I whine too much on this blog. It doesn't matter now because nobody reads it. Someday, however, when I finally have a subscriber or two, it will be because I've moved on from internal struggle to witty observations executed in fine, flowing prose.
Needless to say, for the careful reader, my Title is a great step in the right direction. This is sarcasm.
The Chain is what it is, a chain, a national chain, with broad-spectrum, non-offensive music. I hate the music, I do, I hear the same infectious pop songs every day at work and quite frankly I can't swallow them any more. So why do I come home and stream the poorly-programmed playlist from the Chain's main website? Why is their web radio bookmarked, hyperlinked for easy, return access?
Because these are infectious pop songs, that's why, and out of context they're harder to complain about. Also, I can largely ignored these songs in the relaxing comfort of my home, and get a warm, fuzzy feeling in my soul all the same. At work, that warm feeling is replaced with shrapnel and the like, which wears away at one's patience and increases one's reception to anything remotely irritating, like infectious pop songs.
I am cataloging the entire set now, song by song. Of note:
Detours - Sheryl Crow. A surprise hit out of left field -- for me, at least. Sheryl Crow any more is something of a bane in my existence. Last July Forth I was working -- at the Chain -- and they were of course broadcasting the free concert that was happening just over the river at the Art Museum. Splitting my attention between her show and the Miss World Pageant (nevermind that the restaurant was dead), I finally decided that Sheryl Crow is in fact a supermodel posing as a rock star: and from this angle, certain huge singles come off as plainly irritating. So I was not expecting Detours, a sweet, delicate number, to share in with Crow's regular commercial stock. What do I know, though? If the world has already discovered this song I wouldn't have the slightest idea, because I live in the quiet, unpenetrated dark about such things, i.e., I don't follow the radio.
Juliet of the Spirits - the B-52s. This song has grown on me. I didn't recognize the artists right away because Fred Schnieder is conspicuously absent from the vocal track, and Cindy and Kate's voices are subdued, whether by the chorus's ghostly affectation, or age, I can't tell (one informs the other, I think). The song is off of the 2008 album Funplex, and demonstrates that the B-52s can still cut a hellishly catchy number -- I'd argue that, despite their legacy, they're in fact an underrated pop band.
Shine On - The Kooks. Maybe you're heard this in a recent television ad somewhere? Never mind, I hate this song. The lyrics are not awful, but they could be a lot better. The chorus is bright, upbeat, and induces suicide. I'm sure my opinion is jaded by the fact that this is one of the more prevalent songs over our lousy PA system, but when you're hearing it once and even twice a day, you seriously consider how potentially lethal a petty excuse for a steak knife can be. Which is nothing to say for-
That song. Oh. My. God. I only wish I knew what it was called. I'll find out, in time, and post as soon as I do. It is so freaking slow, so painfully melancholic, so inappropriate in an upbeat dining establishment, especially one that frequently lacks enough business to qualify as 'upbeat'. It completely and thoroughly sucks your adrenaline out through your eyeballs and leaves your soul dead on the floor, but isn't thoughtful enough to offer the body a complimentary gesture. I've pondered, often and only during this song, what will bring the swiftest, sweetest release: The grill, which is hot and bears merciful flame; a cook's knife, sharp and broad; the bar, to make up for that laughable paycheck in alcohol poisoning; or the simple insult of a guest, who is likely packing heat, of which there's rarely a shortage.
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