photo credit: HAWK KRALL

Spin on This, Motherfakers

Authenticity is an illusion chased by idiots.

by Steven Wells

The stupidest phrase in the English language is “keeping it real.” Especially when spoken by a DJ. It’s not just that any statement made by a person whose job could be more cheaply and efficiently done by a tape deck is by definition stupid. It’s because the DJ is invariably talking about dance music. In what way could it possibly be real?

Do you find it on the beach, carved out of driftwood by the forces of nature? Does it grow from the rain-and-sun-soaked earth? Or is it made on computers by polyester-wearing, pasty-faced geeks, off their twitching tits on laboratory-made disco drugs?

Authenticity in culture is an illusion chased by idiots. Culture is contrived and constructed—that’s how you tell it apart from nature. But still millions of boys with appalling haircuts cling to the idea that the culture they construct is somehow more real than that made by, say, Jessica Simpson.

Take Philly band Spin. Hoo boy, they’re so real I had to invent a new genre just for them—Bands Whose Members Are All Uglier Than I Am (BWMAAUTIA). Seriously, it’s like they’re all bassists or something. And how cool is that?

Close your eyes and think of the best shag you ever had. It was an ugly person, right? Of course it was. Ugs are top shags because they have to be. Ditto musicians. That’s why I’m all but certain Philly band Spin are hot shags and fantastic songwriters. But there’s no way I’m going to play their just-released eponymous EP. Hell no, I like my music written by puglies but sung by beauties. Like Jessica Simpson. That’s the way God planned it; that’s the way he wants it to be.

Spin’s press release is like a dummy’s guide to why modern rock sucks. Take the stupendously dumb line: “Edgy modern pop/rock band Spin like to joke that being nationally sponsored by Jagermeister contractually obliges them to drink in excess at their 150-plus shows a year.”

Way to go, PR company. That’s six different kinds of assholeishness in one sentence, which might be a record. Where to start? What if you play 150 gigs a year and you’re still shit, but your cute little sister gets up and does an awesome Britney karaoke, despite never having been onstage before? Do you still win because you’ve paid your dues and have the authentic reek of sweat, road sex and chemical toilets about you? Really?

One last thing—you can accept corporate sponsorship or you can be edgy, but nobody has ever looked edgy with a corporation’s cock down their throat.

Let’s be realistic.