I’m almost positive I’ve relayed this story at the site before, but since it fits so well with what we’re about to discuss, I’ll tell it again:

In early 1996, I was dating a girl — we’ll call her the Voluptuous Redhead — whose huge, um, tracts of land were dwarfed only by her solid religious convictions. Though I’ve been a fairly unrepentant heathen for most of my life, I was raised among religious people, and can play along when it’s called for (and in my early 20s, the heaving bosom of a young lady still constituted “called for”) — which is how I found myself, despite some rather profound misgivings, at a Jars of Clay/Michael W. Smith concert.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m relatively familiar with the pop/CCM crossover army of the ’80s and early ’90s, have spent my fair share of time listening to Smith and Amy Grant, and I actually enjoyed the first Jars of Clay album. I think Christianity — or at least its various rules and regulations — is pretty silly, but I admire the beliefs at its core, and although a lot of Christian music during that era was bogged down in hokey production, it can be pretty moving if it’s done right. All of which is to say that, in spite of my low expectations for the concert, I went in thinking it would at least be something I could sit through.

No.

I actually ended up leaving before Smith took the stage, after getting so pissed off at a PSA-style video that begged concertgoers to help Smith cure the horrible epidemic of children being born into non-Christian homes (swear to God), but that isn’t why I’m telling this story now. The reason for my flashback is actually what happened during Jars of Clay’s opening set — specifically, the way the band repeatedly exhorted the crowd to “show people that Christians can rock out too!”

Can Christians rock out too? Absolutely. Christians can do just about anything (except entertain me — I keed, I keed!). But there’s something about that kind of defensively exuberant declaration that instantly makes it sound like you’re either a liar or desperately unconvinced of what you’re saying, isn’t there? It’s kind of like me getting up every day and publishing a column that says “Hey, guys! Let’s show the world that people who live in New Hampshire know how to use the Internet!” I mean, is there any better way to convince someone of a stereotype’s roots in the truth? And it didn’t help that the Jars singer looked and sounded like the kind of guy who spent his teen years frantically avoiding wedgies; really, he made Mikey Walsh sound like Vince Lombardi. I’m not kidding when I say that, since that night, I’ve never been able to listen to the band’s music without squirming.

Which brings us, in a roundabout way, to the music of Christian rock parody band ApologetiX — specificially, their 1999 album Biblical Graffiti, which that bastard Jason Hare sent me last week in a .zip file helpfully marked “Earmageddon.”

Yes, you read that right: ApologetiX is a Christian parody band — according to their Wikipedia page, they see themselves as “a cross between ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic and Billy Graham” — and I have now spent more than two hours of my life listening to one of their 12 (twelve!) studio albums. Biblical Graffiti, released in 1999, contains a walloping 22 pop hits given a Biblical kick in the nuts, from the Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” (done here as “One Way,” and containing the line “Chiggity-China, the Chinese Christian”) to Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” (”Enter Samson,” sigh). I’ve listened to each of these songs at least twice now, and when I wasn’t picturing myself beheading Jason with a copy of the CD, I was flashing back to that night at the Jars of Clay concert. These songs may cover a pretty wide spectrum of Top 40 history, but to me, they all sound like one long cry of “Let’s show people that Christians can be hip and funny too!”

I feel it’s important to stop here and acknowledge the rich Earmageddon tradition, which has, for the most part, confined itself to the outsider fringes — the dwelling place of Wing, Florence Foster Jenkins, and Lou Reed — and point out that, in the context of those other acts, ApologetiX is pretty good, or at least something close to actual music, and from a certain point of view, it’s hard not to give them at least partial credit for simple, blessed competence. But on the other hand, it’s just as hard not to hate them for turning what must have been years of music lessons into the ZZ Top parody “Smart Blest Man.”

Based on the sheer number of albums they’ve produced, as well as the rueful affirmations of more CCM-savvy friends, I’ve deduced that ApologetiX is a fairly successful band, but I haven’t been able to figure out why. These songs don’t work as cleaned-up versions of secular hits (what I like to call the “Mormon movie theater effect“) because the band tends to choose targets that were already pretty innocuous (Bryan Adams, the Police, and Fastball are a few of the acts that go to Bible school on this album), and they don’t work as parodies because they’re not funny. What, you need some examples? Fine:

In Armageddon Valley someday (someday)
Christ’s returning in the air
Rows of thousands that have that have called His name
And no one seems too scared –”Armageddon Valley Someday” (a.k.a. “Pleasant Valley Sunday”)

Bringin’ all the world together one day
Then saying that he’s God Almighty next day
Oh, but you fell for all his tricks
By listenin’ to 666
God’s not who he is you’ll see tomorrow –”Revelation Man” (a.k.a. “Secret Agent Man”)

I wanna put your name down in my will, in my will,
I wanna give you a crown, and I will, and I will.
I wanna save your whole planet, yeah, I wanna save your whole planet,
Yeah, yeah, and I will, I will –”Put You in My Will” (a.k.a. Matchbox 20’s “Push”)

So don’t delay, act now! Your time is runnin’ out!
By now I’m sure you’ve surmised — There’s two places to arrive
And if you follow the way you’ll have no sorrow, but if
The offer’s shunned, you might as well be droppin’ on the sun –”Droppin’ on the Sun” (a.k.a. Smash Mouth’s “Walking on the Sun”) (download)

Do you see what I just wrote up there? Do you see it? I’ve listened to a Christian parody of a Smash Mouth song. Which means that even if every other song on Biblical Graffiti was a spot-on hysterical sendup — and not one of them is, although I have to give the band credit for being clever enough to turn BTO’s “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet” into a song about noted Biblical stutterer Moses (download) — Jason Hare would still be a fucking asshole. But on the bright side, I can now let go of several years’ worth of guilt over making him listen to Metal Machine Music, and start looking for something really horrible to send him for the next chapter of Earmageddon. Son of a bitch must pay.

It fails as parody, and it fails as a more wholesome alternative to entertainment too offensive for Christian sensibilities. Really, this music is good only for real-life Reverend Shaw Moores, people so insecure in their faith that they can’t tolerate even a moment without some sort of affirmation — the more simplistic and condescending, the better. In retaliation, I think I’ve decided to start a rock band that performs secular covers of hits by CCM artists. Turnabout is fair play, after all. I’m thinking Amy Grant’s “Find a Way” would work perfectly as “Marry Gays,” and with a little work, we can turn Kathy Troccoli’s “Everything Changes” into a kickass crowd-pleaser called “Sex with Random Strangers.” Who’s with me?

If you’re just joining us, you might want to take a second to review Part One. Please, I implore you, review Part One. Take a few minutes to truly feel my pain.

Okay, ready to continue? Great. So as I mentioned in the last post, very few days have gone by where Jeff hasn’t mentioned Wing to me. He’s sent me links to her albums on eMusic and interrupted perfectly civil IM conversations with either “Wing!” or “Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” He even changed his IM chat message to “Wing is for the children,” which meant that every single time I logged on, whether I was talking to him or not, I was reminded that all Jeff wanted out of life was for me to write a post on Wing.

Jeff has a very, very empty life.

Anyway, so last Sunday morning, I heard my computer chirping.

Jeff: Hey, if your phone rings around 7 o’clock tonight, do me a favor and answer it.
Jeff: Scratch that. 5 o’clock tonight.

Here’s the massively messed-up part: I already knew what he was up to. See, when I did my research on Wing, I saw the following special offer:

Buy any full price CD (US$15 each, as listed below) and pay just $3 more – a total of US $18, and Wing will sing live just for you over the telephone. (You can have Wing sing to a friend instead if you wish.) Bookings must be made in advance – see requirements below.)

My first thought was well, shit, I know what I’m getting Jeff for his birthday next May!

So the minute I saw Jeff’s IM, I knew exactly what was up. And this is why I both love and hate Jeff: he has no problem with dropping a total of, like, $30 just to annoy me.

But because I hate him more than I love him, I responded as such:

Jason: I don’t think I’m going to be around to pick up my phone at 5 PM tonight.
Jeff: Unacceptable.
Jason: Maybe you can ask Wing if she can call me at another time?
Jeff: !!!
Jeff: HOW DID YOU KNOW?
Jeff: You fucker!

Finally, for a brief moment, I was the one doing the happy dance.

Jeff was upset that I had spoiled the “surprise,” but like me, he was somewhat amused/creeped out that we both had the same idea. Either way, I had about 7 hours before I’d be hearing from the one, the only … Wing. Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

4:45 PM. I hook up my cell phone to a recorder and some headphones, sit down and eagerly await the call from New Zealand’s national treasure. 5 o’clock rolls around, and my cell phone is silent. 5:15. A million questions roll through my mind.

What the hell is going on?

Maybe Jeff gave her the wrong number.

Maybe she got hit by a truck.

Gasp! Maybe she’s not calling me at all, and Jeff is just making me sit around, waiting for her!

I bet it probably would have been a recording anyway. No way is she just sitting in New Zealand, singing for people over the phone.

Screw this, I’m making dinner.

I disconnect my cell phone from the recorder and headphones, and go off to chop vegetables.

5:32: RING! WING! I rush back in, hook everything back up to the cell phone, and, well, listen in, won’t you?

Wing Calls Jason at Home (download)

I ask you: is that awesome or is that awesome? I received a real live phone call from Wing! And a kick-ass performance of “Dancing Queen”! Okay, maybe she was late on a few cues and forgot some of the words, but at this point, I am so far from being critical of her. Because once I talked to her on the phone, I found myself inexplicably charmed by this sweet woman. She may be in on the joke. She may not be in on the joke. Either way, she’s making some sort of a living and bringing smiles to people’s faces. No, I’m not going to listen to her for pleasure, but consider me a Wing fan.

Oh, and did you hear that SHE’S COMING TO NEW YORK?

Popdosers, this is your chance to become a part of Earmageddon. If you’re within two hours of New York City between October 19th and 22nd, we want you to join us for a night of Wing. Jeff’s going to come down from New Hampshire. All sorts of Popdose staffers will be there. (They may not know it yet, but trust me, they’ll be there.) Once the dates are finalized and appear on her website, we’ll pick an evening, go out for a big Popdose dinner, and then … prepare for Wingmageddon. Mark the dates down now, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we know more information.

Thanks for reading! And do you have a suggestion for the next edition of EARMAGEDDON? If so, keep it to yourself.

What the hell is Earmageddon, you ask? Well, it’s a game that started a couple of years ago, when I sent Jeff the Paris Hilton album. Jeff got angry — almost violently so — and retaliated by sending me Only in America, Volume 2, a horrible/awesome album that you can read about on my other website. I retaliated by sending him Andrew Ridgeley’s album. He sent me Metal Machine Music. I sent him Florence Foster Jenkins. Since then, he’s sent me at least three other CDs, all of which I’ve ignored, for two reasons.

1) Sometimes, it’s just not that much fun to listen to truly awful music.

2) More than sometimes, it’s fun to watch Jeff explode with frustration when I won’t take the bait.

Recently, however, Jeff sent me another album of bad music — except this time, he has not let up. I don’t know if a day has gone by in the past two months where Jeff hasn’t mentioned this album to me. He’s been so fucking annoying that I honestly think writing this post is worth it if it shuts his yapper for a day or so.

You want to know what he sent me, don’t you?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you …

Do you know who Wing is? You might if you’re a fan of South Park, which devoted an entire episode to her in 2005. You can (and should) find out more about Wing on her official website, but here are the basics: Originally from Hong Kong, Wing moved to New Zealand and began “singing” in nursing homes and hospitals. She actually received a grant to record her own CD, and as the website says, she has achieved cult status and has released 15 albums. Fifteen albums, people! These include Wing Sings the Carpenters, Wing Sings AC/DC, and Wing Sings More AC/DC. She has two AC/DC tribute albums out there. How many have you done? I thought so. So unless you’ve done three, shut up.

So Jeff sends me Beatles Classics by Wing (or Wing Sings the Beatles — I can’t seem to figure out the exact title). I go to the website and I do my research. Somehow, I completely miss the part that says “Wing’s unique vocal stylings are sometimes compared with American Idol’s William Hung, 60’s star Mrs. Miller or opera singer Florence Foster Jenkins.” I close the website, load the music on my iPod, and press play.

Oh no.

Ohhhhh no.

Wing — Love Me Do (download)

This is the first thing I heard. And alongside Wing’s “singing,” I saw an image in my head. I saw Jeff doing a little happy dance and giggling his stupid bearded face off. I hate you so much, Jeff. You’re doing the dance right now, aren’t you? Stop it!

The backing track to “Love Me Do” is obviously the type of track used for karaoke, but to be honest, it’s not really that bad. I could even kind of sort of get behind some of her “singing.” The thing that doesn’t make sense to me is that she made no effort to sync up her lead and backing vocals. So it really sounds like there are two different, separate Wings “singing,” which is two Wings too many. Also, the higher vocal is often flat. Listen to the word “love” in the phrase “someone to love, somebody new.” Holy crap.

Honestly, after one listen to “Love Me Do” (okay, two, because it was kind of like a car crash where you want to look away but you can’t so you look more than once), I was ready to delete this thing. But the rules of Earmageddon are pretty clear: once one of us throws down the gauntlet, the other one has to fully accept the challenge. This meant I had to listen to the entire album.

The entire album, Popdosers.

I think maybe the reason it has taken me two months to write this post has to do with the fact that I just don’t know what to say about her voice. Do you? It defies words. I disagree with the comparison to William Hung, by the way; Wing may be (really, really) off on some of her notes, but she’s not tone-deaf. And you know that the other problem is? I can’t figure out whether Wing is in on the joke. Surely she must know that the reason she’s been able to successfully record and release 15 albums is because she’s loved for not-exactly-noble reasons, right? Does she know? I’m not exactly sure. And I still don’t know exactly what to say about her voice. But hell, since her website went with the William Hung racial stereotype — hey, everybody, they’re both Asian and can’t sing real good! — why don’t I do something similar?

I am going to share a few of Wing’s songs with you. And I’m going to tell you how I feel about them. In haiku.

Wing — Yesterday (download)

What is “away-ooooo”?
Dickbag on a Casio
Mixed the strings TOO LOUD.

Wing — The Long and Winding Road (download)

Paging Phil Spector:
If you hear Wing’s version here,
You might shoot her, too.

Wing — In My Life (download)

Flanked by other men,
Wing warbles the word “lovers”
… and I just threw up.

I could keep doing this, but half of you guys probably know how to find me, and I just can’t handle the thought of performing someplace and maybe getting shot by an angry reader. So I’m going to stop there. But I encourage you to check out some of Wing’s other tracks, like “Let It Be” (”Mother Marys come to me!”), “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” (unfair to make this woman try to pronounce “kaleidoscope”), and a track called “Hine E Hine,” which confounded the hell out of me until I realized it’s a traditional song from New Zealand and not a Beatles cover.

But here’s the weird thing, everybody: I think I kind of love Wing. There is something sweet and endearing about her. I kind of want her to be my grandma. My Asian, off-key grandma.

Still, Jeff, I think you’ve won this round: as much as I love Wing, about two songs is my limit before I go cross-eyed and my wife starts complaining of a migraine. You’re triumphant again, you rat bastard. I hope your wife leaves you.

The Wing Earmageddon (Wingmageddon?) story doesn’t end here, though, folks. It does for today, but guess what? There’s a Part Two to this post, coming tomorrow. In Part Two, you’re going to find out just how far Jeff was willing to go to get me to write this post. You’re going to find out how intimate I actually got with Wing.

And — best of all — you’re going to find out how you — yes, you — can be a part of Wingmageddon.

See you tomorrow … ?

(You can read the thrilling conclusion to Wingmageddon in Part Two!)

A number of months ago, Jeff started playing a game with me. While I fully admit to starting this “game,” I didn’t do it with bad intentions – and now I’m being punished for it.

Back in the Fall, Jeff had mentioned to me that Stephen Thomas Erlewine of All Music Guide has given Paris Hilton’s debut (and hopefully only) CD 4.5 stars. Jeff couldn’t believe it. In truth, neither could I. However, I had heard “Stars Are Blind” at the gym, and didn’t hate it, so I downloaded the album and sent it on to Jeff to see what he thought. What I didn’t know at the time was:

1) Jeff didn’t like Paris Hilton.
2) Jeff didn’t want to listen to Paris Hilton.
3) By sending the album, Jeff felt he was forced (forced!) to listen to Paris Hilton.

I agree with Jeff that if people send you music, you should do everything in your power to listen to it. I do, indeed, listen to just about everything that comes my way. However, I don’t force myself to do it immediately because I simply don’t have enough hours in the day to listen to everything in my queue, and I know I’ll get to it eventually. I think the reason Jeff doesn’t understand this is because he’s a housewife.

Anyway, so Jeff listened to the whole album – I didn’t even listen to the whole album – got another great post out of it, and promptly informed me that he was going to “repay” me.

And thus the game began. That was when Jeff sent me Only In America, Volume 2, which I posted – twice! – and most of you rightfully ignored.

Not long after, Jeff apologized to me. “I just finished listening to most of “Only in America Volume 2,” he said. “In terms of musical retribution, it may have been overkill.”

So when I recently sent him Andrew Ridgeley’s Son Of Albert CD – a response to merciless ribbing – you’d think he would have kept the above apology in mind.

But he didn’t. As you may have read over at his site, he retaliated by sending me Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.

I hesitantly opened up the Amazon packaging. “Aw, Lou Reed?” I thought. “Damn him!” Of course, this was just based on me thinking this was Lou Reed in general. I had no idea what Metal Machine Music was all about.

Plenty has been said about Metal Machine Music. I don’t need to regurgitate it here (after all, that’s what my usual posts are for!). Here are a few choice excerpts from the Wiki:

Metal Machine Music is generally considered to be either a joke, a begrudging fulfillment of a contractual obligation, or an early example of noise music. Reed has since contradicted popular sentiment, stating that “I was serious about it. I was also really, really stoned.” However, as the last sentence in Reed’s liner notes to the recording would suggest, some motivation to release Metal Machine Music came as a reaction to restricting contractual obligations from RCA at the time; the sentence, “My week beats your year.” Lou Reed claimed in the liner notes to have invented heavy metal music, and that this album was the ultimate conclusion for that genre.

According to Reed (despite the original liner notes), the album entirely consists of guitar feedback played at different speeds. The two guitars were tuned in unusual ways and played with different reverb levels. He would then place the guitars in front of their amplifiers, and the feedback from the very large amps would vibrate the strings – the guitars were, effectively, playing themselves. He recorded the work on a four-track tape recorder in his New York apartment, mixing the four tracks for stereo.

I read all of this and thought, “how bad could it be?”

Lou Reed – Metal Machine Music, Part I (don’t download)

I’m serious. Don’t download it unless you are prepared. Because I wasn’t prepared. I waited until everyone left the office for the day. Then, I put on Track 1. All sixteen minutes and ten seconds of it.

In Jeff’s post on Andrew Ridgeley, he listened to the music and intelligently discussed its shortcomings from both musical and lyrical points of view. I can’t do the same for Metal Machine Music. I don’t think I’m qualified to do so. Instead, I decided to go with my gut and just respond instinctually to the noises coming through my speakers. Wouldn’t Lou Reed approve of my impulsiveness? Don’t think, just emote.

I did this in a few different phases. I tried not to subject casual readers to the entire thing in one long post, but for some reason, my “more after the jump” button isn’t working. So too bad, folks, for Jeff’s birthday, you’re going to have to suck it up and read it all below.

For starters, I listened to the track at work. I quickly typed out all my thoughts as I was listening to track #1. Then, once my teeth stopped hurting, I popped three Advil and left for the day.

A few days later, I figured I’d let some friends listen to the track and videotape their responses. This backfired on me; one buddy said it “sucked” but was uncomfortable with being filmed, so I wasn’t getting the appropriate looks of horror that I would have gotten had I not been holding a camera. My brother was the other subject, and his response was “I have tons of full albums that sound like this!”

In the second stage, I came home, put on my headphones, cued up track #1, and set up my MacBook Pro to randomly take photos of me every few seconds. Being a natural ham, I hid the camera window so I couldn’t see how or when it was taking photos of me, and tried to forget the camera was there. (Note “tried.” I’m still a ham.) It took about 60 photos; I picked out the best (or worst) of the bunch.

In both cases – writing and photo-taking – I went through Kubler-Ross’ Five Stages Of Grief:

Denial (”I’m not really going to listen to this whole thing; this is ridiculous!”)
Anger (”What the fuck is wrong with someone that would send another person this album?”)
Bargaining (”I’ll never send him anything again, so long as I don’t have to finish this album.”)
Depression (”I hate myself for listening to Lou Reed.”)
Acceptance (”I have yet to reach this stage.”)

So enough talk. Here are the two phases. For better or for worse.

Phase 1: Live-Blogging “Metal Machine Music, Part I.”

This isn’t so bad…
wow, that feedback is a little annoying. hope that goes away.
it’s not going away.
This is hurting my ears.
how many more minutes of this?
SIXTY-FOUR MINUTES?
oh jesus christ.

I’m only 2:43 in. Oh my god.
This is a reissue? How can you tell?

(two minutes later)
It’s not stopping.

5:25: I almost heard a note!

Oh god, make it stop.
Please.
It’s so hissy.
I’m not even halfway through the first track.

Seven minutes left in track 1, and then I have to turn this off. IT HURTS. IT HURTS MY HEAD.

Sadly, though, this is like my favorite Lou Reed song.

Five minutes left. I can do this. I can do this!

I can’t do this.

I really thought I’d be able to listen to the whole thing.

Is that a girl screaming?

Or a cat?

I think I hear a guitar chord.

Oh wait, no, it’s just more feedback.

Oh my god. My stomach hurts.

I’m literally pulling my hair, begging it to stop.

2:30 left.

I think my lower teeth just began to ache.

58 seconds left, the longest 58 seconds of my mother fucking life.

Is my face melting?

oh god, it’s done. Oh, thank god it’s done!

Phase 2: Live Photos During “Metal Machine Music, Part I”

This file is a little sloppy, but you’ll get the point. This is also a good video to watch if you only want to hear the first 1:45 of “Metal Machine Music, Part I.”

[youtube]npYei_BM38Y[/youtube]

Anyway, the moral of the story is that Jeff is a bad person, and even though he tries to fool all of you into thinking he’s a thoughtful journalist with a soft spot for bad Bee Gees songs, he’s really got a mean streak that makes mine look like a mere outburst from The Tigger Movie. But of course, the game didn’t end here: I retaliated by sending Jeff a copy of The Glory (????) Of The Human Voice by Florence Foster Jenkins. I picked it after I saw a review entitled “Florence’s voice caused my dog to shake in fear.” And so…the game continues.

This is all Jeff’s fault.

You see, a couple of weeks ago, I sent him Paris, the new album by Paris Hilton. I had heard a couple of tracks and didn’t think they were half bad. Jeff, however, hadn’t heard the album, wasn’t planning on hearing the album, but was forced to then hear the album after I sent it to him. Nevermind that he got a great post out of it; Jeff was prepared to exact his revenge upon me by sending me something he felt was equally shitty, and exact that revenge he did.

And so begins what will hopefully be a continuing series between myself and Jeff, and perhaps some of my other favorite bloggers: This Sucks!…Try This. You know what I’m talking about. You eat or smell something awful, and just have to share it with somebody else.

Jeff sent me Only In America: Volume 2.

AllMusic describes this album as having “some of the weirdest records of the second half of the 20 century.” But I feel like that almost does a disservice to the word “weird.” This record is fucked up. And yet, it’s a car wreck from which I cannot turn away; I eagerly listened to the entire thing.

And of course, in the spirit of This Sucks!…Try This, I now have to share some of it with you.

Where to start about Only In America: Volume 2? For starters, I wouldn’t call any of the songs “good.” Not by any stretch of the imagination. Some are bad in a nondescript way: they suck, but not enough for me to really single them out for sucking. Some are so bad, they brought a huge smile to my face; and some are so bad they border on absurd.

For example, there’s “Stinky Poodle” by Tangela Tricoli (download) which, although sung warbled from the perspective of said poodle, had to be a clear inspiration for Phoebe’s “Smelly Cat” on Friends. I’m positive the producers heard “Stinky Poodle” first. There’s “Evil Dope” by Phil Phillips (download), a drug cautionary tale sung by what sounds like Jesse Jackson on helium (”whoo! I feel good!”), and let’s just say that “Listen, Mr. Hat” by William Howard Arpaia is not what you want it to be. It definitely does not sound like something written by Trey Parker. (Maybe Matt Stone. We all know he’s the Andrew Ridgeley of South Park.)

Speaking of drugs, a lot of these songs seem to have some kind of drug theme. Some are just plain trippy, and some have a message about drugs, but I can’t tell if they’re really pro-drug or anti-drug. There’s an instrumental called “LSD ‘67″ which I imagine would have turned Timothy Leary straight, and conversely, a song like “Ernie The Narc” (in defense of the Narc) would drive anybody to heroin.

Only In America: Volume 2 isn’t just originals, however: there are covers, too! There’s some young school choir taking a (dreadful) stab at “Little Deuce Coupe,” and a band called Lucky Charms performing “Wipeout” as part of some radio talent showcase. If you want to hear the ultimate in covers, though, check out Lost Dimension’s take on “Purple Haze.” (download) Upon hearing this track, I couldn’t help but wonder: how the hell did they get a tape recorder in my high school drummer’s basement? (Andrew or Mike will attest: our high school band sounded just like this.)

I’ve saved my favorite track for last. “Chicago Policeman” by Harry Burgess (download) is a gem. It goes from being a song about a dream a youngster had of becoming a cop to a justification for beating the living shit out of dirty “hippies, yippies, & communists too.” The whole tune is sung quite jovially. There’s even a key change! I love it! I hate it! I love it again!

In listening to Only In America: Volume 2, I couldn’t help but think: I didn’t deserve this, Jeff. I mean, yeah, I sent you Paris Hilton, but at least Paris had Auto-Tune.

You can purchase Only In America: Volume 2 if you’d like, but I wouldn’t recommend it.