the curse of JCM

Sometime back in the late 90's I had a curse put on me that I would be subjected to hear at least one John Cougar Mellencamp song a day for the rest of my life. I escaped it for nine months in China, but now that I'm back it has reasserted itself, perhaps with a vengeance. Am I to be upgraded to two songs a day as punishment for my treachery?

I loathe John Cougar Mellencamp and everything that he does. Back when "Hurts So Good" and "Jack and Diane" came out, I didn't bat an eye. These were from the "American Fool" LP, no argument here. Surely he was too pathetic to endure. He'd be a blip on the 80's "oh yeah remember THAT guy?" radar. He was a buffoon, not attractive even by family cousin standards, and had a voice like a ride-on lawn mower doing donuts in some plastic wrap. I had my laughs, closed the curtain on his sad little chapter and waited for the next source of amusement.

But he stayed. He was like a party guest that won't take the hint that everyone just wants to pass out. He was still at the guitar putting out more songs of hillbilly yokelry to a yawning but placating audience. Perhaps he's used this "on-the-fumes-of-a-flagging-career" to springboard a string of several "OK one last one" albums while promising no more.

Ugh. I will claw like mad through anyone standing in the way of the exit should "Cherry Bomb" or "When the Walls Come Tumblin' Down" pop up in a restaurant's rotation. (Even typing these song titles is like dipping my fingertips in dogshit) I've had my face thrust in his abysmal mediocrity for years, why? What crime did I commit besides having good taste? What sin (apart from musical elitism) wrought this acidic penance? How long must I abide cringing at the opening chords of "ROCK in the USA"?

I used to pray for his death. (In fact, my profile used to read: who i want to meet; the man who puts a bullet in JCM) Not a prolonged torturous one (even I have pity for my enemies) just a quick painless halt to his songwriting infection. But then, if and when he shuffles off this mortal coil, I imagine for a week I'd hear entire blocks, if not outright marathons of his material pumped over the airwaves. My ultimate personal hell sick joke: You can get what you want and still not be happy.

I used to have only one hated song, Foreigner's "Waiting For a Girl Like You." It gave me the "waiting for a ride in a Pizza Hut alone while wintry drafts kept blasting me in the face as people exited and the jukebox was on but somehow was simultaneously playing with Legos on the carpet in my living room late at night" blues. I have since conquered my fear of it, lopped off its domineering head with a snicker-snack. How was I to know it would grow into the many-headed JCM hydra?

John Cougar you have a couple choices. The first: retire. This would be the noblest and everyone would win. You could relax on your podunk ranch, ekeing out an existence on royalties although goddamn you if you sell your songs to car commercial jingles (Led Zep, you have made me allergic to "Rock n Roll," it's now synonymous with Dodge) and I'm forced to stomach snippet-sized portions of your crap in between shows without warning.

Two: scandale. Go the way of Michael Jackson and then leave the country. Say, you both have ranches, right? Or just come out of the closet. Admit to Rolling Stone that "Hurts So Good" was about an old biker buddy for whom you've carried a torch all these years. O, to taint that song wouldn't be that hard. In the video you did a kickline with just as many guys as girls...

The "ding dang doo" masses that comprise your fanbase would be dumbfounded and disgusted, although I would have a shred more respect for you. But then if the gay community embraced you as their new hero, gay bars would start putting you on the jukebox. As gay bars are places I frequent (where else can I be certain not to run into any dominant male jock frat violent pituitards?) that will not do. So back to one. Stop. Retire. Just STOP.