Sunday, December 24, 2006

Christmas Comes But Once a Year

Ok, so when I first saw Jet as an opening act –before their first record had even come out—I’ll admit I was not impressed. I found them laughably derivative and thought they took themselves way too seriously. Then came Get Born, and “Are You Gonna be My Girl?”. It rocked. But the song quickly became ubiquitous to the point of being annoying. And later on that summer, when I saw them at the poorly conceived Across the Narrows Festival, they had graduated to arena rock level, complete with ponderous light show and annoying posturing, and so I wrote them off.

Flash forward to two days ago. I am driving home after a particularly crappy day at work. I am tired and cranky and well, a bit shall we say, on edge. I have the radio on but am not really paying attention. All of a sudden I hear this voice that sounds like Bon Scott and this groove that knocks me on my ass. And then the lyrics kick in, and I remember why I fucking love me some AC/DC: because they were the masters of the fire down below.

Yes folks, believe it or not, crotch rock is not now and has never been just for the male of the species. We women folk like it too. But it needs to be dirty, it needs to groove, and it needs a voice. You know, the kind that makes you wanna…Bon Scott had that. Even his replacement Brian Johnson had it. But I thought that once those guys faded away, there would be no more songs that hit you right between the legs like that. No rock band appealed to both men and women like they did--at least in my humble opinion--and no one ever would.

I was wrong. That dude Nic Cester from Jet can bring it. “Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is” is the hottest thing since, like, Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal making out in Brokeback Mountain. No kidding, man. I almost had to pull the car over. Had to go get the record, had to put it in the CD player and drive around and hit repeat a few times. (Yeah, it’s been a while….) It’s as good as when Bruce does that thing with his hips, or when Prince hits that screamy falsetto, or when you are the recipient of a really hot kiss and you get all warm and shaky and your brains get scrambled and your legs turn to jello. Hell, it’s almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

So thank you Jet for making Christmas 2006—when I am even more cranky and cynical than usual, when I walk around muttering curses about the shallowness, stupidity and greed of the American public and cursing humanity in general—the most wonderful time of the year. Ever since I bought Jet’s Shine On, I have been driving around and listening to “Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is” and thinking about, well, you know. And for that, I thank them.

Christmas comes but once a year. Me, on the other hand, well…

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