Hi, I’m Meathead.  I’m not 100% sure, but I think I posted on this site before at some point.  I don’t really have much of anything worthwhile to say most of the time, and today is certainly no exception, so let’s talk about Phil Collins.  Specifically the video for his supersmash ultra-megahit “Sussudio.”  I asked that guy Travis if it would be okay to write about this, and he said it was okay, so deal with it.  Actually, that’s a lie, I asked him if I could write about Billy Joel.   See, what I did there was an ancient technique known as the “bait and switch.”  Kind of like if I were to invite you over for some hot, delicious Pizza Hut pizza, and then go and punch your sister in the face.   (Just kidding, I would never do that.   Domino’s is way better.)

So, let’s get this shit over with so I can go do something else.   It’s been nearly 35 years (roughly) since Phil Collins’ “Sussudio” first sodomized our ears and, thanks to the magic of MTV, our eyes.  Many respected scholars contend that if it weren’t for Phil Collins’ “Sussudio,” the U.S. economic recession of the early 1990’s would never have occurred, and Fidel Castro would have shaved his beard and produced the Butthole Surfers’ Locust Abortion Technician album.  Way to go, Phil.

This goddamned piece of shit starts out at some lame hole-in-the-wall bar, presumably in England (because that’s where Phil Collins is from).  Sorry, I guess the proper word is “pub.”  They don’t have “bars” in England.  But I digress.  See, here’s the thing.  At the very opening of the video, Phil and his band are actually rocking the fuck out.  Fuck this 80’s corporate rock bullshit, I want to hear what they’re playing at the beginning.  It’s like they’re taunting us with the fact that they actually possess the capability to be cool, which makes the rest of the video all the more heartbreaking and, dare I say, morally reprehensible.  Shame on you, Phil Collins.  You could actually be on Buddyhead Records and touring with Shat right now (provided you include some thought-provoking lyrics about fucking our respective moms in a Ferrari), but no, you had to go all “Against All Odds” on us.  Hey, your loss.

So there they are, tearing shit up on stage, and Phil, as best as a total square like himself can, appears to be sincerely having a good time.   But, as you’ll soon discover, nobody else in the pub seems to give a fuck.  It’s kind of like that part in Back to the Future when Marty spazzes out on “Johnny B. Goode,” only to remember with embarrassment that it’s the 1950’s and they haven’t invented the devil horns yet.  Obviously Phil is ahead of his time, and none of those 80’s dorks know how to mentally process his band’s asskickery.  So what does Phil do?

I’ll tell you what Phil does.  If you pay close attention, at around the 0:33 mark, you can actually see Phil make the conscious decision to start sucking Satan’s cock.  He turns to his band and says, “Hey guys, let’s go ahead and play that song that we swore we’d never ever play in public unless we officially gave up all remaining self-respect and decided we’re not above doing anything for some quick cash.”  “Oh, you mean ‘Sussudio’?”   “Yeah, that one!  And a 1, and a 2…”

At this point, the bored pub patrons with the Flock of Seagulls hair remain unimpressed.  They’re thinking, understandably, “If we didn’t enjoy ‘(I Want To) Shit In Your Mouth’ or ‘Come Get Some VD,’ what makes you think we’ll enjoy this song either?”  But boy do they have another thing coming!  The drummer starts to kick out a beat that sounds incredibly like something from some sort of “drum machine,” and a bunch of magical black dudes in snappy white suits appear out of nowhere to form a fucking horn section.  Then comes one of the cheesiest synth riffs in the history of mankind.  Of course, since it’s the 80’s, this automatically captures the audience’s interest.  Woo!  Yeah!

While he waits for his cue to start singing, watch in awe as Phil claps in total independence of the beat and plays some wack-ass air guitar (even by air guitar standards).  His goddamned microphone has more stage presence.  But the suddenly packed house is too enraptured by the corntastic music to care.  I guess they just now noticed that he’s Phil Collins.

The rest of the video is pretty much a showcase for how cool and hip Phil is.  The audience gradually starts getting into it, and by the time the Lord mercifully allows this thing to draw to a close, they’re even doing something that vaguely resembles dancing.  Christ, that’s just depressing.  I mean, I’ve had enough drinks before to actually think “What’s Up” by Four Non-Blondes was an underrated song, but I’ve never, ever been so trashed that I’ve wanted to get down to some Phil Collins.  Okay, to be fair, I’ve never been drunk in the 80’s.  But still, I mean, really.  Don’t these people have anything better to do?  Could they not get tickets for Huey Lewis?  Are they just trying to avoid going home for some reason?  There’s no excuse for this shit, and I hope they’re all ashamed of themselves.

Sorry, I know this stuff is fairly old news by now, and I know it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but this video has caused me untold amounts of suffering while growing up, and I just really needed to get this off my chest.   Thanks for listening.

For the longest time, I lived and breathed MTV. The theme of my Bar-Mitzvah was MTV—instead of having a candle-lighting service we gave out Moon-Men—I was obsessed. I had an MTV lunchbox in grade school, and when the day was done I’d run home to catch Total Request Live. I’d watch the Top 20 countdown with a pad and pen so as not to miss anything on weekends. Back then the fat and colorful MTV logo stood for cutting-edge music and alternative programming not meant for the faint of heart. Even their non-musical programming was off the wall. Keyword being was. Whatever happened to Beavis & Butthead? They ditched MTV for the silver screen just in the knick of time. Maybe they weren’t so stupid and mindless after all. You know, sometimes I turn on The Hills and think that those two fart-knocking cartoons had more going on in their fictional brains than Lauren Conrad or Spencer Pratt could ever dream of. Even that maladroit Carson Daly seemed to have found a better gig.

MTV, you used to be the barometer of hip—but now—now, you are nothing but irrelevant. Need I remind you how many minds you blew in the eighties with The Buggles “Video Killed The Radio Star” or “Money For Nothing” by Dire Straits? Millions. Trillions, even. I wasn’t even alive then and I know the impact it had on the youth of America. You think anyone in your coveted marketing demographic is sitting by the television waiting for cues on what is hip and happening in today’s world? Think again. YouTube and MySpace Music have replaced you. May I suggest renaming the network if you guys don’t plan to air programming having the slightest bit to do with music for the next twenty years? The only thing remotely related to anything musical are The MTV Video Music Awards, which is nothing but an excuse for hip-hop acts to promote their latest album; the same goes for the MTV Movie awards and Hollywood actors. You had your finger on the pulse, where did it go?

You’re brainwashing an entire country of little girls into thinking that Heidi Montag and her click of friends are role models for their generation. Even they know that the characters on your show are such embarrassments in Los Angeles that it’s no wonder you got Brent Bolthouse and SBE to sponsor The Hills—so you had somewhere to shoot your shitty show when nobody else would have your lame “celebrities” hawking the real Los Angeles elite for acting gigs.You want to know why every other country/race/ethnicity hates America—I urge you turn on your network when My Super Sweet 16 is scheduled—the answer will be right there in front of you. You allowed shows like Twentyfour Seven and 8th and Ocean to be greenlit; you’ve allowed Andy Dick to host one too many a show; and now, your biggest fan is turning against you. And I guarantee that I’m not the only one.

I’m writing this because I lost my shit tonight when I turned on the television, plain and simple. I flipped to MTV like I always do, as if classically conditioned, and saw your latest excuse for reality television: Life of Ryan. You mean to tell me that the whole premise of this show is about how broken up millionaire skateboard prodigy Ryan Schekler is about his parents’ divorce? Like he even gives a flying kickflip…he’s too busy in Japan and Spain making dollar, dollar bills, ya’all to even notice his parents are separated. And your produced segments are borderline embarrassing. Even my thirteen-year-old cousins from Long Island who don’t see the cast of The Hills out and about filming, who watch your shows religiously, call your bluff on the opening segment: Scheckler turns to the camera and says, “Dude, like, I’m so bummed my parents are getting a divorce, like at the same exact time, as like, your parents.” Cue the violins for Ryan Scheckler and the cheeky five thousand dollar graphic intro. But for Rob & Big, you’re completely blowing it. You’re the same network that claimed to have discovered America when you threw Johnny Knoxville and his Big Brother magazine crew together with Bam Margera and his video-camera wielding CKY gang to create Jackass. You didn’t bother to let the public know that you could find all the segments (including the one where Knoxville shoots himself in the chest with a gun) you recycled on the aforementioned skateboard videos. Boy, did you have us fooled. But not for long…

I challenge you, MTV. Take a stand. Put the Music back in Music Television. Put the real back in reality. Bring the videos back in rotation. And for Christ’s sake, bring back MTV Unplugged. If not for Christ, do it for the kids. You’re their biggest influence. I only knew to buy Nirvana’s Nevermind when I was in the second grade because I watched “Smells Like Teen Spirit” premiere one fateful evening on Headbangers Ball. How many kids can say that now? And if they did, they’d say that it was you who helped them decide to buy the latest Fall Out Boy release. Job well done.

I’m off to watch VH1 (which is something I used to swear I’d never do, especially when Jenny McCarthy was hosting Singled Out). But VH1 doesn’t pretend to be something they’re not: they house their programming under the “Celebreality” banner because that’s exactly what their cable channel is all about these days. They don’t bill themselves as music-related in the least. And I know Viacom owns you both. So I guess I’m complaining to you, Sumner Redstone. You have enough money to do anything. Help! The next generation of music fans needs you desperately.