depopulated:

in memoriam: your m.o.r. vanilla latte soundtrack

Posted in music by eddie on February 26, 2009
muzak

ding-dong, you're DEAD

Turns out the economy isn’t such a monster after all.  Muster all your might to restrain the river of tears: Muzak, the scourge of chain restaurant workers, retail employees and elevator operators across the globe, has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

In hindsight, “Muzak” was such an accurate spelling for the company; they managed to butcher songs that I once adored, constantly repeat ones that caused me to heavily consider killing small animals, and introduce me to ones that made me consider ending it all in self-inflicted spork-stabbing carnage.

Muzak didn’t cruise the middle of the road, they paved it. They pumped gallons of milque all over your toast. Here’s a rundown of the aural snot we all grew far too accustomed to listening to while trying to innocently shop or eat:

Awful jazz covers of Top-40 songs: If hearing something like “Soak Up the Sun” by Sheryl Crow gave you any sort of positive imagery of being at the beach or playing volleyball with your bros, hearing the jazz rendition is akin to swimming in your bedpan at the geriatric ward during a four-finger prostate exam while watching public access television.

Just plain awful “smooth jazz”: If you think about it, “smooth jazz” is kind of an oxymoron; jazz was meant to be rough around the edges and challenging. After decades of pissing all over John Coltrane’s grave, hopefully Muzak will be buried thousands of miles from it.

“I’ll Be” by Edwin McCain: Maybe this was particular to my own place of work, but for a song that never registered more than a “meh” on my irritation scale, hearing this asshole prophesize about the future is worse than shaving Miss Cleo’s armpits.  Probably the whiniest song ever written.  Not to mention he stole a valuable domain name from honest Edwins worldwide.

Indie-lite covers of Beatles songs: It was either a licensing issue or Across the Universe syndrome, but Muzak somehow furthered the careers of dozens of spineless coffee-shop douchetards at the expense of the greatest band of all time. Blasphemy of the highest order; in fact, if  you ever witness some watered-down schmuck on a stool trying to re-create “Strawberry Fields Forever,” point to some Bible passage and keep stoning till you get spasms.

“Closer to Free” by the Bodeans: What do you get when your boring freshman year algebra teacher gets a guitar for his 46th birthday present and finds three other boring lame-ass middle-aged dudes at a teachers’ conference?  “EVERYBODY ONE! / EVERYBODY TWO!!! / EVERYBODY FREEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

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