"The only reason to get an iPhone is for that Grateful Dead app. You know, the one that's got all the recordings of pretty much every one of their live shows ever? It's amazing, man. It's like a dollar or something. I swear there's like 2,o00 songs on it." - What the dreaded bartendress at The Hub said to me, a gal wearing sparkly lip gloss and tight jeans.
I learned this fascinating tidbit last night during a conversation about the iPhone. (Okay, really, who thought to market every Deadhead's wet dream to a population that buys a $300 telephone?) I had whipped out my nifty party trick called Shazam, a free iPhone application that picks up the sound waves in the room and tells you what song is playing. It's for the spacy, instant gratification types, who while in a bar or department store, wonder who's singing the song buzzing in the background.
Unfamiliar with the local sounds of Johnson, my friends and I thought we'd give Sahazam a try at The Hub.
Thursday Night's Playlist:
This could play in the background for hours on a continuous loop and I wouldn't notice it, nor would I think to Shazam it unless prompted to do so for this exercise. Mr. Obrien's serenade isn't really drinking music, nor is it visually stimulating concert material, but I don't think beer is Vermont's vice of choice anyway. Even at a bar.
Shazam couldn't pick up several songs, but it's safe to assume that many were from this band:
Why do I believe that this is where John Mayer's career is heading if he's lucky?
This was the only song and artist I could figure out without Shazam, even though I'd never heard his rendition before:
Before listening to this, I wasn't sure it was possible to hate an Otis Redding song so much. I wasn't even sure I had much of an opinion about Eddie Vedder or his gargly voice post 1995. But upon consideration, I'm starting to get angry that he was ever compared to Neil Young and that people liked that Into the Wild movie just because of the soundtrack. (It was a terrible movie.) And looking back at Vedder's peak, the acclaimed epic video about a mass murdering teenager, that video really is pretty lame. I mean c'mon. A kid wrapped in a burning flag? His torture expressed by the flashing words "numb," "disturbed," "wick-ed" (yes, there's a hyphen) and "90210"? Please. Brenda Walsh was the most pleasurable thing about living through puberty in the 90s.
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