This was originally written back in mid-2004. However, I like to dredge it up from time to time. Why? I think people forget how bad music was just before the Digital Age. At the time, the labels would wait for one to have a hit and then immediately sign bands which sounded similar in an effort, flooding the market with cheap knockoffs of bands already based on gimmicks. The concept of the album had already degraded into two radio-friendly tunes buttressed by nine to twelve filler tracks. And the labels wondered why people started to cherrypick the “good” ones.
“Hey man, what’s that music in that Gap commercial?”
“I think it’s called ’swing’ music.”
“It’s kinda cool. Isn’t that what that guy from that Stray Cats band is doing now?”
“Brian Setzer?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t he like leading an orchestra or something?”
“Yeah, but I think his new CD is ’swing’.”
“You know, Cool Ass Steve listens to lotsa different kinds of music. We should ask him.”
Pause for phone call
“Hey Cool Ass Steve, what’s up?”
“Hanging out cat, swinging daddy-o.”
“Is that swing music in the background?”
“Don’t be a square daddy-o. That’s Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.”
“Voodoo what?”
“It’s swing music. I gotta split hep-cat, me and the Misses are gonna go to swing dancin’.”
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Lessons daddy, lessons. Flyin’.”
The phone is hung up.
“Dude, we should take swing dancing lessons.”
“Will it get us chicks?”
A few months later…
“Hey hep-cat did you see that new video from some band called No Doubt?”
“Sure did Daddy-o. That chick is one smashin’ Betty.”
“What’s her little tunes called?”
“Got me pops, let’s call Hep-Cat Steve.”
Pause for phone call.
“Hiyo, Hep-Cat Steve.”
“That’s so yesterday, bra.”
“Hey, you heard of No Doubt?”
“Who hasn’t man? Mainstream ska-rock from Anaheim. Gwen’s smokin’ bra.”
“Ska-rock?”
“It’s ska bra, just ska.”
“I can’t hear you, over those trumpets Hep-Cat Seve.”
“I’m outta here man, off to go see Reel Big Fish.”
“You’re going fishing?”
The phone is hung up.
“Well, what did he say?”
“Something about ska, it was hard to hear over the trumpets. It’s kinda like Swing, only not all 1940s and old.”
A few months later…
“Bra, what’s up with this “Living La Vida Loca”?”
“Damn man, I don know. Kinda makes me want to dance, right?”
“Sounds all Mexican. Spicy. But look at those chicks.”
“We should call Steve-o Bra.”
Pause for phone call.
“Steve-o Bra?”
“Si?”
“See?”
“It means yes, essa. Yes. Was goin’ on?”
“Why you talking like that?”
“Been listening to Ricky Martin, I’m all caught up in the Latin Vibe.”
“Latin Vibe? Is that contagious?”
“It’s muy caliente.”
“Sounds painful.”
“I can’t talk long, the Senorita and I are off to see Marc Anthony.”
“The guy who replaced Caesar?”
The phone is hung up.
“Well, what’s Steve-o Bra sayin?”
“He kept going on about Mexico and Caesar and Romans.”
“He’s crazy, that Steve-o”
A few months later.
“So, have you heard of this new band, Creed?” …
Bradley Robb likes TV and books, and has an intense dislike for cinnamon. Once, Bradley stopped a Soviet T-60 with his middle finger. Bradley writes speculative fiction and edits Fiction Matters, and never really got the hang of talking about himself in the third person.