- First things first: There is no more room in the United States for even one more Father Chode or Father John Misty or whatever the fuck the newest know-it-all trippy sensitive white yuppie songwriter rehashing the ’60s is called. Will the bros and rich kids please stay the fuck out of country and folk music, for crying out loud? You have fucking ruined it beyond all repair with your literary allusions and private-school educations and insecure fake tough-guy shit. Don’t come back either. You aren’t funny or tough or witty and you are clogging up the inboxes of all the booking agents and critics with your reverb-drenched non-singing guitar-noodling ass horseshit and creating more traffic on the roadways while “going on tour.” Find another way to get laid. Have your dads get you a job at the firm or whatever boring stupid fucking shit he does to make sure your bitch mom can fuck around all day at yoga and shopping and “aligning her chakras.”
The never-ending music-critic circle jerk is such a pathetic display of self-delusion and nepotism and classism it makes me fucking sick. The pecking of all these Mac keyboards pumping out all of this worthless bullshit could power 10 thousand Higgs bosons and probably propel us into space and off this radioactive waste dump permanently. “Can you get us in free/ my girlfriend and me/ We like the songs but we hate to pay. Can I have your guitar/ can I ride on your car/ can you give me a role to play?” If you don’t know that Leon Russell song you should, but you were probably listening to Bob Dylan for the 10 thousandth fucking time. I ain’t no motherfuckin’ critic and you better not call me one or I will beat you to fucking death with your special-edition marbled vinyl of “I Love You Honey Boo Boo.”
- Fuck Bob Dylan. His rant directed at songwriting god Tom T. Hall and his glorious song ‘I Love’ was incoherent and stupid and factually inaccurate. Merle Haggard is one thing, but Tom T. fucking Hall? You ain’t doin’ that fuckin’ shit. Stick ‘That’s How I Got To Memphis’ in your pipe Bob and smoke it and then listen to ‘Mama Bake A Pie’ and shut the fuck up. The fact is that there are about a dozen country singers with songwriting chops equal to Dylan’s without half the hubbub surrounding them and he knows it. One of them’s name is Billy Joe Shaver and his songs have twice the heart Dylan ever had. Bob hasn’t made a great record since “Time Out of Mind” anyhow, and that album of standards he just released, “Shadows in the Night,” sucks so bad it makes “Together Through Life” sound good. Old Bob will be at the Lyric Opera House on April 11, so get your tickets early because everyone will want to go so they can bitch afterward about how bad it sucked. I don’t know who is more disappointing live, Dylan or David Allan Coe.