain’s meager appearance is indicative of the approach to this song: round the edges off and take half measures until you have the most candy-assed, milktoast, generic song possible to infect the gullible masses with booty-shaking ear worms in a complete vacuum of artistic value.

The “Uh! Uh!” at the very beginning of “That’s My Kind of Night” is indicative to the kind of submissive role this supposed “country” song takes to its rap and pop influences. The reference to “real good stuff” hidden under the seat may seem risque for country, but this type of pussy-ass drug referencing has been bastardizing pop songs for years. And then here comes the indolent references to rural culture like “big black jacked up trucks” and “diamond-plated tailgates.” At one point Luke Bryan talks about floating down the Flint River with a girl and catching her a catfish dinner. Let me assure you folks, the only thing Luke Bryan could “catch” on a river may smell fishy, but that’s only because it originates from the pussing nethers of some floozy who’d be stupid enough to raft up with a tenderfoot like Luke in the first place.

The live video for this song does it one worse. As you will notice below, only women are shown in the crowd shots, because that is what all of this is geared toward because corporate country females are the last demographic too ditsy to figure out how to steal or stream their music. The submissiveness displayed by some of the young girls in this video is downright scarey, and reminds one of the worshiping of the Golden Calf in Chuck Heston’s The Ten Commandments. Seriously, what the fuck? The glazed over look in some of these girl’s eyes and the servile gesturing is outright cultish.

luke-bryan-video-girl-1lucke-bryan-girl-video-2

 

And what’s up with this guy and his monkeyshit green electric banjo? The thing looks like the instrumental equivalent of a bedazzled vagina. Anything whose paint job is characterized as “avocado burst” has no business in country music.

luke-bryan-green-banjo

Worst country song ever? I’d have to say no. Jason Aldean’s “1994″ is a milestone that may take years to depose, but Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind Of Night” is certainly worthy of the type of ridicule reserved for only the absolute worst of quotation mark “country” songs.

Two guns way down!

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Jul
31

If Pop Country Stars Had To Find Other Jobs

July 31, 2013 - By Trigger  //  Down with Pop Country  //  27 Comments

So many of pop country’s celebrities have such a vacuous amount of life skills, without being propped up as pretty faces by the country music industry, they’d be clueless in the real world. Others probably have some skills outside of singing into Auto-tuners at concerts, and that’s probably what they should be doing instead of trying to be artists.

Always wanting to be helpful here at Saving Country Music, we have compiled some ideas/suggestions of what some big pop country stars could do if they had to find other employment.


justin-moore

Star: Justin Moore

Profession: Jockey

Yes, because he’s barely tall enough to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl, and is no more than 95 pounds soaking wet. Gotta work what God gave you.

 

 

 

joe-diffie

Star: Joe Diffie

Profession: Mall Cop

“No Mr. Diffie, no need to cut the mullet or shave the mustache. You’ll fit right in here at The Shops at Westcreek.”

 

 

 

 

gary-levox

Star: Gary LeVox of Rascal Flatts

Profession: Gynecologist / Youth Minister / Celebrity Chef / Professional Karaoke Singer

I know, quite a breadth of professions. But with hair that great, the possibilities are endless!

 

brantley-gilbert

Star: Brantley Gilbert

Profession: MMA-World Ball Sack Sniffer

He can pump iron and down copious amounts of steroids, but doesn’t have the instincts or smarts to actually handle it mono e mono in the octagon. So he stands in a corner with a towel thrown over his shoulder, holding a water bottle, waiting to wipe up a nosebleed and maybe pick off a sloppy second groupie stumbling away from one of the contenders.

 

 

brian-kelley-florida-georgia-line

Star: Brain Kelley of Florida Georgia Line

Profession: Mannequin / Wallflower

Doesn’t really sing, doesn’t really play guitar. This dude does less than Congress.

 

 

 

 

colt-ford

Star: Colt Ford

Profession: Grimmace at McDonaldland / Transvestite Truck Driver

I don’t know what mental image is more disturbing: Colt Ford cooped up in a big purple suit (just imagine the butt sweat), or his rippling thighs confined by fishnets, with a dash of eau de toilette perfuming his pasty inner thighs. (Worth noting he tried his hand at professional golf for a while.)

 

 

luke-bryan

Star: Luke Bryan

Profession: Male Stripper

You may want to check the ID’s on some of those girls, Luke.

 

 

gretchen-wilson

Star: Gretchen Wilson

Profession: Leg Breaker / Diesel Mechanic

She can beat you at arm wrestling, or strip down an engine and machine your headers all before lunch.

 

 

 

dave-haywood-lady-antebellum

Star: Dave Haywood of Lady Antebellum

Profession: Non-threatening male elementary school teacher / puppeteer

Has there ever been a more emasculated star in the history of country music?

 

 

 

 

 

jason-aldean-baseballStar: Jason Aldean

Profession: Roided-out, AA-level, baseball wash out

Aldean actually almost went to college on a baseball scholarship and had some moderate skills in that direction. Our ears could’ve only been so lucky….

 

 

 

kenney-chesney

Star: Kenney Chesney

Profession: Sandals / flowery shorts model

Oh great, yet another damn song about hanging out on the beach. And what the hell’s going on in this photo? Does he even have pants on?

 

 

 

 

blake-shelton-435

Star: Blake Shelton

Profession: Manure Shoveler

After all, isn’t that what his initials stand for?

 

 

 

 

 

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