Dear Facebook Friend,
Your band sucks. Really, it’s horrible. It’s very obvious that you heard the first Counting Crows album back in 1994 and you decided it was the second coming of the Beatles. You never got it out of your head. I’m guessing your college days consisted of quite a bit of fondling while that album was playing in the background, so there are probably plenty of good memories that you associate with long, whining diatribes like “Raining in Baltimore.” Me, I liked that album plenty, but I always find it pretentious when a band uses their own name as a lyric in one of their songs. Especially if its not their big song. So, unless your band is Big Country, don’t use a lyric for your band name.
Anyway, I’m not coming to your stupid concert. First of all, you live in New Hampshire. Nobody else I know lives in New Hampshire. If we hadn’t met in college in Boston, I wouldn’t be your friend, because I’m not friends with people from New Hampshire. Know how much New Hampshire sucks? I’m writing an entire paragraph insulting New Hampshire and I’m not at all worried about a backlash because nobody lives there, at least nobody interesting. You are one of those people.
Honestly, if you lived in New York City, I still wouldn’t come to your concert. I don’t live there. I live more than a thousand miles away, a four hour plane ride, in Texas. I will never travel to see your stupid band play your folksy, emo, Counting Crows rip-off songs. I’ve skipped out on family events like Weddings and Bat Mitzvahs. Do you really think I’m going to come see you open for Dan Bern at the Manchester, New Hampshire folk festival? Of course not.
Please stop inviting me. Every time you invite me, I get a little red message at the top of my Facebook page. Or a notice will pop up on my smartphone. Then I click it, hoping it’s a friend request from someone interesting, or a message from a real friend not inviting me to see her band perform. I get my hopes up, just like I used to get my hopes up when AOL cried out “You’ve Got Mail!” Then I find out it’s you. You’re like Facebook spam, except I know you in person, so I could really punch you in the face if I wanted too.
Thanks for posting those pictures, by the way. You really play an accordion? Are you trying to be ironic? Were there no bagpipes left at the store when you went to buy it? You couldn’t just play a harmonium, like everyone else? Do you know what will guarantee I never see your show? A picture of you playing an accordion. I see your trio consists of a fiddler, an upright bass and your accordion. Sounds exciting. If you need someone to play a washboard or blow into a jug, let me know, I’ll ask around. Maybe if you added an electric guitarist and some drums, even a couple of hand drums, I’d be interested. Oh, and if your music didn’t suck.
What’s up with that band name, too? The Ronald Funkstein Reagan Trio? I don’t get it. I know you’re not too bright, and that makes you a conservative, so are you a Ronald Reagan fan, or not? Is this your way of being ironic about The Great Communicator, or is this a tribute, like you really think Reagan was funky? Even Reagan didn’t think Reagan was funky. I’m going to guess that you were vacationing at Disney World and you were in the hall of presidents, drunk on the Smirnoff Ice that you were forced to drink by your bros. I bet that Ronald Funkstein Reagan sounded really funny at the time. But when three hillbilly-looking dudes get on stage with a fiddle and an accordion and introduce themselves as Funkstein Reagan, that’s usually when I leave.
I don’t mean to be rude. Okay, I do mean to be rude, but I didn’t become your friend on Facebook so I could make fun of you. I remember you from college. We were on the newspaper staff together, and you seemed like a nice guy. A little goofy, but a nice guy. Besides, we were both students at an expensive New England private school, so how stupid could you be?
After you got kicked out during your sophomore year for academic ineligibility, I felt kind of bad, but I was happy to see you land on your feet. Your wife seems lovely. We met at that reunion party a few years back, and she’s clearly a nice person. She must be a saint to attend every single Ronald Funkstein Reagan Trio concert. Still, I wonder if that’s why you two had kids so early. Your children are ridiculously cute, by the way. Those pictures of you all picking apples are adorable. But I noticed there are no babies allowed at Funkstein Reagan shows. It’s funny, most people lament the fact their children keep them from going out to see live music in bars at night. I’m guessing your wife was delighted to have an excuse to stay home.
Okay, that was a low blow, but seriously, a CD release party? If you aren’t signed to a record label, you don’t get to have a party. If no music store in the world, including iTunes, will sell your music, there is no celebration. What are we celebrating? Congratulations, you know a guy with a bunch of expensive equipment who let you pay him to hang out in his basement for three weeks. Then you found a CD manufacturer in the Yellow Pages. It would be like my buying a giant Lego version of the Death Star for hundreds of dollars, putting it together for a few weeks, then inviting everyone to a bar to celebrate. There’s no accomplishment here. Your band sucks. Your music sucks. The joy in a release party is that you’ve created something interesting, not that you’ve created something made out of plastic. Also, I have bad news for you. CDs are dead. Nobody buys CDs anymore, just like nobody plays the accordion without a sense of irony.
So, seriously, take off that stupid hat. Undo those suspenders. You can’t wear suspenders with shorts. Trim your beard and stop playing that crappy music. Or, at the very least, if you’re going to have to obsess over it, at least obsess with people who care. Like MySpace.
By day, Philip Berne works for a major mobile technology manufacturer. At night, he dons his Batman cape and cowl, pours himself a dram, and sits in a dark room contemplating the intersection of culture and technology. His opinions were originally his own, but have since been digitally enhanced by George Lucas.
The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of SlashGear