Artless, Soulless Professionalism Bland Enough to Go Quadruple Platinum In 1998
This bland little four-piece refer to their sound as “alternative/soul/rock.” Their band bio, clearly self-composed, describes their sound as “innovative,” “original,” containing “unforgettable hooks,” and “magnetic rhythms,” which make them a) retards, or b) liars. The Ohio post says “Lovebettie plays indescribable music,” which means either the staff at the Ohio post are incredibly lazy, or they really mean, “So lifeless and tame, this is the musical equivalent of a soft fart in an empty church.” If the members of Lovebettie were capable of any kind of impartiality, they might realize their target genre is not only irrelevant by roughly a decade, but more closely akin to “adult contemporary.” I’ll begrudgingly admit that the musicianship is passable, (the playing, not the writing) but they have not managed to create a song that does not sound like either a) a flaccid, passive-aggressive message to some vexed lover, or b) a watered down, ultra low fat, diet post-grunge cash-in.
This album, “AND WE’RE NEVER COMING BACK,” a title that demands the listener to hold them to their word, is an uneven and generally bloodless, premeditated effort to satisfy a marketplace that exhausted itself and died quite a while ago. This very fact makes it problematic when accusing them of opportunism. If they honestly consider themselves a “frenzy of talent and songwriting,” and “innovative alternative rock,” perhaps they should sit down together and give long thought to the relative artistic merits of a calculated copy of a copy of a copy of a market ten years old that was, objectively, pretty fucking lame in and of itself to begin with.
(Note “Matchbox Twenty” reference by Reviewer)
Of course, since Pittsburgh’s music scene (and overall culture, really) is ten to twenty years behind schedule, closed off and malnourished to the bone anyway, their existence is only natural, but it’s certainly not excusable, and I shall not equivocate or withdraw the slightest bit even though their only excuse might be their provincial naiveté.
Music (and self-deception) like this tends to suggest that the members are 1) Christian, 2) Sexually Frustrated, 3) Melodramatic and I get the idea that LoveBettie are collectively all of the above. The vocals are typically sung by Alexandra, (who seems to have a perpetual nosebleed) and from what I understand she is responsible for the ballads, which are admittedly, as the reviewer indicates, less embarrassing than the white-as-mayonnaise, up-beat frolicks contained on the tracks fronted by, one assumes, perhaps erroneously, a man. Still, the piano ballads are overwrought, plodding, and “Blue Skied” vaguely sounds like the Cheers theme in the beginning. Barely any dynamics here, no compelling expression, but it sure is PROFESSIONAL! All of this mid-tempo shit would be interesting in the hands of a capable songwriter, but Alexandra just tramps along, not really changing the “piano intro, nasal wailing, piano outro” structure in any of her feature tunes, perhaps relying on her tall hair to compensate for these dry serenades. Zzzzzz….
The aforementioned man, so-called, is permanent wearer of stupid hats and self-satisfied facial expressions, C.T. Fields, (he’s also the guitarist) who expertly cranks out highly predictable guitar riffs, which superbly compliment the highly predictable everything else. Curiously, in every single band photo, he’s wearing that ridiculous Newsies hat. Incredible. I imagine some frightful conjoined twin jutting hideously from the top of his head, controlling his every move. Poor Mr. Fields must endure, day after day, the furrowed stares of bewildered pedestrians, and surely, he overhears their scathing remarks: “Why does he always wear that hat? Is he bald? Does he have a nasty Gorbachev? Is it the 1930s? Is it Irish pride? How do post-grunge and Herringbone caps go together? Have you heard that song “Lies?” Is it not the most insipid, clumsy, po-faced pastiche of a thankfully bygone genre you’ve ever heard? How can he look so fucking smug? I bet he sits down when he pees.”
On C.T.’s personal myspace page, his About Me section reads as follows:
“Musician, producer, singer, songwriter, writer, poet, philosopher, graphic designer, photographer, all around creative personality.”
Heroes: “Ghandi, Mother Theresa, the creator of pez candy”
If there are three things I hate, (four, if you include LoveBettie) it’s
1) Anybody married to the singer of their band who wears dumb fucking hats and believes in god that claims they are a “philosopher.” Philosopher! Haaa! A philosopher of what? Genre cash-ins?
2) Emasculated weenies with fat, stuffy faces who claim to be musicians, producers, singers, songwriters, poets, graphic designers, photographers, and all around creative personalities but are in reality just emasculated weenies trying to get their vanity project (co-run by their gullible wives) off the ground with corrupt motives, victimizing and insulting the music listening public, (while wearing stupid goddamn hats on top of it!)
3) Ghandi, Mother Theresa, and the creator of pez candy, three things which obviously do more to prove that God doesn’t exist than he does. (Mother Theresa, like all nuns and many other con artists, also wore a stupid hat. Coincidence?)
Of course, I would never want to give anybody the idea that Lovebettie is exclusively a mercantile effort. I know, referring to yourself as “marketable” is kind of crass, but hey, you gotta put yourself out there, like say, when your band name is smeared approximately ONE HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES on your myspace page. I don’t know what is more disconcerting, the fact that they are such pushy and shameless promoters, or the fact that I was annoyed enough to sit there and try to quantify their complete and utter lack of dignity that amounts to their obvious cynical commercial ambitions that masquerade as “buzz worthy and captivating” alt rock.
This is one of a few bands in Pittsburgh, (a rather impractical inclination), in which the guitar player’s wife is the singer of the band, an ill-advised arrangement that can never fail to be both bad for everyone else in the band and hilarious for anyone outside of it who witnesses intra-band-marital conflict. The “everyone else” I’m referring to are the bassist and drummer, whom the reviewer discreetly refers to as “understated,” which I think means “non-existent,” or “pushed violently into the background by a woman achieving Amy Winehouse,visually, and Kermit the Frog, nasally, and a permanently arrogant newsboy/philosopher achieving pigeon turds creatively.” One gets the idea, (“bi-polar,” as the reviewer states), that these two love-birds are writing feeble little messages to each other with each song, either because they can’t communicate in real life, or perhaps they just need to get the fuck away from each other. If the relationship is anything like the music, they must be overwhelmed with monotony, uniform disgust, and erectile dysfunction.
Aside from J. Banks the drummer’s minor misdemeanor, (stop wearing fucking sunglasses when you play, it’s not cool, you look like a retard) I have no legitimate beef with the bass player and J. “Shades” Banks; the feeling is more akin to a delightful admixture of sympathy and amusement at the thought of you two sitting quietly together exchanging knowing, frustrated glances and rolling your eyes while C.T. and Alexandra invariably start screaming at each other. Who “wears the boots” (see Dirty Mary lyrics) in this house, guys? Does C.T. wear the hat to compete with Alexandra’s hair? Does she push him around? Do creative conflicts degenerate into C.T. accusing Alexandra of cheating on him? Is it with one of you guys? Better keep cool, fellas. Does C.T. almost start crying during these outbursts? Does he ever throw his hat in a red-faced mincing display of rage? What’s the top of his head look like? Oh, so much left to the play of imagination.
Let me make this perfectly clear:
LoveBettie is disinterestedly and thoroughly, limp-dicked, unoriginal, irrelevant by 10+ years, and therefore, crap.
If you like LoveBettie you’re a moron. Re-evaluate your sensibilities, and probably your life, while you’re at it, dumb shit.
If you have any appreciation for art, you must take a hostile position against a band so deliberately designed, profit-motivated, and consequently, creatively bankrupt.
C.T. “Socrates” Fields – Throw away your Newsies hat. It’s an affectation, and it adds baggage to a face that’s already douched…got it? By the way, I read your poems:
They’re fucking gay.
Alexandra – Baby, I know C.T. is like, four or five years older than you, and he let you be the singer of his band and all, but he’s only doing it because you’re vaguely hot, and basically the only reason people give your band a chance is because they like to watch vaguely hot girls trying to be sexy and cool onstage. Go solo, princess. I know C.T. is older and probably seems wise, being a philosopher, poet, lover of God, Mother Theresa, Ghandi, and Pez candy, and surely those big, self-important lips are so darn tasty lookin’ to an impressionable young lady such as yourself, but trust me, I know the type. He’s probably been steadily undermining your confidence since you were married so you’ll never run off and realize you’re dating a deceptive twat whose inability to write an original song or have an original thought or have an original erection is as fixed as his hat to his head. What’s he hiding under there anyway? What else might he be hiding from you? Divorce that jerk-ass, baby doll! Get yo’self a man with some SOUL and some fuckin’ LONG HAIR who thinks that hats are dumb and knows a vaguely hot girl should be in front of his zipper and not in front of a microphone.
To the members of LoveBettie: I would tell you all to quit the band, and get thee to thy day jobs, but I don’t want to inadvertently embolden your resolve to succeed in defiance of my frank assessment of your efforts. I accept your existence, but I will never accept what you do and what you stand for. It is in direct opposition to anything good and decent in the wide world.
P.S. Go watch them play with Donnie Iris on Feb 21st, if you’re the kind of person that likes two bad things worse together.
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Artless, Soulless Professionalism Bland Enough to Go Quadruple Platinum In 1998
This bland little four-piece refer to their sound as “alternative/soul/rock.” Their band bio, clearly self-composed, describes their sound as “innovative,” “original,” containing “unforgettable hooks,” and “magnetic rhythms,” which make them a) retards, or b) liars. The Ohio post says “Lovebettie plays indescribable music,” which means either the staff at the Ohio post are incredibly lazy, or they really mean, “So lifeless and tame, this is the musical equivalent of a soft fart in an empty church.” If the members of Lovebettie were capable of any kind of impartiality, they might realize their target genre is not only irrelevant by roughly a decade, but more closely akin to “adult contemporary.” I’ll begrudgingly admit that the musicianship is passable, (the playing, not the writing) but they have not managed to create a song that does not sound like either a) a flaccid, passive-aggressive message to some vexed lover, or b) a watered down, ultra low fat, diet post-grunge cash-in.
This album, “AND WE’RE NEVER COMING BACK,” a title that demands the listener to hold them to their word, is an uneven and generally bloodless, premeditated effort to satisfy a marketplace that exhausted itself and died quite a while ago. This very fact makes it problematic when accusing them of opportunism. If they honestly consider themselves a “frenzy of talent and songwriting,” and “innovative alternative rock,” perhaps they should sit down together and give long thought to the relative artistic merits of a calculated copy of a copy of a copy of a market ten years old that was, objectively, pretty fucking lame in and of itself to begin with.
(Note “Matchbox Twenty” reference by Reviewer)
Of course, since Pittsburgh’s music scene (and overall culture, really) is ten to twenty years behind schedule, closed off and malnourished to the bone anyway, their existence is only natural, but it’s certainly not excusable, and I shall not equivocate or withdraw the slightest bit even though their only excuse might be their provincial naiveté.
Music (and self-deception) like this tends to suggest that the members are 1) Christian, 2) Sexually Frustrated, 3) Melodramatic and I get the idea that LoveBettie are collectively all of the above. The vocals are typically sung by Alexandra, (who seems to have a perpetual nosebleed) and from what I understand she is responsible for the ballads, which are admittedly, as the reviewer indicates, less embarrassing than the white-as-mayonnaise, up-beat frolicks contained on the tracks fronted by, one assumes, perhaps erroneously, a man. Still, the piano ballads are overwrought, plodding, and “Blue Skied” vaguely sounds like the Cheers theme in the beginning. Barely any dynamics here, no compelling expression, but it sure is PROFESSIONAL! All of this mid-tempo shit would be interesting in the hands of a capable songwriter, but Alexandra just tramps along, not really changing the “piano intro, nasal wailing, piano outro” structure in any of her feature tunes, perhaps relying on her tall hair to compensate for these dry serenades. Zzzzzz….
The aforementioned man, so-called, is permanent wearer of stupid hats and self-satisfied facial expressions, C.T. Fields, (he’s also the guitarist) who expertly cranks out highly predictable guitar riffs, which superbly compliment the highly predictable everything else. Curiously, in every single band photo, he’s wearing that ridiculous Newsies hat. Incredible. I imagine some frightful conjoined twin jutting hideously from the top of his head, controlling his every move. Poor Mr. Fields must endure, day after day, the furrowed stares of bewildered pedestrians, and surely, he overhears their scathing remarks: “Why does he always wear that hat? Is he bald? Does he have a nasty Gorbachev? Is it the 1930s? Is it Irish pride? How do post-grunge and Herringbone caps go together? Have you heard that song “Lies?” Is it not the most insipid, clumsy, po-faced pastiche of a thankfully bygone genre you’ve ever heard? How can he look so fucking smug? I bet he sits down when he pees.”
On C.T.’s personal myspace page, his About Me section reads as follows:
“Musician, producer, singer, songwriter, writer, poet, philosopher, graphic designer, photographer, all around creative personality.”
Heroes: “Ghandi, Mother Theresa, the creator of pez candy”
If there are three things I hate, (four, if you include LoveBettie) it’s
1) Anybody married to the singer of their band who wears dumb fucking hats and believes in god that claims they are a “philosopher.” Philosopher! Haaa! A philosopher of what? Genre cash-ins?
2) Emasculated weenies with fat, stuffy faces who claim to be musicians, producers, singers, songwriters, poets, graphic designers, photographers, and all around creative personalities but are in reality just emasculated weenies trying to get their vanity project (co-run by their gullible wives) off the ground with corrupt motives, victimizing and insulting the music listening public, (while wearing stupid goddamn hats on top of it!)
3) Ghandi, Mother Theresa, and the creator of pez candy, three things which obviously do more to prove that God doesn’t exist than he does. (Mother Theresa, like all nuns and many other con artists, also wore a stupid hat. Coincidence?)
Of course, I would never want to give anybody the idea that Lovebettie is exclusively a mercantile effort. I know, referring to yourself as “marketable” is kind of crass, but hey, you gotta put yourself out there, like say, when your band name is smeared approximately ONE HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES on your myspace page. I don’t know what is more disconcerting, the fact that they are such pushy and shameless promoters, or the fact that I was annoyed enough to sit there and try to quantify their complete and utter lack of dignity that amounts to their obvious cynical commercial ambitions that masquerade as “buzz worthy and captivating” alt rock.
This is one of a few bands in Pittsburgh, (a rather impractical inclination), in which the guitar player’s wife is the singer of the band, an ill-advised arrangement that can never fail to be both bad for everyone else in the band and hilarious for anyone outside of it who witnesses intra-band-marital conflict. The “everyone else” I’m referring to are the bassist and drummer, whom the reviewer discreetly refers to as “understated,” which I think means “non-existent,” or “pushed violently into the background by a woman achieving Amy Winehouse,visually, and Kermit the Frog, nasally, and a permanently arrogant newsboy/philosopher achieving pigeon turds creatively.” One gets the idea, (“bi-polar,” as the reviewer states), that these two love-birds are writing feeble little messages to each other with each song, either because they can’t communicate in real life, or perhaps they just need to get the fuck away from each other. If the relationship is anything like the music, they must be overwhelmed with monotony, uniform disgust, and erectile dysfunction.
Aside from J. Banks the drummer’s minor misdemeanor, (stop wearing fucking sunglasses when you play, it’s not cool, you look like a retard) I have no legitimate beef with the bass player and J. “Shades” Banks; the feeling is more akin to a delightful admixture of sympathy and amusement at the thought of you two sitting quietly together exchanging knowing, frustrated glances and rolling your eyes while C.T. and Alexandra invariably start screaming at each other. Who “wears the boots” (see Dirty Mary lyrics) in this house, guys? Does C.T. wear the hat to compete with Alexandra’s hair? Does she push him around? Do creative conflicts degenerate into C.T. accusing Alexandra of cheating on him? Is it with one of you guys? Better keep cool, fellas. Does C.T. almost start crying during these outbursts? Does he ever throw his hat in a red-faced mincing display of rage? What’s the top of his head look like? Oh, so much left to the play of imagination.
Let me make this perfectly clear:
LoveBettie is disinterestedly and thoroughly, limp-dicked, unoriginal, irrelevant by 10+ years, and therefore, crap.
If you like LoveBettie you’re a moron. Re-evaluate your sensibilities, and probably your life, while you’re at it, dumb shit.
If you have any appreciation for art, you must take a hostile position against a band so deliberately designed, profit-motivated, and consequently, creatively bankrupt.
C.T. “Socrates” Fields – Throw away your Newsies hat. It’s an affectation, and it adds baggage to a face that’s already douched…got it? By the way, I read your poems:
They’re fucking gay.
Alexandra – Baby, I know C.T. is like, four or five years older than you, and he let you be the singer of his band and all, but he’s only doing it because you’re vaguely hot, and basically the only reason people give your band a chance is because they like to watch vaguely hot girls trying to be sexy and cool onstage. Go solo, princess. I know C.T. is older and probably seems wise, being a philosopher, poet, lover of God, Mother Theresa, Ghandi, and Pez candy, and surely those big, self-important lips are so darn tasty lookin’ to an impressionable young lady such as yourself, but trust me, I know the type. He’s probably been steadily undermining your confidence since you were married so you’ll never run off and realize you’re dating a deceptive twat whose inability to write an original song or have an original thought or have an original erection is as fixed as his hat to his head. What’s he hiding under there anyway? What else might he be hiding from you? Divorce that jerk-ass, baby doll! Get yo’self a man with some SOUL and some fuckin’ LONG HAIR who thinks that hats are dumb and knows a vaguely hot girl should be in front of his zipper and not in front of a microphone.
To the members of LoveBettie: I would tell you all to quit the band, and get thee to thy day jobs, but I don’t want to inadvertently embolden your resolve to succeed in defiance of my frank assessment of your efforts. I accept your existence, but I will never accept what you do and what you stand for. It is in direct opposition to anything good and decent in the wide world.
P.S. Go watch them play with Donnie Iris on Feb 21st, if you’re the kind of person that likes two bad things worse together.