JAM: August/September 2000 Issue: From The Spit Valve

"I'd Like To Thank the Academy..."
I was updating my résumé recently and realized that I'd failed to include a very important honor. You see, in late 1999 I was the recipient of the "I-Can't-Help-It-If-You're-Not-As-Famous-As-Your-Brother Award" as bestowed upon me by Pitch Weekly's Music Editor Jon Niccum. Seems all my whining about the name of PW's music awards show ("The Klammies") finally went too far and Niccum felt the need to punish me by pointing out something everyone else has pretty much known since 1975.

But, that's last century's news. Bygones.

Thing is, this award, personal as it seemed to be, was nothing compared to a spiteful review I received in another "alternative" publication several years ago. Who was it who once said that if a critic likes you he's a genius, but if he hates you he's an idiot? The author of the following is clearly more the latter than the former, which makes him a perfect candidate for guesting on trash-TV talk shows, bobbing for fries, or maybe even handing out phony awards in Pitch. But, I digress...

-- MM

Mike Metheny
EMBOUCHURE OF DOOM
Overbite 6-5000

Personnel: Metheny, electric trumpet, cheesy synths, other offensive mechanical devices; Roger Clinton, Frank Stallone, Joey Travolta, Gap Mangione and LaToya Jackson, background vocals; unidentified obscure 3-chord session musicians; sampled zoo animal mating grunts
Tracks: Razors Blades & Bebop; I'm Not Heavy, He's My Brother; Ode to Billy Carter; Sphincter Boy; Pitch THIS (Gen X Mo-fo)

It's hard to know what to make of this album. Is it merely a blending of the disparate elements of heavy metal and country club background music? Or is it a follow up to Metheny's saccharine and overly sentimental 1992 effort, From Then 'Til Now, a forgettable plunge into the gooey abyss of musical autobiography and unsolicited personal revelation?

From the outset of Embouchure Of Doom we know attention spans will be tested and listener sensibilities dissolved. Witness "Razor Blades & Bebop," a disjointed attempt to write a bop line to Gesualdo's "Die, Unfaithful Harlot." Even the overdubbing of the aberrant sonic experiments of a thrashing band of metalheads can't salvage this dismal track.

Or what about the parody of "He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother" with droning vocals from a chorus of musical wannabes like Metheny who, without the advantage of a famous last name, would be sitting on rain-swept park benches discussing the finer points of existential angst with defecating pigeons.

And then there's "Sphincter Boy," much like "I'm Not Heavy...", another plagiarism lawsuit waiting to happen. From the opening strains of Metheny's lone vocal on this album, we know we are in for a more-than-we-need-to-know description of the alienation suffered by a middle-aged, baby boomer bed wetter. ("There was a boy/A very strange incont'nent boy...")

To the chase. Embouchure of Doom is a sorry collection of sloppy clichés mixed with a derivative mish-mash of cloying and monotonous expositions destined to whimper from ceiling Muzak systems in shopping malls.

Sorry, Mike, but I'd rather listen to a flatulent 400 pound circus fat lady play "Feelings" on the bagpipes than endure the swill that oozes from the quagmire of your giddy, pubescent and pathological imagination.

-- Maynard LeBlanc

Maynard LeBlanc is an aspiring writer and trumpeter whose surname was copped from the horn that will someday make a fine lamp. His greatest ambition is to miss enough notes to receive a "Lifetime Achievement" award at the Klammies, and we understand that he is well on his way.

(Portions of the above previously appeared in The Duck, The Midwest's Journal of Wit and Humor and are reprinted with permission. -- Ed.)

RETURN TO AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2000 MAIN INDEX

© Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved.






	Search our site:		"I'd Like To Thank the Academy..." I was updating my résumé recently and realized that I'd failed to include a very important honor. You see, in late 1999 I was the recipient of the "I-Can't-Help-It-If-You're-Not-As-Famous-As-Your-Brother Award" as bestowed upon me by Pitch Weekly's Music Editor Jon Niccum. Seems all my whining about the name of PW's music awards show ("The Klammies") finally went too far and Niccum felt the need to punish me by pointing out something everyone else has pretty much known since 1975. But, that's last century's news. Bygones. Thing is, this award, personal as it seemed to be, was nothing compared to a spiteful review I received in another "alternative" publication several years ago. Who was it who once said that if a critic likes you he's a genius, but if he hates you he's an idiot? The author of the following is clearly more the latter than the former, which makes him a perfect candidate for guesting on trash-TV talk shows, bobbing for fries, or maybe even handing out phony awards in Pitch. But, I digress... -- MM Mike Metheny EMBOUCHURE OF DOOM Overbite 6-5000 Personnel: Metheny, electric trumpet, cheesy synths, other offensive mechanical devices; Roger Clinton, Frank Stallone, Joey Travolta, Gap Mangione and LaToya Jackson, background vocals; unidentified obscure 3-chord session musicians; sampled zoo animal mating grunts Tracks: Razors Blades & Bebop; I'm Not Heavy, He's My Brother; Ode to Billy Carter; Sphincter Boy; Pitch THIS (Gen X Mo-fo) It's hard to know what to make of this album. Is it merely a blending of the disparate elements of heavy metal and country club background music? Or is it a follow up to Metheny's saccharine and overly sentimental 1992 effort, From Then 'Til Now, a forgettable plunge into the gooey abyss of musical autobiography and unsolicited personal revelation? From the outset of Embouchure Of Doom we know attention spans will be tested and listener sensibilities dissolved. Witness "Razor Blades & Bebop," a disjointed attempt to write a bop line to Gesualdo's "Die, Unfaithful Harlot." Even the overdubbing of the aberrant sonic experiments of a thrashing band of metalheads can't salvage this dismal track. Or what about the parody of "He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother" with droning vocals from a chorus of musical wannabes like Metheny who, without the advantage of a famous last name, would be sitting on rain-swept park benches discussing the finer points of existential angst with defecating pigeons. And then there's "Sphincter Boy," much like "I'm Not Heavy...", another plagiarism lawsuit waiting to happen. From the opening strains of Metheny's lone vocal on this album, we know we are in for a more-than-we-need-to-know description of the alienation suffered by a middle-aged, baby boomer bed wetter. ("There was a boy/A very strange incont'nent boy...") To the chase. Embouchure of Doom is a sorry collection of sloppy clichés mixed with a derivative mish-mash of cloying and monotonous expositions destined to whimper from ceiling Muzak systems in shopping malls. Sorry, Mike, but I'd rather listen to a flatulent 400 pound circus fat lady play "Feelings" on the bagpipes than endure the swill that oozes from the quagmire of your giddy, pubescent and pathological imagination. -- Maynard LeBlanc Maynard LeBlanc is an aspiring writer and trumpeter whose surname was copped from the horn that will someday make a fine lamp. His greatest ambition is to miss enough notes to receive a "Lifetime Achievement" award at the Klammies, and we understand that he is well on his way. (Portions of the above previously appeared in The Duck, The Midwest's Journal of Wit and Humor and are reprinted with permission. -- Ed.) RETURN TO AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2000 MAIN INDEX © Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved.