Not all music should be a challenge, but there is something to be said for a band that makes you overcome obstacles within yourself, even if those obstacles are only personal taste. A good chef knows that a dish that is entirely sweet, without a little salt, tang, or bitterness, will get old fast.
I tend to gravitate towards music that is not immediately accessible, that lures me in with the sweetness of familiarity only to offend my sensibilities in some manner with the tang of the new, the bitterness of the dissonant, the saltiness of the weird. By the time I realize my danish has a rhubarb filling, I have probably already bitten off a huge piece, and so I might as well give it a good chew. Likely as not, my pallet will be pleasantly expanded.
Basically, what I am saying is that I like it rough. I want my music to talk to me dirty, make animal noises, tell me to shut up and look away, maybe even slap me around a little bit. Listening to the band Yuck, on the other hand, is approximately equivalent to making love with Frankie Muniz, missionary position, while Rebecca Black looks on and reads aloud excerpts of Eat, Pray, Love.
I am an extremely close-minded person, therefore writing reviews is a helpful exercise in looking at music with objectivity, and thus, again, expanding my own pallet to an extent. I think of all the people I know who would really love the mediocre indie-pop album I signed up for, and though it puts me to sleep, I am able to look at it with the objective understanding of what makes good indie-pop. I did not give Yuck the most positive of reviews, but I did try really hard, probably harder than they deserve, to find some redeeming aspects of their music to latch on to. This whole take-two business, however, seems to be an ideal venue for venting some good old close-minded subjectivity, and so I just wanted to talk a bit of shit on one of the most boring, mediocre bands I have ever heard.
Listening to the band Yuck…[is like] making love with Frankie Muniz, missionary position, while Rebecca Black looks on and reads aloud excerpts of Eat, Pray, Love.
Because there is so much great indie-pop, there is, as a law, about 100 times as much shitty indie-pop, and given the nature of the genre, it is hard for a lot of people to tell them apart. Yuck follow all of the right formulas, but they still suck. Indie-pop requires some real energy, or at least some decent lyrics. They have neither. I have never seen them live, but after watching a couple videos, like the one below, I think I get the picture.
Take a good look at the guitarist/backup vocalist. It looks like he is having about as much fun as Rebecca Black desperately trying to sound out the word “meditation” while watching Frankie Munez softly thrusting his body-pillow as he gently recites lyrics from The New Radicals’ “You Get What You Give”. Yuck is currently on tour, but I won’t be able to make it. I will be busy staying at home, curled up on the couch in my foot-pajamas (periwinkle blue) with some popcorn (not too salty please!) and warm milk (skim, of course), watching reruns of Malcom in the Middle, and absentmindedly touching myself. During commercials, however, I’ll be watching this guy blow Yuck out of the water with his stage presence.