How About Scorched EAR?

Atherton's recent post on Scorched Dick got me thinking about how sex is not the only thing in life that we can be numbed to from experiencing the best of the best. Pardon me for a second as I adventure out from between the sheets (relax, I'm sure I'll be smutty in my next post, mmkay?)

I want to talk about music. Concerts, specifically. My favorite artist of all time is a man named Ellis Paul, he is a Boston Folksinger who has had his music on numerous movies including Me, Myself and Irene and Liar, Liar.

When Ellis Paul comes to town, he plays small venues. Ones that can seat about 150 - 250 people comfortably. Where drink service and food are provided. He gets up on the stage and proceeds to converse with the people in the house. He often forgoes the mic and sometimes walks into the aisles to perform.

Here's one of his most popular songs, The World Ain't Slowin' Down:



Seeing Ellis live, for me, is much like the sex Atherton described in his post. A night with Ellis Paul is like the best vocal, aural sex you've ever had in your life. You leave with your mind blown.

It is because of intimate, personal, spectacular experiences like Ellis Paul that I've became very, very conscious of the empty, unfortunate nature of pop music today. First off, we have Britney Spears and her currently touring Circus act:



This is the beginning of her show. Notice the millions of screaming fans... yelling their heads off at a pre-filmed (and poorly written) video. Then notice how small Britney appears, totally overwhelmed by her giant "three ring" stage, gyrating dancers, and acrobats.

Of course no one is surprised (as blog buddy Pat mentions in his concert review) that Miz Spears lip synchs her entire performance - from patter to chorus. But just take a look at this. In the huge venue, and without her voice or exciting dance moves to show off, they must surround her with circus freaks, sexy dancers, smoke jets and fire.

It's the Wizard of Oz all over again. Pay no attention to the washed up pop diva with her pussy hanging out!



But it's not just Britney that today's music industry is trying to surround with spectacle. The Jonas Brothers, for example, are CLEARLY not entertaining as they stand there, strumming on their guitars, so the concert director decided to LEVITATE THEM THIRTY FEET OFF THE STAGE.



And, much like Atherton with his scorched dick, I look at all this spectacle and just feel empty. Sure all of the pretty colors and special effects should be knocking me on my ass. But all I think is "this lady does the exact same thing in every state.

She's not singing... she's not even talking!" It's a connect-the-dots, pre-planned and orchestrated game of Twister. Sure maybe she wouldn't sound good... so what? If I paid 100+ dollars for a chance to see Britney (note: I would never) I'd want to hear her warble and butcher her own notes. Because at least it's REAL.

But, luckily for me - my scorched music dick is easily cured. While some people might not be able to reprise the best sex they've ever had, I know that Ellis will return to New York twice every year. And you can bet I'll be there front row, talking with him, and singing the chorus to "3,000 Miles"