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Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the new remix era of country music, where the worst “country” songs get regurgitated with an overlayed rapper or EDM twist, repackaged to terrorize the eardrums of the masses for another eight weeks after the song should normally fade from the charts and fall off of radio. Please find a group of your favorite male country stars crying for relevancy and attention to your right, and a selection of waning rap personalities looking for a career revitalization through white suburban consumers to your left. Mix and match as you choose to create the perfect mono-genre monstrosity that will then go on to shatter decades-old records because of Billboard’s new chart rules, and make a mockery of the “summer anthem” phenomenon by taking 10-month-old songs with newly added drum machine beats, and shoving them down the throat of the American consumer once again. Enjoy!
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Here we go again. Another day, another paradigm shift for quotation mark “country” trying desperately to apologize for itself and attract new demographics by careening out of the defined borders of the genre. This time it is the emerging habit of the country remix song. We first saw this when Jason Aldean remixed his influential country rap “Dirt Road Anthem” with Ludacris in 2011, but the first widely successful implementation of the country remix was when Florida Georgia Line did a remix of their mega hit “Cruise” with the rapper Nelly in April of 2013. The collaboration went on to be responsible for creating the longest-running #1 song in the history of country music. And since we all know what a copycat world it is down on Music Row, it was only a matter of time before the country music industrial complex retooled to make the remix of any song they see fit a reality.
Now the remix train has started rolling full steam, and since so many mainstream hits already are built on top of electronic dance beats, virtually any mainstream song is optimized to accept a remix. Take Jerrod Niemann for example, who has all of a sudden emerged as country’s EDM Master of Ceremonies. His hit “Drink To That All Night” has just received the remix treatment with none other than Latin rapper Pitbull (listen below, if you dare). Just like with Florida Georgia Line’s “Cruise”, Jerrod’s song was very slow in developing as a blockbuster single. It was released all the way back in October of 2013, but is just now reaching its peak, hitting #1 on Billboard’s Country Airplay chart. By releasing the remix, the single gets new life, and now could become a massive crossover success.
But this is just the tip of the country remix iceberg compared to what we’re about to see in the coming months. Rumors of additional Florida Georgia Line remixes are swirling, and the duo can’t stop talking about how much they’d love to work with Canadian rapper Drake. There’s talk that a remix of Brantley Gilbert’s “Bottoms Up” featuring Lil Wayne is in the pipeline. And The Band Perry has been hinting at some sort of collaboration with EDM megastar Avicii. Though the remix in country might feel like a rare occurrence at the moment, by the end of 2014, it might be a given from the format’s biggest songs and stars.
Remixes and collaborations have been the way the hip-hop world and parts of EDM have developed talent over the years. A bigger star will give a boost to an up-and-comer by having them come in and sing a line on a slightly different version of an already popular song. Seeing how country music has for all intents and purposes dismantled its farm system, and money and time for artist development has virtually dried up, these type of remixes and collaborations could be a good alternative to an industry struggling to find new stars, especially female stars. But instead of helping their own, country music is turning to promoting already-established artists from other genres under the veil of “collaboration” to attempt to reach new heights of commercial success.
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.
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.
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.
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