Tonight I’m posting a brilliant open letter by The Birdman. Listen up Baldy, he’s speaking wisdom that could impact the rest of your career. Thanks, The Birdman!
You probably don’t remember me. I was at your Seattle show in August – short, skinny, tattooed dark guy in a wifebeater come to mind? Probably not, cause I was right up the back and left early to go get a beer.
I’m also a regular member of the former Idletard and now hang on various AI tard-bashing sites including this one. I know you know of us – one of our members gave you one of our famous Tard Strong bracelets (a high honour, but what did you do with it?) and you ran into the esteemed admin of this site in Virginia. Many Idletard members believe that you used to read the site pretty regularly and that you check out this site as well, although for obvious reasons (fat chick stampede) you don’t admit it.
There’s a reason I’m taking time out of my day to write you this. I like you. I think you’re a funny guy, you have decent taste in music and I can respect anyone with the balls to tackle an Our Lady Peace song on American Idol (although why did you sing the second verse? The first verse of Innocent = 10 times better). But when I went to your show, I was met by what we Idletard-ites (hey, you’re the Word Nerd. Tell me how to do it right, won’t ya.) call the frau. And not just one or two. Several. Several fat, sweaty frau pushing, shoving and bitching their way to the front while stinking up the place and making me (and the hot blonde near me) nauseous. And the show hasn’t even started.
At the time, I was not a regular Idletard member and was merely travelling through America as a way of getting over a break-up. However, when I heard I was in Seattle at the same time you were I remembered the tales of crazed fans I had heard and decided to check it out for myself. I had long assumed all the tales were at least partly exaggerated.
Fuck, was I wrong.
I have been going to hardcore punk and metal gigs since I was in my mid teens and old enough to carry a fake ID and look it. I’m no stranger to gig violence at all. I have been punched in the face, kicked in the shins and the only reason I’m still fertile is because I started wearing a box to protect my nuts. And I have been known to dish it out as well.
But what I saw at your show was completely different. I normally like to stand at the front, however when I tried to get there the frau all glared at me and told me to get to the back because “I’m not a real fan.” And I wasn’t the only one. Through the night I watched these bitches harassing everyone who dared to come closer to the stage even from my place at the back of the floor, especially younger women. And their behaviour while you were playing was fucking appalling. You and I both know what is appropriate concert behaviour, particularly in a larger venue. Screaming when you tried to speak, yelling into the monitors and continuing to harass everyone else is not appropriate behaviour anywhere. The worst part was that if I or anyone else said anything back to them, we were fucked. Even if they actually wouldn’t have assaulted me, I wasn’t willing to take the chance especially as almost all of them were twice as wide as me.
You have probably read Smartie and Teevho’s entreaties to grow some balls and tell the frau to fuck off. I’m not going to give you that line. I’m a working muso myself. I know how important it is to have someone fund your lifestyle, even if they are psychotic bitches. And I’ve seen your retorts – the myspace blog, the video etc which are about as much as you can do on the road short of kicking their heads in, which = jail time.
There is, however, one thing you can do.
You’ve mentioned you plan to return to the studio early next year. Great. But here comes the advice.
Give the frau a fuck you through the music.
You’ve mentioned your love of Nine Inch Nails in the past. Get Trent Reznor as a collaborator and producer. Get Chris Cornell back, but don’t accept any half-arsed Carry On/Scream leftovers from him – this is the guy who wrote Jesus Christ Pose, get some of that brutal magic. Collaborate with Jerry Cantrell and have him bust out some classic Alice riffs for you. Don’t let Brian Howes within a hundred miles of the studio. Hell, go to any alternative/indie club night and offer the best bands’ songwriters as much of 19E’s cash as you can to help you write a few tracks. Or go in a totally different direction. Whatever pleases you. But for the love of God, mate, don’t record another album of post-grunge dirges that any real music fan (frau being TV rather than music fans) can hear in a bar every Saturday night. Do something crazy already to show to everyone who matters (i.e. everyone other than a few crazed fat chicks who will leave you next time some other Idol contestant makes their vaginas explode) that David Cook is a legitimate artist, not a TV karaoke performer.
Already you have a pretty big credibility problem as I’m sure you’re aware. The AI powers that be pimped you hard because they thought you could be Daughtry 2.0., but even they’re not stupid enough to realise that it didn’t really work for you the first time. They’ll probably give you another chance, but if this next album is more of the same and doesn’t sell to anyone other than frau, it’s back to playing bars in Kansas City for you. Only now you’re gonna wind up like Taylor Hicks and the Soul Patrol who follow him everywhere. If you read some of the Idletard Soul Patrol stories, you’ll know what I’m on about. And stuff like a Christmas special won’t help you regain credibility, or a place in Carrie Underwood’s pants.
However, if you show some balls and aren’t afraid to do something a little more hardcore, you might actually have a shot at gaining some credibility with rock fans, who are mostly smart enough to realise a fuck you when they see one and will respect you for having the balls to do so. And who will, yes, buy your stuff.
Get one thing straight first. You are not going to be Nickelback or Creed. Packed out arenas are not in your future unless you’re working the snack bar. Daughtry got lucky because he was able to mostly do his own thing after Idol and that thing happened to be popular. Your nuts belonged to 19E. You couldn’t do that. But now’s your chance, cause with all the focus on Adam Lambert they’ve probably forgotten you anyway.
If you don’t take my advice, enjoy your life as it is now, cause it’s only gonna get worse. Maybe you can marry Svagjina. She’s gonna be a lawler, you know. And I’m sure you can wash the taste of Neal out.
P.S. Speaking of Neal, he hasn’t paid his dues to the Fugly Unwashed Guys Who Play Guitar To Get Laid Union yet. Can you remind him to pay? Paypal account F.U.G.W.P.2.L.U@fuckyouall.com. You’re free to join as well – we need a treasurer.