January 2008

A Running Diarrhea of the 41st Annual CMA Awards

An engineer friend of mine looked up from his less than average lunch, let out a soft burp, and said, “that was like eating a monkey’s ass in a hot, sweaty circus tent.”

The world is full of things we don’t want to do, and that’s why I haven’t deleted the November 7th broadcast of the Country Music Association awards from my DVR. And thus we begin the 20th iteration of this column’s slow death march through roughly 3 hours of hillbilly pop drivel.

I have been noticeably absent from these pages. The reasons are many, and, at the same time, shallow. But what can I say? Sometimes life gets in the way of calling Kenny Chesney a talentless piece of shit 3 to 12 times a week.

YOU know he’s a talentless piece of shit, and I certainly know he’s a talentless piece of shit…so sometimes we all have to regroup and figure out new ways to call a spade a spade.

So, in the words of Bob Dylan…”awww Mamma, can this really be the end…”

This is a running diary, so bear with me…

I’m sorry, I was about to begin typing, but I was struck dumb the by the disco-cum-Little River-Band 70’s silliness of Rascall Flatt’s opening number. We should get this out of the way early. Current Country is mired in a god awful tribute to 70’s pop, and not the good 70’s pop. They’re basically taking about 3 songs that were played over and over again on the radio in the crux of when AM gave way to FM and dressing it up with one guy in a cowboy hat and calling it Country. Oh, and Rascall Flatts fucking sucks. That wasn’t a country song at all.

A quick flash to Keith and Nicole. She looks like plaster of paris.

Some dumbass from Desperate Housewives introduces the show.

Miranda Lambert singing “The Night the Lights went Out in Georgia.” What’s that you say? She’s singing some other song. Oh, I’m sorry. She’s in a sequined dress wearing silver knee high boots and starts out with a little prologue and then the band kicks in, double forte about shotguns and other shit. “The Night the Lights went out in Georgia.” Welcome back to the 70’s. Glad that’s over

Cheryl Crowe to present an award. Jesus, what’s she wearing? Single of the Year. Nominees: Martina McBride and some histrionic shit, Before He Cheats, Underwear, some stupid song by Big and Stupid, Brad Paisley, George Strait. The American Idol mass psychosis experiment straight from Hemler’s playbook wins. Was she still fucking Tony Romo on November 7th?

I’m going to let some commercials run, because I just found out Jammie Foxx is on this program. And why not? I mean, we all gave up on it meaning anything a long time ago.

The idiot from Desperate Housewives again. The thing is, he’s not telling dumb jokes, he’s just hosting, so I should probably cut him some slack. He just called George Strait the King of Country, though. It’s cool if maybe you’re in Tonganoxie and George is playing the high school gym to call him that. But is he really the King of Country?

He lost the beat for a fraction of second about halfway in. And he’s not even pretending to play his guitar. This is what I’m talking about. Why even bring a guitar out? I mean, if you’re George fucking Strait, just fake it. I don’t know any of the songs tonight, by the way. How bout them cowgirls? Who gives a fuck?

So that was pretty sub standard for George. But he gets a pass for historical reasons.

And here they are, Montgomery Gentry. In case you didn’t know, the dipshit in the Elvis coat killed a domesticated bear cub named “Cubby” in this state and videotaped the whole thing. He’s a cowardly cocksucker and looks like a fucking moron in that jacket. They’re introducing Song of the Year. This is for the songwriters. This is great, because Bill Anderson, Buddy Cannon and some other guy won. Buddy Cannon sent me an email once telling me to write about “monkeys fucking in a zoo.” I shit you not. The young dumbass who wrote it with him thanked his ex-wife, and everyone laughed like it was an original joke. And the dumb shit from Desperate Housewives acted like it was original too. Hey you fucking morons, George Jones did it 30 fucking some years ago.

I don’t know who this is performing, Taylor something or other. Brittney something or other. Nashville is always about ten years behind on stuff. LeAnn Rimes was Nashville’s answer to Debbie Gibson, ten years later. So now this Taylor Pederast-magnet is Nashville’s answer to Brittney. She’ll be piling out of limos with no panties on in no time.

Sara Evans…what can we say? Porn, Dancing with the stars, drunk idiot husband…they cut her off with some marching band for some reason. This is really fucking stupid. Why did a marching band just intro Brad Paisley? Honestly, I just don’t know.

I’ve said it before, Brad Paisley doesn’t suck. This is a real country band here. They’re not dressed like peacocks. For some reason the Matrix number thing is on the screens behind him. Some fucking genius who produced and/or directed this show came up with that one. One of those geniuses sent me an email once telling me I was a stupid shit. I’m telling you this, Taylor Swift is going to end up in a London tabloid, wide open beaver shot. This performance was actually kinda funny.

Sara Evans again…looks tired from all the porn…

It’s about time, Alison Krauss…this gets a 10.

Commercials…Sara Evans again…looks refreshed from all the porn…

Here come Big and Rich. Fur coats and bull horns. I can’t overemphasize how fucking stupid this is. I would say we’re catering to the lowest common denominator here, but that would be insulting the lowest common denominator. You know who this appeals to? People who drool on themselves and eat chicken wings as the main course of a meal more than 4 times a week. Is today jell-o day and no one told me? Jesus fucking Christ.

You know what? Pause. “We like it Loud,” or whatever that fucking song was called was written for one reason…to make a commercial out of it somehow. It will be the soundtrack to some commercial for some steroid induced, testosterone soaked bullshit thing like 4x4 pickups or condoms or male body spray. Fuck you Big N Rich, you are the cocksuckers who are most at fault for murdering country music right now. Eat shit and die, both of you.

On with the show…

Sara Evans…showing ennui as she says the phrase “bumper crop,”…from the porn…

Two mullets and an idiot in a shark skin lapel jacket to announce vocal group of the year.

Rascall Flatts won of course. Why? Because the members of the CMA are fucking dildos.

Someone named Rodney Adkins. Now, as Sara “Behind the Green Door” Evans was introducing him, there was some video playing of him in the background, that the fucknut director of the program made completely sure showed the Chevy logo on the hub cap followed by the brand name Tahoe. This song, performance, and “artist” are nothing but a product placement. Thanks Gregg Swedberg, your dream has come true.

Some chick from TV is now the host. She made a joke about getting fucked later, and no one got it.

Carrie Underwood. I get the feeling Faith Hill would choke her to death if she could get away with it. Carrie’s really stealing her mantle…Barbie Doll with one dimensional talent, looks good in an evening gown, can gesture melodramatically while she sings a borderline 70’s pop song about the man who done her wrong. This sucks. Thank god for fast forward.

Hey! Vince Gill. Something about songwriters. Oh shit. He introduced the Eagles. How I feel about this is its own column. I can’t watch this, so I’m going to fast forward.

The tv chick I don’t know introduces the country Wham. “God Must be Busy.” This oughta be good. Does Martina McBride know they stole this song from her? Doesn’t she have the market cornered on this shit? Fuck.

Look, after fast forwarding, now the tv chick I don’t know is introducing Jason Aldean. And, while she’s talking, there’s another video in the background show him ass-fucking a Chevy truck, logo and all. So it’s not about the music at all, is it Jason? Fuck you too. I’m not even going to listen to your performance. This might be the all fast forward diary, this year.

Holy fucking shit, he has the word “Cash” in big letters behind him. Is he saying he’s paying tribute to Johnny Cash with that? Well fuck him. It’s absolutely absurd on its face. Fuck you Jason Aldean, that was tawdry and embarrassing.

Vocal duo of the year award.

Sugarland. Whatever.

Dwight Yoakam lowers himself to introduce someone. I’m pretty sure he’s half in the bag. Introducing Sugarland. I’m gonna go ahead and fast forward.

Oh shit, Dwight again. Genuine heartache over Porter Wagoner. Now that was classy. Probably the only classy thing that will happen on this show.

Now he has to intro the Album of the Year award.

I just want to point out that I savaged Dirks Bentley for his curly hair last year in this column and now his hair his short.

George Strait wins. Good for him. The guy up on stage with him is dressed like a cocaine dealer from the early 80’s. Seriously, I expect James Woods to walk up to him at any moment and buy an 8 ball.

LeAnn Rimes makes fun of Brittney, which was kinda hot. But then introduces Martina McBride. I’m going to guess, starving, parentless kids with disabilities affected by violence in some way…let’s all play along, shall we?

Honestly, this woman has no shame. I was joking above, but I was right. I swear to god, it was just a guess. Martina McBride, what does it take to embarrass you? Will you ever sing one song about getting drunk and getting fucked? Or is it all just puppy dogs and angels?

LeAnn’s dress smashes her boobs down awkwardly. She looks odd.

Keith “Hiccup” Urban. I’m 90% certain this was either a Little River Band or James Taylor song. There are roughly 20 chicks in shadow in a building façade behind him, playing violins. Okay. See, Keith stopped doing coke, but the producers of this show did not. “What we need…snort, sniff…is 20 chicks with violins behind Keith…snort, sniff…that shit would be hot…snort, sniff…”

Carrie Underwood. Horizon Award. The award that means you have “truly” arrived. What this award really means is that you can fuck a chevy truck in the ass on a video like no one else.

Taylor Swift wins. 2 years, tops, wide open beaver, just wait until she meets Mr. Jaegermeister.

LeAnn in a dress that makes her look female. She and Reba are about to sing “The Night the Lights went out in Georgia.” I’m going to fast forward, but I bet there’s a Dr. Pepper subliminal frame somewhere in this performance…black helicopter shit for sure…

Little Big Town…I mean, the Starland Vocal Band…I mean, Little Big Town…I mean, the Starland Vocal Band…fuck this, just sing “Afternoon Delight” and get it fucking over with…

Hey Dierks, where did the long curls go? Female vocalist of the year.

Carrie Underwood. She hopes Faith Hill doesn’t kneecap her in the parking lot.

Hall of Fame. Ralph Emery…Mel Tillis…Vince Gill. Excellent choices, all.

Brad Paisley’s chick. She was funny last year. Oh well, not this year. Plus, she just introduced the anti-christ.

So here we go. How is this different from any song he’s ever sung? Why is he wearing slacks and loafers? What the fuck is this? Did we all just give up? We’re not even trying any more. “High school sweetheart” is actually a phrase in this song. Why? Because this is Kenny Chesney, Inc. He’s a product, deliverable to a radio station near you. Congratulations Gregg Swedberg, all your dreams have come true.

Paisley’s chick again. Introducing Josh Turner.

Josh Turner is really just George Strait with a deep voice, right? He’s okay though. He’s actually trying to play a country song right now, which is more than I can say for the competition.

After Josh sang, they did the radio station awards. You should all burn in hell. Fuck you all. You’re all part of the problem.

Paisley’s chick, introducing someone named Kelly Pickler. Trying to take the Faith Hill award from Carrie Underwood. Doesn’t she know that there’s a pecking order to this whole bleach blond in an evening gown wailing about love schtick? Her left ear piece fell out and looks like a goddamned special effect on her neck. The lighting guy gave her a chance to stick it back in her ear, but she artfully declined. All the chicken wing eaters would be staring at her tits right now, if they could get their eyes off that ear piece. They all want to go grab a Q-tip out of their mother’s bathrooms and jam it in their ears for some reason right now. Which won’t be hard, because they’re all living in their mother’s basements, masturbating furtively to Kelly Pickler videos on CMT. She cries at the end because that ear piece was out of her ear.

Male vocalist of the year, presented by Gretchen Wilson and Kidd Rock. He’s high. Look at his eyes. She’s not, and she’s pissed she’s not. She will be later.

Brad Paisley wins. Good for him. He hugs Satan right after winning. I wonder if he smelled sulfur. Fuck you Kenny.

Chris Carr won the Major Market personality award. Good for him. Stand up guy. He works for a bunch of gutless shitheels, especially his main boss. But he’s trying.

So, here comes proof positive that it’s all going to hell. We find out that Gary LeVox and Jamie Foxx were roommates somewhere early in life, yada yada yada. Which just shows this is all part of some sinister plot, cooked up to put product ahead of organic art. It’s stardom first, roots second. This might as well be Kenny Rogers and Lionel Richie singing a Leo Sayer song right now. Fucking Christ. Can I die now?

I’m fast forwarding through this. I’m asking myself one question. Is this even Country? In any way shape or form? It’ can’t be. Just can’t.

Thank god, show’s almost over, Entertainer of the Year.

Satan wins. Oh well. Fuck him, fuck this show. Fuck Nashville. This column isn’t even creative. You’ve lowered yourself, and in the process, lowered me. I’m more ashamed of myself than you at this point. Someday, God will smile and Country music will come out of Nashville once again. Delete.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 27, 2008 1:07 AM

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