As I mentioned the other day, Clan Mondo went to Real City on Friday, and we took Mrs. M’s car, which meant I had contemporary country music inflicted upon me on the way home. Current country hits being what they are, I got to hear a substantial amount of what is called “bro-country”, which seems to revolve around a redneck apotheosis of getting some “girl” (in tight jeans that have been cut off to a greater or lesser extent) to “shake that thang” on a tailgate/by the creek/at the field party/around a tractor while the speaking persona drinks in a manly fashion. For more on this trend, go here.
I have no problem with any of these activities, singly or in combination — it’s still a free country, more or less, and I do live in Mondoville. However, even a half-hour of this stuff at a relentless 120 bpm, with a bass drum louder than the fiddle and vocals with the vile stench of autotune, was enough to make me claw the windows.
As a consequence, I took a break from Gradeapalooza Saturday night and wrote the following:
I heard some guys with pickup trucks
Who sang to girls in cut-off jeans –
They’d trade some beer for feminine attention.
They said that they were country boys –
I shook my head because I knew
Merle would have kicked their asses in San Quentin.
Half-sung, half spoken, they were backed
By drums from old Def Leppard tracks;
They said they wanted girls to ride their tractors.
They’ve got high cheekbones, washboard abs –
The music? Well, that’s up for grabs.
They say it’s country. I say, manufactured.
CH: Crank up the bass drum! Autotune!
Cause it don’t matter – you can ruin
Everything Hank Williams ever wrote.
And if you boys have sex appeal
You’ll get yourself a record deal!
Dead guys like Jones and Cash don’t get a vote…
We got some more bro-country to promote.
They’ll cut off sleeves, wear baseball caps –
Producers fix the sharps and flats.
Let’s bring a rapper in to do the hook.
We’ll fill the honky-tonks and bars
With booty calls and steel guitars.
Buck Owens? Was he someone in a book?
I thought that country started with Garth Brooks.
Round up some girls and pop a cold one.
Dance while the DJ plays an old one:
This song goes clear on back to Twenty-twelve.
Now here’s another bro-co track
That might as well be Nickelback.
Yo, buddy! I can’t sing, but check these delts!
Hey girl, you look good in that top –
You know I’d like to see it drop.
It ain’t date rape – just parties in a field.
We’ll all just shake it by the creek,
Ers, and act just like our country music’s real –
Not just another big machine-made deal.