The Adventures of Accordion Guy in the 21st Century

Since he has a record deal and I don’t, Weird Al Yankovic — simultaneously high and low point for the visibility of accordion rockers (as the Village People were for gays) — is going to get the credit for coming up with playing Eminem and Avril Lavigne on the squeezebox. In the case of these two particular artists, I broke with my tradition of favouring “straight” versions of songs over parodies, what with turning Eminem’s Cleaning Out My Closet into a song by an open source software defector (warning: painful geek joke ahead):

I’m sorry Stallman

I never mean to hurt you

I never meant to make you cry

But tonight, I’m getting rid of Debian

…and as part of a stand-up routine, I’d rewritten Sk8r Boi into a song about that silly sub-sub-culture of goths who get into terribly silly things: “S8n Boi” by one “Avril LeVey“.

According to this article, Eminem, in typical hip-hop fashion, is taking himself a little too seriously:

Weird Al Yankovic said he held out hope until the last minute that Eminem would allow him to do a video for “Couch Potato,” his new parody based on the rapper’s Oscar-winning hit “Lose Yourself.” Yankovic negotiated with Eminem’s manager, Paul Rosenberg, who relayed Eminem’s permission for Yankovic to record the song–but delayed the decision to make an accompanying video until Eminem heard the final mix of “Couch Potato.”

“What we heard back from him (Rosenberg) was that Eminem was fine with me having the parody on my album but said he was afraid that a Weird Al video might detract from his legacy, that it would somehow make people take him less seriously as an important hip-hop artist,” Yankovic said.

Proof positive that constant self-aggrandizement is really just a mask for fears and insecurities. Surely someone at his record company must know that having a parody made of your songs and videos is a sign that you’ve made it.

Yankovic said even though he didn’t get to make the video, he’s grateful Eminem let him use the song in the first place. “I’m grateful to Eminem; he at least let me put it on the album,” Yankovic said. “I have to say I’m extremely disappointed at the same time; frankly, this was going to be the best video that I’ve ever done.”

Yankovic said that the video would have featured a “patchwork quilt” of scenes from other Eminem videos.

“Couch Potato” is the first single from Poodle Hat, which hits stores on May 20. The album also features parodies of songs by Nelly, Avril Lavigne and Billy Joel.

What? Nelly too? I sometimes drop the chorus from Hot in Here into the middle of another song.

Stupid big-name accordionists, stealing my thunder.

As my friend Eldon (who pointed me to this story) wrote to me: I’ll bet Eminem would’ve let me do the video.

[Mondo thanks, Eldon!]

…ooh, yeah. (Flash required)

In spite of the fact that I’m what you might call a Zen Catholic, whenever I see the phrase “Christian Rock”, I back away slowly and avoid eye contact. I’m sure it’s not the Christian aspect that makes it stink — the Jewish band Black Shabbat isn’t any better, and the Beasties were smart enough to make their track Bodhisattva Vow an instumental.

(Whenever I ask why a kind and loving God doesn’t smite Christian rock bands, someone invariably says “Hey, Sixpence None the Richer are pretty good,” to which I reply, “Name one number they do that isn’t Kiss Me.” Really, the best Christian rock-and-rollahs are not categorized as such — one isn’t even a musician: U2, Moby and filmmaker Kevin Smith.)

Mark Gauvreau Judge agrees with me, and writes about it at length in this article:

I like to think that in the last few years I’ve tried to become a better Christian. I gave up drinking and smoking and staying out all night. Sunday mass is no longer optional. I read the Bible and theology.

But there is one Rubicon I will not, cannot, cross. I will never give up the music I love — rock and roll and jazz — and embrace “Christian” rock.

The great jazz critic Stanley Crouch once gave the best one-line description of great jazz I have ever heard: dealing with despair with grace and dignity. This not only works in the lyrics of great jazz, blues, and pop songs, which are often witty and self-deprecating (for all of Sinatra’s personal bravado, his songs are largely wracked with confusion and fear), but also forms the base of great sound that can elevate the self-pity found in much popular music to something more grand. Sure, a blues musician may adumbrate a life of misery and failure, but in direct contrast to what he is saying, at least if he is B. B. King or another great musician, is that strength, certainty, and inviting warmth of the sound that sustains him — as well as the cleverness with which he tells his sorry tale.

This is the great feat of the best popular music. It creates empathy with the listener but expressing the perils of being human, yet the uplifting sound of the music itself and the charm of the singer points to a kind of perfection, or at least a Christian humility. Dealing with adversity with grace and dignity, indeed.

In virtually all the Christian rock I’ve heard, and in the worst pop music today, this equation is destroyed.

Hear, hear.

Remember, folks, one the best ways to “love thy neighbour” is to rock their asses off.

[Thanks to Kathy “Relapsed Catholic” Shaidle for pointing this one out.]

It allows me to control my online identity. And, as the Helen, Sweetheart of the Internet comic strip for May 6th shows, that could soon be very, very important…

Mind you, considering the dutifully-transcribed odd things that often happen around me, I’ll probably get this kind of reaction anyway.

This happened a little while back — shortly after I’d graduated from Queen’s, which puts it sometime in 1995, but it’s memorable advice from a cabbie.

“Life,” he said, “is like cab driving. There are four rules.”

“One: Be fast.”

“Two: Always look for opportunity.”

“Three: Use your horn.”

“Four: Make them afraid.“

…was driving Diamond Taxi number 3091 yesterday at 10:45 a.m.. You get three guesses as to who his unfortunate passenger was.

I was originally going to bike to the spiffy-cool company where I’d interviewed before, but the sky was threatening to rain all over me. I decided to play it smart — or so I thought — and take a cab.

Me: Mowat Street, please. Just off King and a block east of Dufferin.

Cabbie: Uh, where?

Me: Mowat Street. Near King and Dufferin.

Cabbie: Where?

Me: Um, take me to the corner of King and Dufferin.

Cabbie: [looking at me as if I’ve asked for a ride to Mars] King?

Me: Yes. King Street. And Dufferin.

Cabbie: Oh, I’ve heard of that.

If you don’t live in Accordion City, you might not know that this is not an obscure little corner. Both King and Dufferin are major streets in central part of town; these streets are significant enought to each have their own subway station. The fact that the cabbie did not have this fundamental knowledge worried me.

I decided to take a little more charge than what would normally be necessary.

Cabbie: You think I should go south?

Me: Yes, because it’s in that direction.

Cabbie: Uh, okay.

Me: Better still, take Queen Street and go west on that. There’s construction on King. They’re re-laying the streetcar tracks.

The cabbie turned westward on Queen Street. There was the usual amount of morning traffic, the kind you’d expect to see on a major downtown street at about 11 in the morning.

Cabbie: Son of bitch. Fucking hell. Look at this traffic, la!

Me: It’s not so bad. It’s just a red light and a streetcar in front of us.

Cabbie: I will overtake.

The cabbie lead-footed it, trying to get around the streetcar on the right side, but there just wasn’t enough room to accelerate past it. We ended up stuck behind a lane of parked cars.

Cabbie: Stinking shit! I will take better route, la!

Me: Just overtake it when you have more roo–

The cabbie took a right turn onto Augusta and started going north — precisely the opposite direction of where I wanted to go (my destination was south and east of where we were). We ended up at the corner of Dundas and Denison, where he decided to stop — at a green light.

He pulled out a cell phone and placed a call. It was mostly in Hindi, but in the middle of it, he craned his neck to see the street signs.

“something something Dundas and Denison, la, something something something King something something Dufferin something something fucking traffic something something.”

He was phoning someone for directions. Probably not the dispatcher, but a family member or friend.

He hung up and turned to me.

Cabbie: King is south of here.

Me: That’s what I said.

Cabbie: I will U-turn and go south, la!

He turned the cab around, and we headed south. As we approached Queen Street, I suggested we take it west to Dufferin.

Me: Take Queen. There’s construction on King.

Cabbie: But King is farther south, la!

Me: Take…Queen..oh, crap.

It was too late. He turned south on Portland and headed right down to King Street and straight into the construction zone, where traffic had slowed to a crawl.

Cabbie: What the shit?! Fucking hell shit goddamn! I hate this city! I fucking hate fucking driving a fucking cab!

(It’s true. When you immigrate to Canada, the first new words you learn are the swear words; it’s just that the subtleties of arranging them takes a little longer to get. I wanted to use some myself.)

Me: [trying to remain calm] Take…Queen..Street…now. Turn…around…and…take…it.

Cabbie: But you wanted King, la!

Me: Queen..is…parallel…to…King. Take…it…to…Dufferin…and…turn…south.

I got on my phone and told Ross, whom I was going to meet, that I was going to be a little late. “I’m uh, stuck in traffic.” I was sorely tempted to say Hey, Ross, I’d have been there by now, but I’m stuck with a cab driver who has less intelligence than most trout I have eaten.

After making sure that he followed no directions but my own, we finally arrived. The cabbie looked at the sign in front of the building.

Cabbie: What is this place?

Me: It’s an Internet company.

Cabbie: You are into computers, la?

Me: Yes. I’m a programmer.

Cabbie: I am a programmer too! Perhaps you can get me a job here?

Me: Not if I have anything to do with it.

And with that, I walked out of the cab without paying. I entered the building, leaving the cabbie swearing incoherently and honking.

Recommended reading

English as a Second F*cking Language. I swear by this book!

On the discussion Web site Plastic, some evidence that atheists have their own annoying fundamentalists too:

A state historical landmark in Ventura, California recently came under threat from a group of self-proclaimed atheists and agnostics. Apparently this group of citizens have become incensed about a 90-year old cross that sits above the city in a public park. Similar situations have occured elsewhere in California.

The current cross was put in place 90 years ago when the previous cross had rotted. Local historians claim that the original cross had been put in place in the same location over 200 years ago (1782) by a Spanish Priest, Father Junipero Serra. The cross served as a guide to mariners to identify where the city and one of Father Serra’s missions were located.

The group’s claim is, of course, that the cross represents a violation of separation of church and state. Some may feel, however, that it is the duty of the state to maintain it, or any other significant landmark, even if the landmarks have religious implications to any group. City attorneys fear fighting the legal actions of the group will cost the city a million dollars and ultimately fail to save the cross based on similar decisions by the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals. Their solution may be to sell the portion of the park which holds the cross to a private organization to maintain.

I suspect that many of these pointless busybodies protested the Taliban’s destruction of the Buddha statues at Bamiyan (of course not, that’s different).

My own personal feeling is that while the government shouldn’t endorse any specific religion or go about erecting religious symbols, it should maintain sites of historical significance. I think a more reasonable way to view the cross is as a historical artifact that just happens to be a religious significance for some people.

Besides, if you really wanted to take down symbols of oppression, you’d dismantle all those statues of dead white male racist-sexist-homophobic-didn’t-sort-their-recycling-properly-oppressor-pig-dogs.