- June 11, 2009
A casual trip across some of the 99% of current rock bands to be avoided at all costs, in the name of public service.
Newfound Glory
- Their primary musical influence seems to be the generic, ersatz rock music of mediocre teen comedies. While hack teen comedies will continue to be churned out indefinitely, the public can be thankful the same can't be said for Newfound Glory, the little bitches.
Angels and Airwaves
- Created by former members of The Offspring and Blink-182, following their castrations. A hybrid of self-important modern rock and aging diva warbling; finally, a non R-and-B band that figured out how to stretch two-syllable words into nine-second whines. Dickfaces.
Silverstein
- basically summed themselves up in one of their most prominently pathetic odes, If you could see into my soul: "…we've been down this road so many times before... and my stomach can't take it." Indeed. Fuck knows hundreds more bands fronted by bitchy pale male waifs are being handed record deals at this very moment. Record execs suck ass. Appropriately, they sound like the name of a law office or jewelry store, since they play music typical of either. Douches.
Another Animal
- This band was created from the dregs of a couple of shitty one-dimensional bands (Godsmack and Ugly Kid Joe) in 2007, in an effort to overstay their 15 minutes. They must be unaware that when choosing to rip off another band's sound, one should at least rip off a good band, rather than the crap that Staind plops out from time to time.
Bullet for my Valentine
- proves that 'emo' music can't be improved with metal riffs. Since they're Welsh, they deserve some credit for at least sounding coherent, but hearing pap like "will she hear me if I call her name" may make that a bad thing. Matt Tuck alternates between nasal wailing and making scratchy (at best) attempts to scream in a manly way. The resulting sounds are so painful I fear he'll pull a muscle in his vagina.
Papa Roach
- Elder statesmen in the pantheon of rock music's pussification; their adept guitar skills are sabotaged at every turn by their suburban angst lyrics, examining the gut-wrenching horrors of… freshman year at State U. With more whine varietals to his credit than Northern California, lead singer Jacoby Shaddix would be due for a header off some high ledge or a good old-fashioned overdose, if that dick had the balls.
Panic at the Disco
- putting together the most nonsensical lyrics this side of Sheryl Crow, with melodies to match. Seemingly have no aim other than to scam cash from those young bird-heads who keep MTV in business and rave about how their Mac can do almost everything a regular PC can do. With any luck, most of these shitheads will die in horrific car accidents in the coming years - The cause? Plowing their Scions into trees due to their love of texting inane fuck-all to each other; then at least they'll be unable to finance stupid fucktard bands.
That's all for now, I may return with more bands at a later date, once my ears heal from the hammer wounds.
-Richie 6-11-09
