So we had the Super Bowl last Sunday. I watched it because the Green Bay Packers were in it and I am a fan of that organization, especially since they parted ways with legendary pecker-texter Brett Favre. Aaron Rodgers seems like an upstanding bloke, he’s a brilliant quarterback, and I’m quite pleased that he ended up being the MVP. But this here’s a music blog and we need to talk about the music of Super Bowl XLV because… well, no point in softening the blow: the “music” that I heard at the Super Bowl fucking sucked. It was so awful that I think it literally made life on this planet physically worse while it was being performed.
It all started with former Mickey Mouse Clubber Christina Aguilera (by the way, is she starting to look more like Marilyn Manson or is he starting to look more like her? I can’t decide but, either way, it’s kinda freaking me out) singing our national anthem. It’s been well publicized by now that Aguilera fucked up the words to “The Star Spangled Banner”, which bothers me a lot less than the fact that every year at the Super Bowl and every other major sports championship, we get some trilling, vibrato-abusing pop diva to sing the national anthem and it always always always sounds like utter shit. I have a solution to that problem, but hold on a second because I wanna address something else. I said it doesn’t bother me that much that Aguilera botched the lyrics to the national anthem and that’s absolutely true. The way I see it, someone doing a half-assed job on that song is perfectly reflective of our society right now. The only thing that would’ve been better is if she was uneducated and performing in front of a giant billboard for lap-band surgery (one out of two ain’t bad, I guess). How many of the people who are all up in arms about her missing a line (“o’er the ramparts we watched/ were so gallantly streaming”) don’t know the congressional representative from their district? How many of them are flag-waving Tea Partiers who make less than $250,000 a year and therefore took full benefit of Barack Obama’s Making Work Pay tax cut? Statistically, some of these people gotta fit into this category, which basically means that a bunch of privately stupid motherfuckers are upset at Christina Aguilera for being publicly stupid. Hey, it’s the American way: garbage in, garbage out.
The solution to shitty renditions of “The Star-Spangled Banner” is for the NFL to send scouts around to high schools all across the country and then honoring one marching band by allowing them to perform the national anthem at the Super Bowl. The idea that we need A-list pop stars and American Idol winners for this task is elitist, outmoded, and – perhaps most importantly – fucking stupid. If the Super Bowl is supposed to be a celebration of a great American sport (and sorry, fellow nerds, but I do love football – like American society, it is a compelling mixture of violence and grace), let’s try letting the performance of the national anthem reflect something other than our deeply whack obsession with famous people.
And anyway, people are wasting their time being furious about Aguilera screwing up the national anthem. If you want something musical to be pissed about when it comes to the Super Bowl, look no further than the halftime show. In my lifetime, the Super Bowl halftime show has bloated right up into an annual act of embarrassing auditory terrorism. Last year, “The Who” performed; or rather, Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey’s corpses were somehow animated into clumsily gyrating around while cringe-inducing versions of Who songs were pumped through the loudspeakers.
This year, though, the halftime show reached what will hopefully be its absurd conclusion. Sponsored by Auto-Tune (that’s what I heard, anyway), the halftime show for Super Bowl XLV (that’s Roman for “45”) starred the Black Eyed Peas, a group so musically worthless that I’m beginning to think that they all faked some kind of terminal illness to con the Make-A-Wish Foundation into scoring them a record contract. Seriously, does anyone on earth honestly think there is one jot of talent in the Black Eyed Peas? And if so, what drugs are you using? Hallucinogens that powerful would make my commute much more interesting.
We all know the Super Bowl halftime show should just stop, which of course means that it will never stop (even when there are no more Super Bowls, there will just be an annual horrendous orgy of musical dreck called “Halftime” and people will be too nauseated to wonder where it all came from). Next year, I predict the halftime show will be sponsored by Bud Light with Clamato and will star Justin Bieber, a freshly rehabbed (again) Britney Spears, and a momentarily reunited (also again) Aerosmith. Bieber and Spears will do a duet of Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You, Babe” during which Britney will take a shit in the middle of the stage. In the middle of an embarrassing medley (and really, how could it be otherwise?) of “Cryin’,” “Crazy,” and “Amazing,” Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler will have sex with that pile of crap and, when he’s finished, he’ll congratulate it on being the next American Idol. The big finale will be Glenn Beck, clad in nothing but strategically placed bald eagle feathers, singing “God Bless America” while masturbating onto an American flag. At the moment of climax, he’ll slip on the Spears/Tyler turd idol, fall, and break his legs. All the other performers will manage to fall on top of him and a miscue by the pyrotechnics guy will cause the lot of them to be set on fire. The ensuing conflagration should put an end to the sad parade of failure that the Super Bowl halftime show has been pretty much since they started doing it.
The thing is, folks, the people who put on the Super Bowl every year know what they’re doing. They make the music awful on purpose. I’m not making this up – Christina Aguilera was paid to fuck up the national anthem. Every year, the people who produce the Super Bowl arrange the worst musical atrocities possible in order to test us. Well, they used to do it to test us. Super Bowl music used to serve as a test of our national priorities, but we failed that test during halftime of Super Bowl XXXVIII, when the whole country lost its mind over Janet Jackson’s exposed breast (exposed for all of .07 nanoseconds, or roughly the time it takes Glenn Beck to reach orgasm when jerking off onto an American flag). There was plenty to be upset about in the Super Bowl XXXVIII halftime show, but that anger would have been better directed at Justin Timberlake and Kid Rock, not Janet Jackson’s boobie. When you think about it, having a tit sing into a microphone would be a helluva lot better than listening to Kid Rock.
But we blew it all those years ago and now, as punishment, every Super Bowl from here unto the end of time will feature the worst fucking music you’ve ever heard. Way to go, America.