Brent DiCrescenzo's "critical reassessment" of the Doobie Brothers on Bitchfork is entertaining, but there are four serious problems: 1) it reeks of that snobbish "I'm gonna bring back this kinda uncool thing and make it cool again" ironic hipsterism that has allowed thrift stores to charge $50 for Edgar Winter Group tour t-shirts. 2) The author makes the common mistake of assuming that, by openly acknowledging the ironic hipsterism of his basic premise, said ironic hipsterism disappears, leaving a charming air of genuine, winking cultural savvy. (This is akin to people who use self-deprecating humor to point out their own glaring faults, as if that somehow makes those faults into selling points.) 3) He totally blows Michael Douglas's line in Romancing the Stone. (Full quote: "Dammit man, the Doobie Brothers broke up! Shit! When did that happen?") (Supplemental quote from Homer Simpson: "Come on, Bart! The Coast Guard's covering the Doobs!") 4. The Doobie Brothers didn't need saving or reassessment or indie cred in the first place. The Doobs rule.
Speaking of Southern-fried rock, I spent this past weekend in Virginia, frying (no, not on acid). The heat index was in the 110-degree range. In addition to sweating, there was much swimming, beer making, cow watching, and, naturally, drinking. Here's a mini Virginia vacation gallery...
This here's the turnoff. It's basically pronounced "fack 'ere." You figure it out.
Queen Sirloin stirs the wort that will eventually become beer. Chick. Bikini. Make beer. Essentially the perfect photograph.
These are Black Angus steer. They will eventually be sold at auction for butchering, so no one really makes an effort to get to know them. It's just easier to eat "cow" than it is to eat, say, "Steve" or "Lionel."
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